Close To Home

My Father, Brendon Gooneratne, passed away last Monday. He had had a fall, on June 12th, and was recovering in a hospital close to home, with excellent care and medical attention. We have been upcountry for 18 months, due to the ongoing pandemic situation. Unvaccinated as yet, we felt my parents would be safest out of the population
density and congestion of Colombo.

Since March 2020, our family have had a wonderful experience of lockdown, with the news on the television or via the internet being the only intrusion. I had not spent so much time with the family for years, due to work commitments in Australia and here in Sri Lanka.

Thaththi recovered well from the surgery, and we were looking forward to him coming home to us. Unfortunately, an infection developed in his lungs late last week, and quickly spread systemically, so fast that it could not be stopped.

On Father’s Day, we saw him in life for the last time. We spoke to him, said everything we wanted to say, and held his hands. In some countries, that has not been possible for other families. I’m so sorry for those people.

I became sharply aware, after my brother’s untimely death in late 2019, that the members of my family have been friends all our lives, as well as blood relatives. We have been companions and partners in each other’s life adventures. Our existence in each other’s lives has been life affirming, and life enhancing. It has made everyday life resonant, poetic and meaningful.

Of course, when a life experience has been this good, you don’t want it to end.

But no one is immortal.

Any of us could pass away at any time. While we hear of people jumping queues and using privilege, influence and connections to gain access to tests and vaccines and treatment, we also know that each of us, including the queue jumpers, is a vulnerable human being. So it makes sense that we become aware of the fragility of our existence. No amount of privilege can offset that.

So instead of being filled with dread, let us be filled with gratitude. For every day, spent with those we have loved so long.

These last several days have been surreal. Many things I believed before have been upended, and overturned. The belief of an urban dweller for example, that the city has the best available resources and facilities.

Because of travel restrictions and danger of transmission of the Delta variant, the usual large funeral gatherings are not permissible to anyone. So we had a small, beautiful funeral upcountry with only the immediate family and staff present. With flowers from our gardens, which my Father had designed, 25 years ago. Instead of a huge, crude, vulgar, monstrous, extended social display of the kind we all hate.

Because we were upcountry, there were far fewer Coronavirus cases, and the less stressed doctors at Badulla General Hospital were able to give us the support and encouragement we needed, as well as extending their excellent medical attention to my Father.

The admitting doctors took 45 minutes on admittance to the hospital to explain in detail what the situation was, and the likely outcomes of all the choices that could be made. I was fully informed of the need for immediate surgery, and of the probabilities and possibilities which could result. There was some medical terminology I had to look up, but the overall picture was crystal clear.

The surgery was successful, and the trajectory of my Father’s recovery was shown in his diagnostic results and consecutive scans over the next few days. I was kept updated throughout, with a constant flow of information via WhatsApp, including X rays, data, details of medicine administered, and comparative scans. The reasons for each decision the doctors made were shared with me.

When the trajectory changed sharply, just before he passed away, I was kept informed on an hourly basis. And with daily visits, correlated with the data I was being given, I could see by Saturday that the infection which had started on Thursday evening had not responded to treatment, and had ignited a fire of inflammation within his system which was going to blaze until it destroyed everything in its path, taking his life with it.

This is where the flow of incoming data was so important, as we started to accept that our hopes and beliefs were not going to be fulfilled, this time. The numbers spoke a story that could not be denied. We could try to selectively focus on the few positive aspects, as they increasingly diminished, but not for long.

In order to prepare for this immense loss, we had to face the truth without any euphemism or evasion. I looked at those numbers and the texts sent by the doctors updating me on the results many times, trying to see them differently. The doctors would state what the new challenge was, and how they were intervening to remedy it. But I could see that everything they tried was getting less and less response.

It takes the human mind time to adjust to the enormity of events like this. But it helps when you are dealing with medical practitioners who are not only qualified and competent, but humane and compassionate. Who understand the patients’ family’s need to be informed, to reduce the terror of the unknown terrain, to overcome paralysis of the will, to mobilize, to fight alongside the medical team for the life of those we love.

This is not a Covid story. My Father tested negative both at entry and departure from the hospital.

But when put to the bigger test, of incoming challenges, amidst a pandemic, the medical staff won through, fighting to the end, and doing their best, in a way that filled us with admiration and respect. My Father, who had been a doctor himself, trained in this country, would have known he was being given the best of care, treated with dignity and respect, and insight and compassion, to the end.

In my Father’s memory, our family will be donating to this public hospital, the only one in Uva Province with the resources to help him, and we will seek to support other local healthcare facilities also, in the regional area around where we live. These skilled personnel in the public system need to be supported, to save more people’s lives. Their skill is great, and in my opinion cannot be bettered, but their resources, equipment and infrastructure must be supplemented.

I would urge those reading this article to donate to the hospitals in their local area, and invest in their local community. The medical staff you support now, close to home, will be the ones who you turn to when you or your family need urgent admittance at the OPD or ETU.

My advice to us all is to bloom where we are planted. Stay close to home. Love those who have loved us all our lives. This is the best adventure of all.

Look And Learn

My Father, Dr. Brendon Gooneratne, passed away just after Father’s Day this year, on Monday the 21st of June. We were blessed to have known him, as our husband, father, and friend. He was a remarkable man, and unique in the breadth of his interests and the number of fields in which he excelled.

Wikipedia will tell you that he was a physician, a writer of several books, a renowned cricketer as a young man, and a wildlife and conservation activist. He wrote his personal memoirs in 2016, and this book, titled ‘The Good, The Bad and The Different’, details some of the interesting life experiences he had: his extensive travels, the personal lessons learned in his professional life, his enthusiasm for history, archaeology and the natural world, the lively opinions he had of the people he encountered.

Most people live a life defined by their professional vocation. Indeed, life is such that there is little time for us to actively pursue or engage in anything other than practise the profession in which we operate. But my Father was able to engage in multiple spheres of professional activity, and follow and fulfil a number of interests throughout his life.

He achieved a great deal in many fields, but he was also quite modest, personally. When I was young, I once gave him a poster on Father’s Day, which said ‘Shine on me Father, so I can reflect your light’. It had a beautiful sunlit seascape behind it. Thaththi said, ‘You know this is a religious poster, Devika. It’s meant to express your feeling for God. I’m just a man!’ I said of course I knew the difference! And I insisted he have it, and put it on the wall of his study.

My Father had a broad based, classical education at Royal College in the 1950s, a golden era in the island of Sri Lanka. He was always grateful, proud and appreciative of the excellent free education the country offered to him and his contemporaries, on which so many brilliant careers were founded. He loved reading poetry and literature as well as history. He enjoyed the work of P.G. Wodehouse and Somerset Maugham, and has a large number of popular novels in his library.

We grew up reading Punch, and The New Yorker, and when my brother and I were little we loved The National Geographic, and Look and Learn Magazine. Being able to discuss our developing interests in the world with such a knowledgeable and enthusiastic person made an adventure out of life for us, as children.

He loved David Attenborough’s wildlife programmes, but he was no mere armchair traveller. He loved going to countries like Egypt and South America, and Africa, and going on safari. He observed the life of the people, and developed some insight into the cultures which formed them, and the challenges they faced. My lifelong love of travel is shared with him, and he loved to hear of my experiences in Argentina and Ireland, and viewing the Aurora Borealis from a plane.

He told us once that the saddest sight he had ever seen was poor people in a drought and civil war ridden country fighting each other for grains of rice that had fallen off a truck which was engaged in humanitarian relief. Poverty and hunger strip away our humanity and our dignity, he said. And not one of us is immune from that degradation, if our life circumstances are against us.

My Father had a fall on Saturday the 12th of June. The doctors who examined him after admission to hospital did a detailed medical history, and asked me about a scar on his shoulder. I explained that this was the result of an incident in Nepal, many years ago, when Thaththi had been on a wildlife safari and had been chased by rhinoceroses. To save himself, he leaped into a tree, one handed, as his camera equipment was in the other, and hung there until the rhinos left. He had dislocated his shoulder, and just had a patch up job done at the camp.

Being young and healthy at that time, he thought nothing of it. He had a great capacity to heal quickly. Twenty years later, he found he couldn’t move that arm without pain. The doctors in Sydney who did reconstructive surgery on his shoulder asked him how he got the injury and didn’t believe him when he told them. But it was true!

He was a great friend to all of us, and a tremendous encourager, in the challenges of life. Once at a terrible time in my own life, I felt like giving up after a series of back to back calamities immediately following the loss of someone I dearly loved. My Father did not tell me to get over it, or count my blessings. He said, ‘It’s true that you have had a lot to contend with lately. But you know, you haven’t yet seen the range of experiences life offers us all. Life brings us a wealth of opportunities. Don’t make a decision on insufficient information. Life goes in cycles, and this period will pass and good will come. Hold on, and keep going, if you can. We will give you all our support. It’s worth it, believe me.’

As a family, we have a million memories of things we did together, with concerts and films and jungle trips and whale watching. The early morning rounds to watch animals, drinking hot tea made with condensed milk before sunrise, star gazing and the smell of kerosene lamps at night, the sunrises on the East coast, the visiting of caves and ancient sites, the viewing of the fireworks on my birthday. The slightly clumsy parcel wrapping of our birthday gifts, and the huge cards to express his big love.

My Father was interested in so many things that he was fascinating to talk to. For the last 18 months in lockdown, we have had a wonderful companion to share movies and music and political discussions with. We enjoyed cooking him some of his favourite foods, from his student days in England. He loved Italy, and Italian cuisine, loved that I cooked pasta sauces with home grown basil during lockdown, and was very sad when the kind and genial proprietor of Dolce Italia, Colombo, passed away recently.

Through knowing him, I came to see a different era, the one which formed my parents, when the world was not yet so given to materialism, consumerism, superficiality and self-centeredness, and the systems of education were not so broken down. He was saddened by the escalating destruction of the environment, and the short sighted actions of those in temporal power. He was exasperated at the lack of ethics, the brazen hypocrisy and the spineless shenanigans of many so called leaders in the world today. What sort of an example were they giving the generation to follow?

For my Father’s birthday this year, we went to see the elephants at Uddawallawe national park, and had a glorious day of jeep travel and animal watching. His was such a vivid personality, even in his older years, that we still feel he is with us. All these events we shared seem recent, although they span many decades.

He used to wake me up early years ago, when I said I needed to study, and he would wake me up early recently if I needed to get up and do a podcast or a Zoom at 2am in the U.S., and didn’t think I could get up in time, or stay awake that long. Go and rest, and I will wake you, he said. And he always did.

This Father’s Day, I sat with him in the hospital and saw that, despite all our hopes and beliefs, he was not going to be able to come back to us. I sang to him one of his favourite songs, ‘Young At Heart’. The lyrics sum up his radiant, open-hearted attitude to life.

‘Fairy tales can come true
It can happen to you
If you’re young at heart.

For it’s hard you will find
To be narrow of mind
If you’re young at heart.

You can go to extremes
with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams
Fall apart at the seams.

And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart
Or on its way.

Don’t you know that it’s worth
Every treasure on earth
If you’re young at heart?

For as rich as you are,
it’s much better by far
To be young at heart.

And if you should survive to 105,
Think of all you’ll derive
Out of being alive!

And here is the best part:
You have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart.’

We are honored and blessed to have known him, and grateful to have been his companions in the adventures of his life.

We are glad he left very clear instructions for us. His specifications for his coffin were: ‘Good honey-coloured wood. Straightforward design. No frills, no ornamentation, no bloody nonsense.’

The joy that pulses through every living thing, which connects us, is deeper even than our sorrow.

Vale, Brendon Gooneratne.

You Can’t Take It With You

Photo credit: Sandya Salgado

I recently had a conversation with a friend, in which she said that while she and her family are ok for food supplies during current travel restrictions, she feels anxious about those who are more vulnerable, and less prepared: the daily wage workers who cannot go to work, the people who spend every rupee of their salary on rent and rates and cannot save money, or cannot afford to buy in bulk to stock up their store cupboards.

My friend said:

‘I can’t focus on anything else when people are suffering. I’m too much of an empath and it affects me through and through.’

She shared a video on WhatsApp which was taken in a large local hospital, which showed Covid patients sleeping on mats on the ground, and the verandah of the hospital building, due to lack of beds.

I asked her how sharing videos like this could help matters. Wasn’t she merely depressing and upsetting people, because they couldn’t do anything to help? Her reply?

‘FYI by sharing like this I was able to galvanize people all over to donate and help building houses and also donate household effects and clothes etc for families badly affected by floods a few years ago. People in England and in Australia and several here gave generously when they saw the horrors those poor people were experiencing. I will make things happen. I will not hide my head in the sand and pretend everything is fine outside my high walls where I have everything. Someone has to draw attention to what these poor helpless people are suffering !!!!’

It’s not an easy thing to ask people during a crisis like this pandemic to be generous, and empathic, and to think and act beyond their own survival and that of their own immediate family, to the needs of the wider community.

I think we need to think like the virus behaves, in order to combat it. We need to think of impacting exponential numbers. We know that this illness spreads like wildfire through community transmission. So to meet this challenge we need to think in terms of community support. Especially during national lockdown and periods of enforced travel restrictions.

It makes absolute sense in this situation to support the people closest to us: our family, our neighbors, our local community and our local business owners. But above all, as this is a public health crisis, we should see how we can all support our local hospitals and the medical personnel and administrative staff who work in these facilities.

They need not only our respect, and our thoughts and prayers. The facilities they work in, need donations: not only financial donations, but donations of medical equipment, and beds, and personal protective equipment (PPE).

Hospitals throughout the country are calling for donations to purchase ICU Beds, Oxygen Concentrators both large and small, High Flow Oxygen Therapies, Oxygen Cylinders, Pulse Oximeters, and K95 masks and PPE for medical and nursing staff. Rotary Groups are raising money from their members through crowdfunding to provide the expensive equipment required to specified hospitals.

They don’t say so, but it’s clear that the medical personnel who are on duty are working double shifts, away from their families and homes, and they could do with some supplies of food, snacks, coffee and Milo, or Sustagen, or Nestomalt, and some blankets and sheets and pillows and towels for the times when they can get a couple of hours’ sleep between shifts.

It makes sense for us to support the communities in which we live. By supporting and stocking up the medical supplies in our local hospitals, we increase our own chances of survival if we have to enter these health facilities. By rounding off every payment we make to a local business which is maximizing our safety through arranging contactless delivery to our home, to the nearest 500 or 1000 LKR, we can directly support their drivers and their staff.

By thanking the staff at our local Food City and Keells, and small convenience stores, who wear masks and shields and provide us with exemplary service, adding up and bagging our purchased items, we encourage them as they support us, through personally recognizing their dedication. By giving a bit extra to everyone, we can help everyone stock up as much as possible on their essential needs.

If every person who was capable of giving 2-5,000 LKR to their own local hospital would do so, the shortfall would be rapidly reduced. There are enough citizens who could donate in such a way that the support could be continuous until it is no longer required.

This would supplement the current capabilities of the public health care system, in a targeted and effective way. All it would need to be effective would be for a designated person in each hospital to handle and account for incoming goods and monies, so that the donations would directly benefit those they are intended for.

This targeted support, if implemented now would operate in an incremental way, to match the concurrent increase in vaccination implementation, and the increasing public awareness of the need for self care and personal and household hygiene and cleanliness, to reduce the severity of symptoms and support high levels of immunity in every individual.

Another friend of mine, commenting on the scenario we currently face, said: ‘I think countries which claim to be socialist often create a feeling in the citizens that the state is responsible, not you. In this pandemic, those with the contacts and connections to request special treatment will inevitably try to jump the queue, leaving the vulnerable destitute of support. Under those circumstances, it would be best for all in a position to do so to show charity to those known to you, who are directly connected to you or your own extended family. By all means cast that net wide, but be clear who is giving what to whom.’

This pandemic has shown all of us what our personal priorities are: who cares, and who does not. It’s showing us what is under the surface of everything, from the efficiency and equitability of our public systems, to the faces of our friends.