Life can change its course like a ship in the blink of an eye with hard starboard or hard port. I had always prided myself on leading a disciplined lifestyle, with two hours of daily exercise, a balanced diet and a belief that these would be enough to keep a 58-year-old biological body shipshape, ready to weather any storm. Little did I imagine that I would one day drop anchor in a hospital bed.
Alas! I was caught in a perfect Tropical Revolving Storm named Dengue. When I was admitted to the Command Hospital, I found myself in a place that ran like a taut ship—professional, compassionate and precise. The doctors and staff worked in seamless coordination, navigating patients through their darkest hours with calm assurance.
Yet, despite the hospital’s efficiency, my mind was anything but calm. As I lay in that bed—my body drained of strength, my thoughts adrift—I realised how fragile even the most well-maintained vessel can be when one small standard operating procedure fails. I had been meticulous in taking preventive measures against dengue season. But somewhere, somehow, a single lapse allowed the enemy to board my ship.
A hospital bed is a curious place for introspection. Like a ship anchored in turbulent sea, it rocks gently between wakefulness and sleep, between memories and the starkness of reality. Time slows down. Hours become days. Hunger fades. Sleep eludes. You find yourself yearning for the mundane—a simple walk, a hearty meal or just a peaceful night's sleep.
Dengue, often called haddi tod bukhar in Hindi (bone-breaking fever) is caused by a virus transmitted through the bite of infected mosquitoes. It brings with it high fever, unbearable pain in the joints, back and legs, and a deep sense of fatigue that drains both body and spirit. While many recover within a few days, severe dengue can quickly become a medical emergency.
On the fifth day of fever, I found myself in such a crisis. My face was drained of colour, gums had started bleeding, red spots appeared on my legs and my platelet count had plummeted to 13,000—dangerously low. I was like a ship battered in a tempest, struggling to stay afloat. It was then that my wife forced me to get admitted in hospital.
When my platelet count continued to fall, the doctors decided to transfuse platelets. I learned then that these vital components of blood have an incredibly short lifespan—barely seven to nine days—and are constantly replenished by the bone marrow. In other words, my own body had to start producing enough platelets to save itself. It was a battle that no medicine could fight for me—my body had to take command once again. And, slowly, it did. Day by day in the hospital, the tide began to turn. My platelet count started an upward journey, my strength began to return slowly and I could finally sense the storm easing. I was allowed to leave the hospital with strict instructions to take rest, replenish and stay hydrated for the next 10 to 15 days. Recovery, like sailing after a storm, brings a new perspective.
As I lay in that hospital bed, grateful for the doctors, nurses, and the quiet resilience of the human body, I realised how fragile and precious health truly is. No matter how disciplined we are, life always finds a way to remind us of our vulnerability. But it also reminds us of our strength—the power to endure, heal and to rise again. The ship that weathered the TRS Dengue now sails again—humbled, wiser and more grateful than ever.
The writer is commander, Coast Guard Region (northeast).