It’s difficult for me to believe that 15 years have passed since my injury, but surprisingly, it hasn’t felt that long because my life has been filled with lots of excitement. If you were to look at me now, you wouldn’t think that I had gone through such a challenging time, as it was undoubtedly the most difficult period of my life.
I have heard that our minds tend to automatically forget memories of dreadful events to prevent mental trauma. Therefore, I believe that this phenomenon has also applied to me because I can only recall a few
The extent of my injury was horrific, as it caused damage to both of my eyes, my right ear, nose, entire face, and most of my upper body. As a result, I lost my sight completely, experienced partial deafness in my right ear, lost seven teeth, had a few fingertips amputated, and now bear many scars on my face.
I cannot recall much about my time spent in the ICU (intensive care unit), except for a few incidents that occurred at the National Hospital in Colombo.
Due to the extensive damage to my upper body, I had to stay in the ICU (intensive care unit) for an extended period. Breathing through my nose or mouth was impossible, so a tracheostomy was necessary. This medical accessory is inserted through a cut in the neck to aid breathing, and the scar from the incision is still visible on my neck.
After a deep sleep, I have a vague memory of someone gently shaking me and quietly asking if I could remember a phone number. They mentioned that I was injured and currently at a hospital. I do not recall how I responded to their query, nor do I know how many times the nursing staff had asked me about it.
My mother later informed me that the nursing staff had tried multiple times to gather some form of contact information from me since no one had come to visit me in the initial days. Eventually, they were able to obtain a phone number from me, and they reached out to a nearby house. It was the same number I used to call my mother when I was serving in operational areas.
It took some time for me to regain consciousness and understand the severity of my injuries. When I finally came to, I found myself lying in a bed with my entire face covered in gauze packs. Both my shoulders and arms were completely immobilized with plaster, making it impossible for me to move my hands. To make matters worse, I was also suffering from a terrible toothache.
My parents rarely discuss the painful experiences they went through during my hospital stay, as it would only serve to reopen old wounds. However, I have overheard my mother mention a few times that I used to complain frequently about my toothache but never about anything else. She also sometimes mentions that I never cried or expressed any regret, even in such challenging circumstances.
After the life-threatening period was over, I was referred to different treatments. One day it was for my eyes, the next day for my ENT, then the dental, and every other day to the theater for wound dressing. I don’t remember much from that time, only being moved around from bed to trolley and taken to various places. At that point, I had been assigned a bystander by the unit, but my father was always there to ensure my safety and he often reassured me that everything was alright.
I cannot recall the exact wards I was transferred to during my treatment, but I spent a significant amount of time at the plastic surgery ward, which was led by Dr. Wijemanna. Due to the extensive damage to my face, including a large hole on the nasal bone near my right eye, I needed to visit the plastic surgery ward regularly, even while receiving treatment at the eye hospital.
During my hospital stay, my mother stayed in Colombo at a relative’s house in Maradana. She visited me every day during all three visiting hours and brought me everything possible to eat. However, eating was not easy due to my badly damaged mouth and prolonged toothache. For a long time, I was only able to consume a liquid diet because my mouth could barely open, and a little spoon was the only utensil that could fit inside.
Treatment at eye hospital
I cannot recall precisely when I was permanently moved to the Eye Hospital, but it might have been around three months after my initial admission. I was first admitted to a regular ward, but I was eventually transferred to a room in the paying wards. At that point, there were no significant injuries to my face aside from the large wound on my nose. While my right eye had been completely removed, treatment had been administered to protect my left eye.
Initially, I was unable to walk, so I had to be transported to clinics on a trolley. However, after some time, I was able to sit in a wheelchair and move around. During this period, I realized the full extent of my condition and felt very sad about it. Despite this, I remained optimistic about the possibility of an eye transplant, and everyone who visited me assured me that my eyesight could be partially restored through this procedure.
At that stage, I had been under the care of several ophthalmologists including Dr. Samarasingha, Dr. Saliya Pathirana, and Dr. Banagala. They had performed several surgeries to reattach the retina. Almost every morning, I was taken into a dark room where they would check the condition of my eye and advise me to rest in my room. Whenever I asked about the condition of my eye, the doctors would respond with “It’s difficult to say now, we’ll have to wait and see.”
As days and weeks passed, countless relatives and friends visited me, offering their opinions and suggestions ranging from eye transplant to traditional medicine, Bodhi Pujas, and Devala Pujas, among other things, all in an effort to keep me motivated.
On yet another day, I was taken into the darkroom and asked the usual question about the condition of my eye. The doctor’s response was devastating. “I regret to inform you that there is no way we can restore your eyesight. We have tried everything we could to restore at least some of it, but all efforts have failed.” Upon hearing this, I was overwhelmed with sadness, as if the world had ended. My head became heavy, and my brain activity ceased. Tears began to stream down my face before I could even say thank you to the doctor.
I can’t recall how I arrived in the room, but what stands out in my memory is that both my father and I had been crying all day. He was present when the doctor delivered the news, and while I was relieved that my mother wasn’t there, I later found out that the doctors had informed that to my father a few days prior. After shedding tears for countless hours, I eventually realized that crying wouldn’t change anything. However, it did provide some temporary relief by helping me release some of the built-up pressure, and I felt somewhat better by the end of the day.
Numerous negative thoughts flooded my mind, including several suicidal ideas. However, the memory of my parents kept interrupting those pessimistic thoughts. Despite the internal struggle, I ultimately chose not to pursue those harmful options and instead decided to join the regiment until my parents’ passing. After a few days, I left the Eye Hospital and was admitted to the Army Hospital.
Upon my arrival at the army hospital, I was assigned bed number 50 in Ward 9. Due to the severity of my disability, it was situated nearest to the nursing staff among all the beds in the officers’ ward. While there, I had the opportunity to meet several officers, many of whom had sustained injuries similar to mine, though their conditions were not as severe. Additionally, there was a Buddha statue located within the hospital premises, and often in the evenings, other officers would accompany me to visit it. I would offer flowers, spend some time in quiet contemplation, and then return to the ward.
Meanwhile, my parents were occupied with coordinating my visit to Sankara Nethralaya, a renowned eye hospital located in Chennai, India. They enlisted the help of Dr. Abesingha, an ophthalmologist based in Kandy, to facilitate the arrangements. Additionally, my father’s first cousin assisted us in organizing the treatments.
In April 1999, just days before Sinhala New Year, I was granted my first medical leave, marking nearly seven months since the injury occurred. Upon arriving home, I was overcome with sadness as I reflected on my situation. Just a few months prior, I had left that same house on my own, able to see everything around me. But now, returning home while holding someone’s hand, in total darkness.