The Sunday Mail
Lawson Mabhena —
New Delhi was filled with smog when we arrived on the evening of November 3, 2016. One could hardly breathe and this was certainly not the most ideal place to bring a chronically ill 10-month-old baby.
And yet due to amazing advancements in healthcare technology, India was, in actual fact, one of the best places in the world to be at that moment.
This was the place where my wife, Shamiso, and I had brought our only-begotten daughter — Manqoba — for liver transplantation.
In the midst of all that smog and in God’s time, a miracle was brewing and we would find our chi — our inner being.
Although the transplantation was to be done in Ludhiana, we put up for the night in Dehli to complete the necessary paperwork for the National Organ and Tissue Transplant Organisation’s approval.
Born with biliary atresia, a rare disease of the liver and bile ducts that occurs in infants, Manqoba was in urgent need of a new liver.
A liver transplant is an operation that replaces a patient’s diseased liver with a whole or partial healthy liver from another person.
That is where I came in. By God’s grace, I had the opportunity of donating part of my liver to my daughter, in whose case, this was the last and only option for survival.
And so the next morning we visited the Zimbabwe Embassy where all our identity documents, proof of marriage and family photographs were verified.
Once all the paperwork was done, off we set off for SPS Hospital in Ludhiana — a six-hour drive.
While on our way, but still in Delhi, I remember seeing a signpost that caught my attention. It read: “Apollo Hospital Centre for Liver and Biliary Sciences.”
I almost asked Shamiso whether she had come across such a hospital while researching on where we could get the life-saving procedure done on our daughter.
We arrived at SPS and spent about two weeks undergoing a series of tests for both the donor and recipient, or father and daughter in our case.
However, in a wrecking but not entirely unexpected twist, Manqoba’s liver started to collapse.
One moment Shamiso was feeding her and she was smiling and the next, she was vomiting blood.
You know something is seriously wrong when nurses don’t even touch a patient but dash off to inform a doctor, who also does not touch the patient but dashes off to inform another doctor.
And just like that, our daughter who was a healthy candidate for a liver transplant was in the theatre for an endoscopy — treatment of internal bleeding through a scope that allowed doctors to see inside her stomach.
We were assured that the best endoscopist in the region was doing the procedure, but that did not change the fact that it was a life-and-death situation.
I still had to fill in consent forms to absolve the hospital from liability in the event of death.
The surgeons later called for me and I left Shamiso alone in our daughter’s private room. When I arrived outside the endoscopy theatre, an ICU specialist came out and explained to me that the bleeding was very serious.
In her own words, anything could happen.
“We need you to sit here so that we inform you if your baby dies,” she said. That’s when my whole world came crumbling down.
All the prayers from family, friends and well-wishers. Monetary donations — all great and none small.
The more than 8 000km travelled. Medical tests in Harare and Ludhiana. All this, I asked the Lord, had come to nothing?
The prophetic name — Manqoba (conqueror) — bestowed on my daughter by her mother had also come to nothing.
I gave up and waited for the bad news. A few Indian patients, attendants and general hands, tried to keep me strong by telling me that everything was going to be alright.
But the procedure took forever and one by one they left, leaving me alone. Eventually, the doctors came to update me. The endoscopy had gone well but Manqoba was still in critical condition.
The next 48 hours in particular, the doctors said, were going to be the most critical. They allowed me to see her just before she had been cleaned up and taken to the ICU, and what a sorry sight it was.
I had never seen my daughter in such a low state. She was being assisted to breathe by a machine and there was blood everywhere.
Shamiso and I spent the whole night visiting Manqoba in ICU, where we would pray by her bedside.
The following day, the surgical team and hospital management summoned us for a meeting. They informed us that the government approval for the operation had taken longer than expected, yet Manqoba’s critical condition meant that a transplant was needed now more than ever.
They gave us two options: wait for government approval at SPS Hospital or travel to their sister hospital in Delhi where the red tape was less.
Without hesitating, we opted for the six-hour trip back to Delhi. In less than an hour, Manqoba was in an ambulance and we were following behind in another vehicle.
When we finally arrived in Delhi, I realised that Manqoba was now admitted to Apollo Hospital Centre for Liver and Biliary Sciences.
The surgical team was now being led by Dr Subash Gupta, who explained to us that Manqoba was no longer a good candidate for a liver transplant. Doctors would have to wait until her health improved.
This was a long shot. Our baby had developed new complications, the worst being pneumonia. Although dark clouds where hovering over us, knowing that our daughter was Dr Gupta’s patient gave us hope again.
Dr Gupta was the first surgeon to perform the living donor liver transplantation in India. Over the years, he and his team have earned a reputation for performing liver transplants on patients with unusual and difficult conditions.
After a lengthy stay in ICU, eventually, Manqoba was ready for the transplant. This was not without new challenges. The arteries supplying blood to the liver were blocked as a result of the endoscopy to stop internal bleeding.
“Most doctors will not operate on such a patient,” Dr Gupta told me and Shamiso, “but I’m willing to try if you allow me.”
We are not going back without doing a transplant, was our response. I was soon admitted and the following morning I was taken to theatre. About 30 to 40 percent of my liver was cut to replace Manqoba’s diseased organ.
I was in serious pain for a couple of days but it was worth it: after the surgery Baby Manqoba was a gift that keeps on giving.
It was good news after good news. In one of the most beautiful stories in the Bible, Martha —Lazarus’s sister — runs to Jesus and cries: “Lord if you had been here You could have healed him, my brother would still be alive.”
On His arrival, Jesus found Lazarus, a dear friend, had already been in the tomb for four days. This, however, did not stop Him from raising Lazarus from the dead.
Bill and Gloria Gaither sum up this amazing story in song. Sing the Gaithers in part: “But his way is God’s way, Not yours or mine, And isn’t it great, When he’s four days late, He’s still on time.”
In my time, the delay in having Manqoba’s transplant in Ludhiana led to a series of complications that made me throw in the towel and wait for the worst.
In God’s time, Baby Manqoba’s long stay and eventual complications would lead us to one of the world’s most renowned liver surgeons.
In God’s time, Baby Manqoba would defy all odds and return from a place very few ever rise from. Said Baby Manqoba’s attending doctor in ICU: “This is the most complicated successful surgery in the past two years or so.”
Through this difficult experience, Shamiso and I found our true meaning and purpose. True love. The ties that bind.
God bless all the well-wishers who made our travel to India possible.
