Madan Mohan Juneja with his son Anmol's photograph
I remember the day when his mother conceived him against doctor’s advice. My wife faced some medical complications after our second daughter was born. But she wanted to go ahead with her pregnancy.
Anmol came to this world on 18 June, he will turn 25 this year. What a cheerful, carefree, caring child he was! He was a charmer, his giggles had filled our world with happiness. He grew up but he remained as innocent as a child. He would live each day, as if there is no tomorrow. He would splurge like a king.
Sometimes, when I look back at his life, I feel that perhaps he knew he had a short life.
On December 8, 2012, at around 11 pm, his red Ra One bike rammed into a tractor trolley carrying iron rods, one of which tore through his orbital, severely injuring his brain.
I called him barely 10 minutes before I got this call from a stranger who informed me about his accident. He was returning home after dropping a friend. He had hundreds of friends, he could make friends with strangers, passersby.
When the doctor told me about his injury, somehow, I knew it was serious. I called up a friend in Japan, he drove 150 kilometers to meet the best- known micro-vascular surgeon there. We shared Anmol’s CT Scan report with the doctor in Japan and made doctors here talk to him. When my friend didn’t share with me what this doctor in Japan told him, I knew something was not right.
For three days, we waited desperately outside the ICU, hoping for a miracle to happen. On the third day, the doctor came to me and told me that though all his other organs were working fine, his brain had stopped functioning.
The word ‘organ’ struck a chord with me.
On Nov 29, hardly 10 days before the accident, we had gone to attend a satsang where they showed a documentary on the importance of organ donation.
That was the only way, I thought, to stop Anmol from leaving this world. I wanted my son to live longer and within a flick of a second, I told the doctor that I wanted to donate his organs
That was the only way, I thought, to stop Anmol from leaving this world. I wanted my son to live longer and within a flick of a second, I told the doctor that I wanted to donate his organs. I asked my brother to take all the relatives home, including Anmol’s mother. I didn’t want them to raise any objection. We decided to contact All India Institute of Medical Sciences in Delhi. My brother called up Dr M C Misra, then director of AIIMS, and told him about my wish.
Within a few hours, AIIMS sent an ambulance equipped with ventilator. As we moved Anmol to AIIMS from a private hospital in Patparganj, I told his friends about my wish. They were dead against it.
At AIIMS, they formed a committee to look into our ‘special’ case. It was for the first time that father of a young boy was offering to donate his son’s organs, they said. The committee asked for signature of four close relatives on the form. I, my two brothers and a cousin signed it. But they insisted that the decision should have his mother’s consent, too.
My wife had always stood by my decisions but in this case, I was not sure. My legs trembled when I approached her to sign the consent for donating Anmol’s organs. She was a possessive mother, Anmol was closer to her than me.
She was hesitant but it didn’t take her much time to agree. Anmol was giving in nature. He never used to eat his meal alone, would always share it with everyone; he would bring pizzas for all workers at our shop; would give away his clothes, watches, accessory to his friends. He always helped everyone in need.
We thought our Anmol would give life to 4-5 people. May be his eyes would let someone see, his heart would beat in someone’s else body, his kidneys and liver may give life to people desperately looking for a transplant. But our son eventually helped save the lives of 34 people.
The person who received his liver called me to thank and invited me over a cup of tea. We are good friends now and meet often. Another recipient of one of his kidneys is a 44-year-old mother, who was suffering from chronic kidney failure. She wanted to live for her son, who was 15-years-old then. She too calls me at times and shares her son’s well-being. She never forgets to thank Anmol for the precious gift of life he gave her. Anmol’s another kidney went to an eight-year-old boy from Maharashtra.
At one event organized by AIIMS, Delhi, I was told that people who received his eyes were present in the hall. That whole day, my eyes tried to identify Anmol’s eyes in the gathering. I couldn’t. But the happiness on the faces of recipients gave me immense satisfaction. In fact, their happiness is the strength I live on now.
Every time, my wife’s eyes get wet, I tell her that he is still alive. And every morning, she gives me 700 rupees, the pocket money Anmol used to take from her and asks me to give it to someone. I generally buy medicines for the needy with this money.
At times I roam around the city, every young boy, every kid in the restaurant, every red bike, every slice of pizza reminds me of him. You are immortal, Anmol. You are alive in our hearts--- and of course in the thirty four people you gave your organs to.
As told to Healthpost