The assiduity of the boy impelled (sorry: inspired) me to write this post.
An accident, a miscalculation and a spark of bad luck, and you land up in the hospital. You get a bed in a ward, acute medication ward to be precise. You get irritated when people around you say ‘acute’ again and again. But you persist.
A pipe into the nose and an injection in the veins…and a mourning face of some of your relatives. You feel like running from there. But you know: any more mistakes and you can actually land up in front of the psychiatrist. So you persist.
No. You have a mouth and you have a stomach, but nurses hate tablets. They come and they talk in sweet language and then they inject something through the injection and the pipe though the nose. Yes the pipe. Well it hurts. Lingering inside the food pipe…making you feel that you have got tonsils. But you can’t do anything. Except pulling it out? (*wink*) The next time the nurse comes and she find the pipe lying on the floor. A very strong and long cough (*innocence dripping down*) was the reason.
The first impression of a nurse is a small girl with a white full skirt and white socks and polished white or black boots, a tending smile and a white peculiar hat over the bun of hairs. But the actual scene? It is no different. The first time you call a nurse a sister, and asks her to remove the itchy bandage around your waist and she says, smiling: no son, don’t worry everything will be OK. Tomorrow the doctor will come and he will remove it. She knows that you know that tomorrow never comes. But what can she do?
Oh yes the boy. The legen wait for it dary boy I was talking of. (I know I am over reacting, but an overdose of fluoxetine does the same). The boy is not the patient. His father is. And he is suffering from hydrocephalus. After the operation, he is lying on the bed next to you. A bandage covering the head, another one over the abdomen, a pipe coming out from penis attached to directly outpour the liquid into a plastic bag hung below the bed. I will not ask you how you know so much.
The father is restless. He does not know that he has been operated upon just a few hours earlier. In fact he thinks that he is as fit as a football player. He nudges his son to make him stand up because he wants to go for toilet. The boy says him to piss on the bed itself but the father persists. (Another case of persistence? SH*T) The father removes the bandage covering his abdomen in retreat which shows, accidently, the fresh stitches of the operation done only a few hours ago. The boy runs out of the room and brings with him the nurse. The nurse comes and sees the blood bubbling out through the gaps between the fingers of the boy and runs out to find the doctor. The doctor comes and put a fresh bandage.
The boy. (again?)
Oh yes, you forgot to mention: there is a pipe inside the temple of the father, which the son has to press every half an hour. The father’s hands are cuffed up. The doctor doesn’t want him to play with his bandages once again. The boy stays awake the night, listening, to his father’s moans to let him free and telling him with a toothed smile on his face: kuch nahi hota papa sab theek ho jayega (don’t worry father, everything will be fine soon).
You (finally?…teeth gritting)
You see someone lingering in the ward and you ask instantaneously: When will I get discharged? And every time the person in front of you asks:
You: The hospitals sucks bigtime.
Person: That I know already. I mean your problem.
You: FSGS CKD stage 3. admitted for an operation.
Person: Oh..CKD..interesting..what operation?
You: You are the doctor. You should know that.
Person: Let me see your papers.
Person: You see boss, I can’t do anything about it. The surgeon, who operated upon you should sign here, then only you can get out.
You: Who are you then.
Person: Oh, yes I am a medical student.
Did I mention that the boy was eight years old?