First x-ray. Then blood test. Doctor baffled
again. Sent for sputum test.
Day 1
A young lady doctor had substituted the
previous male doctor. From my position in the queue I could hear her speaking
in high commanding and quarrelsome tone to her patients. She’s one tough
character in CRRH ( Central Regional Referral Hospital ), Gelephu.
I produced the results. She scanned quickly and
read my OPD card where the previous doctor had noted my symptoms: pain in the
left chest, shortness of breath while sleeping, slight fever, dry cough. Agreed,
that’s what I told the male doctor. She inquired whether I smoke. I am a
strict non-smoker.she plugged in the stethoscope and pressed it gently at
different points at my back while she told me to take long breathes – through
mouth – simultaneously. That done, she held x-ray against the window to examine.
Unable to diagnose the disease, the doctor went out to consult senior medical
specialist. So, she’s an amateur. Young, dark and beautiful, another
evidence that she is one.
After few minutes, she appeared and handing
over the material to my escorts – my sister and cousin – said it’s pneumonia I
am suffering from.
She asked if I am a student. I am a UG
student, studying in India, on vacation. She asked again when I should go back.
And only when I replied that I got couple more weeks, she tore a history sheet,
wrote my name, age , sex and in tone adamant and irrefutable, told I need to be
admitted.
Did I make a mistake by telling her the length
of my vacation? Maybe not – it’s for my health’s sake, afterall.
Day 2
Medical needle punctured the vein of my left
hand and was left inserted there from yesterday. Two antibiotics, Ampicillin
and Genta are being injected into it. Four times a day: morning 2 doses,
afternoon 2 doses, at dusk 1 dose and at 10 p.m. 1 dose.
Day 3
My immediate neighbour is an old man of
seventies. He coughs a lot. Each time he does, he vomits but saliva. For this,
he’s been provided with a container – a cut coco-cola bottle. His attendant is
his wife – around sixties, I assume but looks aged equally. Being better comparatively
I didn’t call for my attendant.
Past two beds, lies a cripple: serious victim
of bike accident and substance abuse. A network of minute pipes are connected
to his nose and hole at the throat and even to the vitals through which urine
is siphoned off to a plastic bag. His attendant – younger brother – cleans it
regularly. His tattooed arm is a testimony to the type of life he led. It rises
automatically yet effortlessly when he chokes and instantly the younger brother
has to come to the rescue: clears the hole with a pipe-like device blowing air.
Poor him. His piteous skeletal framework is a sight in which I see no hope. But
I see miracle in the young boy who tends his brother day and night.
A boy who’s junior to me by four or five years
has a weird suffering. When alone, he says he’s always attacked by unknown
unearthly strangers. Every morning, a foreign psychiatrist visits him. His
father never leaves him alone.
*****
At night a woman in critical state is shifted
to our ward. She’s connected to a monitor which displayed the reading of her
pulse ( and heartbeat ). Doctors and other medical assistants calculate her
health status from the zigzag lines running across the screen. The patient
wails and wriggles but by the strong hands of her two daughters, she’s pinned
to bed. I heard the daughters report to doctor she forgets faces and is
probably out of consciousness.
*****
The rest in the ward are all the patients of
common non-infectious disease among Bhutanese – either diabetics or BPH ( blood
pressure high ).
Day 4
Fed up with medication. I am enlightened on why
some patients die in hospital. It would be more due to boredom than the real
disease they are suffering from. The interiors never changes. Only clouds do –
from smoke white to dirty dark. No entertainment either. Thought it wasn’t
included in order to keep silence. But neither the silence is observed.
The floors are moped thrice a day. Doctors make
wardround once in the morning.
*****
The dog’s ill-omened howls fill the entire
night and the nightguard is at peace somewhere.
Day 5
Gloom set all over – within and without. The
heavy rain threatens to perforate the roof. No matter. The new hospital is
under construction, right opposite to the present. It’s set to finish within
four years.
Day 6
One death.
Four births.
*****
Doctor said the antibiotics are due over
tomorrow and if the opacity in the lower left lung is cleared, I need not go to
the capital hospital. If need be, I
requested, I will travel on my own. Ambulance itself is a sickness. She
consents to my request.
*****
One of the two nurses at nightshift blames the
patient – who’s still ill after surgery – for directly calling the surgeon.
They claim they are the immediate person the patient should report to.
After 10 p.m., the two switches off the light
in the Nurses Room, latches the door from inside and sleeps. The real night
shift has begun.
At 3, my neighbour coughs severely like dying.
The attendant goes to call the immediate nurse. But the knocks aren’t
responded. Perhaps they are on their own personal duty on official
hours.
Day 7
Four mobiles altogether lost from the hospital.
No trace of the culprit. The nightguard defends himself,” one’s duty should be
to take care of things under one’s nose.” Well. What is yours? And he adds,” this is the second time it’s
happened to this hospital.” And you say this with a pride in your tone.
*****
One more x-ray. The result sends me to Thimphu.
But I am happy (as happy as if I am graduating from some renowned university)
because I am getting discharged anyway.
Bid adieu to my colleagues.
Soon
need to head to the capital. This also could be one reason why the capital
is over populated compared to other districts in the country.
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