Hospital Horror

It is my third visit to the friendly neighbourhood hospital in as many weeks. It is becoming a habit of sorts these days. N has managed it again - the proverbial molehill has morphed into Mt. Everest -an innocuous insect bite has turned maliciously grave. We press the panic button, and faithful driver D who knows the grind by now, weaves past construction rubble, nonchalant workmen and stray animals that have become permanent fixtures en route to the hospital to reach us there in record time. I can’t be blamed if Schumi and his ilk appear like boy scouts to me right now.

Lesson no. 1 : Whether you storm into a hospital unannounced (like we did this time) or with an appointment secured after getting past 2 IVRs with 5 submenus each, 3 operators asking you the same set of 4 questions each, and 10 minutes of instrumental music along the way (like we usually do) – the waiting time is the same. The doctor will see you only when he will see you.

Warning no 1 for potential visitors : if you were not sick before securing the appointment, you most certainly will be in need of critical care by the time you hang up the phone – your BP will soar, your brow will sweat and muscles will be ready to go into spasms (learnt from multiple previous experiences with operators and IVRs).

We wait. We observe while we wait. Doctors in white coats shuffle purposefully in and out of consulting rooms; nurses without white coats shuffle even more purposefully than the doctors. A flat screen television repeatedly plays images of the hospital’s 5star facilities and imported equipment and a voice over tells you why this should be the preferred choice for all your healthcare needs. Those FMCG marketers could take a tip or two from these business savvy doctors.

Well, there is good news and bad news for us. The good news is that Mt Everest would after all be sorted with a course of antibiotics and a preventive TT shot. The bad news is that N  doesn't take to injections well. She usually brings the roof down even before the injection is unwrapped. Today was no exception. A small crowd has already gathered outside the treatment room and diminutive, edgy Dr. D, having experienced the wrath of this phobic child in the past was praying for an emergency in the labour room or even a phone call that would take him away from situation at hand.

When gentle pleas, authority and good old fashioned humour failed to cut ice with the insurgent child, the seasoned mother in me recommends the use of brawn power. It takes four healthy nurses 25 harrowing minutes to pin down one limb each, before the deed is done.

I’m surprised that the doctor hadn’t collapsed in a heap yet. Now, if there is one person who deserves a wellness holiday in the Himalayas, it is Dr D from the friendly neighbourhood hospital.

The doctor checks our vaccination calendar and heaves a sigh of relief that there isn’t one scheduled for another three years. He has enough time to think about his course of action for that day in the distant future. Maybe one of us would have relocated by then or a well-timed flu or a well-planned holiday would keep him away.

Till then, peace and quiet reigns.