Appendicitis first hand - 3

( ... continued from here )

I am grateful to my dear friend Suvomoy who helped out my wife when I was being operated.  When summoned to witness the surgeon's testimony of his job, he was the one to go.

(My daughter, being already barred from visiting anyone in the hospital - was automatically barred from the hi-profile OT area too. And she will not leave her mom as well. She had already been very concerned that dad did not sleep beside her the night before. )

The grinning surgeon had shown him my "bad appendix" - a pink tubular object about the size of my little finger. My controversially religious friend even saw a faint solemn glow behind his bald head. Well, at least the doctor wanted to show it, how his last minute operation had saved the hero's life. 

My friend  reported the pan-masala smell as well. See? I told you!

An hour after my wife left, the surgeon visited me. He smiled, and said (literally), "it was a bad-bad appendix". He suggested that I should start with what most doctors ask you to have - light kichdi. He went out in about one minute, but came back again in a minute.
"You want a single room ? I'll see to it."


 The room which had a rent of two and a half thousand was relatively clean, with the two beds divided by curtains which could virtually encircle each bed. A sofa for the attendant accompanied each bed. There was a panic panel with a wired remote (yep! you still call that a remote), oxygen supply and more unknown controls.Strangely the package does not include even a toothbrush, or a soap bar - let alone a personal thermometer. (I would like to reiterate that this was one of the  well known brand of hospitals)


I was sharing the room with an old woman with considerable wealth (of money) in her family. Even men of her family used to wear at least half a kilo of gold while visiting her. I guessed that her family must have some political background as well, since most of the people visiting sounded  lacking in the wealth of literacy, let alone knowledge. Rich illiterates are best bet for politicians in this part of India. She had been suffering from Dengue and had moved in about a week back. Quite obviously she was unaware of  any technique (Relativity or otherwise) to curtail her pain  during intramuscular injections. She used throw a slaughter-like S-C-R-E-A-M every time she was injected. It used to be followed by a barrage of obscene words to which the Mallu nurse always giggled. The old lady was accompanied by a chubby, young, fair looking unmarried female attendant, a daughter, who always used to be a little made up, on her lips and eyes.


My roommates always found the stuffy room's A/C to be freezing. I had to shout at the nurse at least thrice during the night to get it cooler. My roommate's attendant used to undo that at the A/C controls in our room when I was asleep.

"In case I feel cold I can use a blanket, but what if I feel stuffy even with my clothes on?" - was my last complaint in Hindi to the confused nurse. The night was uneventful after that.

After getting admitted on Wednesday night, and operated on Thursday morning, I started eating on Friday morning. I was awaken by the boy who delivered breakfast....

... I was again woken up by the same guy when he was cleaning up ... I got some help to get up and finished my B/F soon. I was eating after 36 hours. IV fluids had kept me going till now. Strangely my mouth felt quite  clean despite not brushing 2 mornings.


I tried to be on my feet when my wife and daughter visited me. It was easier than I thought. Things had started to get a lot better. My daughter, in the meanwhile, had already exaggerated her mom's story about her dad's illness to one in which  the doctor had extracted a worm from my belly because I was being naughty. It was already on the lips of the teachers and ayahs in her school. And of late this same story had helped her mom to feed her real fast.

But my checkered uniform was smelling badly - I'd not bathed in 2 days. But doctor asked me not to wetten my wounds. When asked whether they provide a wipe, the hospital staff were non committal. It seemed that it was part of the package but usually not administered as they ask the patient to take a bath. Pulling down all the curtains around my bed, I got a good wet wipe by one housekeeping staff. The Sati-Savitri nurses kept out of the show. I got a new clean uniform as well.

A disconnection of my intravenous diet for all these activities was not without a cost. Reconnection was extremely painful. A clot usually forms inside the vein when the incision is not in use. And the merciless nurse used to perform a sudden magical wobble  with the tube which used to break the clot so painfully.


The TV in our room was  a private property of Miss (.. lets call her ...) Plumpy and her mom. Low on sedatives, I was getting woken up very often by the high volumes of the soap I hated the most. Complaining about the high volume met a solid answer from Plumpy: "I will have to mute it if the volumes were lower!"
Well, I presume my sleeping is more important than your God-damned soap, Plumpy. But I did not want to get into another confrontation as the gold laden goondaas were soon to arrive.

My recovery was impressive. By Friday afternoon, barely a day after being operated, I was walking around. My wife being without any support, I'd planned to request the doc to let me free. The surgeon used to make a compulsory trip to the insurance desk before coming to visit me, in lieu of studying the progress of the bill towards its target. I learnt from my wife that they were still about ten thousand away. As expected, he wasn't happy with my progress when I told him I was ready to go. He pressed my surgical wounds extra hard, till I winced.
"See? You are not yet ready to go!", he smiled.
Given a chance I would have punched his face and could have pinched somewhere in his belly to say the same words to make him wince.

Meanwhile, I was taking in food, but all of it was mysteriously disappearing. I secretly feared that there has been some mistake in tying the intestinal puncture. Perhaps food (or whatever was left out!) was slipping out of a hole into the abdominal cavity. At last, on Friday night my secret fears got flushed out.

I was pre-determined not to wince this time. On Saturday, the doctor relented. He promised a release in the evening.

There were no more surprises. Except one. The final bill was a little above Fifty six thousand. How they managed to achieve it is still not clear - the list provided to us was too long to be hand verified. The only discrepancy I could notice in the quick sweep were a set of visit fees for the doctor who had seen me in the OPD and referred me to the surgeon. I had actually not seen him after I got admitted. There's ought to be more - but we were already fed up.

The customary maddening delays from the health insurance company followed. We called them at least ten times to confirm faxes getting sent and received. In the end I would have to pay about two thousand for expenses of items not covered by insurance.

Plumpy's mother too got released on the same day. Quite obviously, they did not need any insurance cover, and were paying all of it themselves - bundles of cash came out of a briefcase.

I met the surgeon again at the insurance desk. He had dropped in to set the target for a new patient. He caught sight of me and asked me to see him in a week's time. Like always, he was visibly happy.

I am happy to be home. In the maze of fast track health, obstinate illiteracy, raw money, pachas tola-s, unhealthy nexus, insurance targets, pan masala, and Sati Savitri-s, I felt foolish. Sometimes I even doubt if it was an appendicitis at all!

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Appendicitis first hand - 2

(... Continued from here )

The next  morning I was woken by a fellow who seemed like a barber. He wore gloves as well as a mask and sounded repeated promises of safety while he discharged his duties. Yes, he just shaves around, from bed-to-bed and his work might alter your gait in a week. Not exactly a dream job!

The pre-operative room was better equipped. The surgeon visited with the same beaming face. I felt a mild paan-masala smell arrive with him. And soon the anesthetist followed.  I walked into  the OT after 15 minutes. It seemed like my wife was showing hers thumbs from behind a glass door down the corridor. It was chilling cold there. Once on the bed - they handed over a pipe gushing warm air into my blanket to comfort me from the chill. They injected something, and I do not remember even 30 more seconds. 

... Slight pats to my cheek awakened me. The anesthetist. My eyelids were heavy, and my body heavier. "Oh its done!". I tried vomiting twice, in vain. The jerk pained my lower abdomen. There was nothing inside my stomach to chuck out. In my jagged train of consciousness I could remember: a series of vain vomiting attempts, a series of consolations from the nurse (... another one - but Mallu and incorrect Hindi being common ... ) , some cool fluid injected down my IV incision in my hand, a beeping sound that seemed to track my heart beat - (or was it someone else's?), a couple of men dragging my roller bed, a sudden change of ambient temperature, stretcher being dragged to a lift , two more vain vomiting attempts, a puzzled and shocked old woman in the lift,  a transfer to a bed holding me inside the bed sheet from both ends, a man reading jokes about "Ziddi" Jaats, one of those painful Hindi soaps playing its signature tune loud on TV, and me shouting at a nurse - I needed a cooler, quieter room - a single room ....

..... My wife and daughter visited me shortly by my bed side. My wife recounted how in the guard at the gate described a strange rule according to which my 2  year old could not be taken in to the hospital to visit anyone. Mohar being alone, that meant she had to leave my daughter waiting outside for her. A mild chide had helped - I hear ....

.... I hate the word intramuscular. They  riddled my butts with painful painkillers, and made sure I had problem sleeping on any side, or my back. And I already had 3 punctures on my tummy. To make me sleep they added  a topping of a sleep inducing one. I discovered that Relativity helps, I used to hard pinch some part of my arm, to balance off the pain of puncture.With continuous fluids and injected to sleep, pressing a remote at midnight would bring the nurse in, but to take me to the bathroom to relieve myself will need the Sati-Savitri to call housekeeping - another 5 min of wait. 

The night was long but I could feel myself lighter every time.

( ... continued to here ... )

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