Friday, July 22, 2011

My first hospital stay...and it's in India. Go figure.

God has a sense of humor.

Last weekend, before we left for Lonavala, I thought that finally my in-laws wanted to actually do something with me. Then, I found out that six of their closest friends would be joining us. I was just tagging along, really. I was upset. On the way home, when it was just me and my in-laws in the car together, we got stuck in traffic. For three hours. No TV or computers or separate rooms to disappear to, just the four of us finding ways to entertain each other.

Thursday morning, we were all set to leave for Mumbai. My brother-in-law's flight back to the U.S. was late that night, and my flight is early Monday morning, so we were just going to spend the time there with family instead of driving back and forth. My father-in-law wasn't going to come with us, because he couldn't miss three days of work (he works Saturdays too). I was sad that he couldn't come with us, because I felt like I'd hardly seen him in the past two months because of his work schedule and his penchant for staring at the TV all evening once he's home. Well, God had an answer for that one too.

I woke up super early on Thursday morning in incredible pain. My right lower abdomen felt like it was alternately in a vice and being stabbed. I spent three hours unable to leave the bathroom before everyone else woke up and wondered where I was. I couldn't take any medicine because I would immediately throw it up.

My father-in-law loaded me into the car and took me to a doctor he is friends with. The doctor examined me, made a phone call, and off I went to the hospital. We marched right past all the waiting patients and directly into the doctor's office. From there, I was whisked upstairs and immediately given a room. Oh the joys of knowing people.

My room was in the "Super Deluxe Block." I kid you not, that's what the hall was called. We in the U.S. tend to name areas of the hospital based on the types of patients put there: ICU, Maternity, etc. I thought perhaps this was where they put their VIPs: political figures, celebrities, white girls they're afraid of, you know, the usual. But if this was a "super deluxe" room, I don't want to see the "substandard block." It was a small double room with barely enough space for someone to stand between the beds. It did have its own bathroom, so perhaps that's the deluxe part. Otherwise it looked more like a prison cell than a hospital room. In fact, I'm fairly certain those beds came from a prison cell. Wrought iron, hard as bricks, with none of the mechanical fun of hospital beds in the U.S.

I was given an antibiotic and put on an IV of saline and pain killer. Sadly, the pain killer was not of the fun variety that ought to be required when you're in a hospital. This was straight up ibuprofen or something, I don't know. It did the job, but I really could have done with some loopy happiness.

My in-laws packed my brother-in-law onto a bus to Mumbai so he could make his flight, then set up camp in my room. As I attempted to rest, they talked (loudly), watched a singing program on the TV (again, loudly), and turned the A/C (which I had requested be left off) on full blast. I thought I will have to remember this next time I want to visit someone in the hospital. Get in, say hey I'm thinking about you, then get the hell out so they can get well already! Once the drugs started doing their thing, though, I began enjoying their company and was glad they were there. They kept me entertained with stories, and we talked more than we probably have in the entire two months I've been here.

Word that I was in the hospital spread like wildfire. Mama had called her two siblings we were supposed to visit that day to tell them why we weren't coming. They called the rest of the family. Who then called us. And somehow at some point word spread to Papa's side of the family who then also began calling. At this rate, I figured my family would find out from their morning news.

The doctors wanted to do some tests to make sure it was nothing more serious than a problem with food. They did an ultrasound to make sure my appendix wasn't the source, due to the placement of my pain. Everything checked out fine, though I would like to know why the technician felt the need to smear the gel over my entire mid-section just to check the lower right side. The highlight was when they handed me two small containers, as big around as a quarter and about as deep, and told me they needed urine and stool samples. Then they left. Excuse me, but what do you expect me to do with these? I'd be doing good to pour water into an opening that size. And who did they send to collect the samples? A doctor so hot he should be in movies. Life is unfair sometimes.

By early afternoon, we knew there was nothing seriously wrong. A little antibiotic and some time were all I really needed. So you can imagine our frustration when we were not allowed to leave before 10 that night. The only reason they didn't succeed in making us stay overnight is because of Papa's friendship with the doctor.

We didn't want to stay overnight because, apart from being really uncomfortable, it would be very expensive. Very few people have health insurance here. There's no real point to it from what I gather. So everything is out of pocket. Even the medications that are administered in a hospital, the doctor gives a prescription to the patient, who hopefully has a friend or family member with them to send outside to the pharmacy to purchase the medicine. They then bring the medicine back in, give it to the doctor, who then gives it to the patient. I mean really, wtf is that? If I'm in a hospital and need medication, just f'ng give it to me! If I'm ill enough to be in a hospital, I'm too ill to go shopping.

The one advantage over American hospitals is the food. Papa had told me that when he was little and his sister was born, he would go visit in the evenings and eat the food the staff brought to the room. "I can still remember the taste of that daal" he said. I assumed it was burned into his memory because it was so terrible, but apparently no, he thought it was delicious. So then I assumed he's out of his mind and I can understand now why he likes my mother-in-law's cooking. But when they brought my food...I'll be damned if it wasn't pretty tasty! Good food! In a hospital! Will wonders never cease.

By the time I was discharged, I'd been in the hospital for 11 hours. That was plenty for me. I hope I never have to repeat the experience, in India, America or anywhere else. Today, everything seems to be back to normal. I guess I just really didn't want to spend four days in Mumbai. Although now that I know my mother-in-law snores (she fell asleep at the hospital), I am a bit glad I don't have to spend the night anywhere where I have to share a room with her. I'll finish out my last few days here in the big house in Pune, thank you very much.

2 comments:

  1. I am very glad it was not anything serious. I was worried it was your gallbladder or appendix when you described your symptoms and the intensity. I am glad, also, that you three got some quality time together that was not full of frustrations and weird silences. It sounds like something good came out of your ordeal, which is a good thing. If you have to go through something, at least something good can happen. When I was recovering from my gallbladder surgery in 2008 and dad was driving me to my first week back at work, we had some of the best quality time together. I look back on that as one of the best things that happened for our relationship. I am really thankful for it. I am reallllly looking forward to seeing you in a couple weeks. Love ya.

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  2. Definitely glad to hear that it wasn't something too serious!! Hope you keep feeling better and make it safely back home! Can't wait to see you!!

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