A Medical Emergency requires immediate attention but what is forgotten is the patient, people are so busy doing their bit for their jobs and profiles, that the actual subject of their attention takes a back seat. I had this accident when I was riding a bicycle on the wrong side of the road, and by my own admission, I didn't realise I was on the wrong side, "What me?", it was the car that was on the wrong side. Later I realised, when people told me, my mind had been too engrossed in the matters of the heart, doped and stunned, and when the car driver was told he had gone over my hip, he admitted he too was doped in any case.
The kids on the streets screamed out to the adults, " he is down !", and there is a horse shoe thing lying on the road, " that's my limb kid", I screamed back. The picked me and my little horse shoe thing and transported me to the Fortis Hospital, where, little did I know then, I was to spend the next 8 days of my life. The ride to the hospital was a jerky one, with the medical attendant shoving a mask onto my face, the oxygen I realised for the first time in my life was choking me. "Oxygen or what ?" this was acidic and I was in a rage, they gave me a shot to tranquilise me and I felt like a horse that had been put down after winning a race, "What have you done to yourself ?", I was a race winner and they were putting me down, at least till the affect would last, which turned out to be two hours.
I woke up in the hospital bed and I felt like I was tied to it, "He's up !", Mom was here, I could see and dimly I could see my brothers, they were all here, in two hours they had summoned the entire family to the hospital. It felt like an item in a Zoo, brought from Siberia to the hotter parts of the World and everybody was here to analyse and present their case on whether the subject would survive. "How is he doing ?" somebody asked in the audience, and the doctors in the ubiquitous voice, "He is alright". Why was I tied to the bed then, with tubes running into all orifices of my body. My hiney felt like it had seen better days, I was immovable.
Hip transplant as anyone who has gone through it would realise gives the man, "No hope of release". It is perpetually present, so if somebody from the staff asks you what happened, you simply say, "my wife, she sleeps with a plastic and metallic android", who doesn't go away and will not go away for life. My hips felt like they had been to the butchers, though I am not sure the car driver had any intentions of changing his profession to a butcher to please my imagination. I imagined the doctor to be bending over me, an incarnate of the car driver, with a large knife, and cutting me up, examining me, and sending my original hip to be roasted at the next barbecue party. Eight days and Eight nights, after which I felt like I had been the cast of a biblical movie, and "Cast" I was in plaster now like a model at Madame Tussaud, I returned home to stay immobile for another 5 months.
I call this "Medical Tourism", what do you think ?
The kids on the streets screamed out to the adults, " he is down !", and there is a horse shoe thing lying on the road, " that's my limb kid", I screamed back. The picked me and my little horse shoe thing and transported me to the Fortis Hospital, where, little did I know then, I was to spend the next 8 days of my life. The ride to the hospital was a jerky one, with the medical attendant shoving a mask onto my face, the oxygen I realised for the first time in my life was choking me. "Oxygen or what ?" this was acidic and I was in a rage, they gave me a shot to tranquilise me and I felt like a horse that had been put down after winning a race, "What have you done to yourself ?", I was a race winner and they were putting me down, at least till the affect would last, which turned out to be two hours.
I woke up in the hospital bed and I felt like I was tied to it, "He's up !", Mom was here, I could see and dimly I could see my brothers, they were all here, in two hours they had summoned the entire family to the hospital. It felt like an item in a Zoo, brought from Siberia to the hotter parts of the World and everybody was here to analyse and present their case on whether the subject would survive. "How is he doing ?" somebody asked in the audience, and the doctors in the ubiquitous voice, "He is alright". Why was I tied to the bed then, with tubes running into all orifices of my body. My hiney felt like it had seen better days, I was immovable.
Hip transplant as anyone who has gone through it would realise gives the man, "No hope of release". It is perpetually present, so if somebody from the staff asks you what happened, you simply say, "my wife, she sleeps with a plastic and metallic android", who doesn't go away and will not go away for life. My hips felt like they had been to the butchers, though I am not sure the car driver had any intentions of changing his profession to a butcher to please my imagination. I imagined the doctor to be bending over me, an incarnate of the car driver, with a large knife, and cutting me up, examining me, and sending my original hip to be roasted at the next barbecue party. Eight days and Eight nights, after which I felt like I had been the cast of a biblical movie, and "Cast" I was in plaster now like a model at Madame Tussaud, I returned home to stay immobile for another 5 months.
I call this "Medical Tourism", what do you think ?
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