I have an affinity for hospitals. It can safely be said that all my mishaps involving hospitalisation are unique unto themselves. And most of them are orthopaedic issues.The first accident happened while I was in training in Belgaum. As was the custom, after a long run, all of us (who went for the run) ran to the old rope hanging off a branch of a banyan tree. I climbed up the rope. My friend, in his impatience also started climbing the rope omitting to take into consideration that I had already reached the top of the rope. The old rope snapped and I came down alongwith it. The tactics employed by me to break my fall proved unsuccessful when it resulted in a fractured wrist reulting in my admisssion to the local Military Hospital . The reduction of the wrist was done under anaesthesia. A cocktail of anaesthesia, as also the drugs deadened the pain. This feeling of wellbeing continued into the evening. So much so that I skipped the hospital to go get drunk. The chaos at my being AWOL resulted in a reprimand. The next few days in the hospital were not very happy but they paved the way to my recovery. Never would I ever go back to the hospital I vowed to myself as soon as I was discharged.
Passing time and fading memory blurred my resolve. One evening after a few drinks with friends I committed the cardinal mistake of riding my scooter home (I was on leave). A general feeling of wellbeing made me less cautious and more trustworthy of my own abilities when I decided to drive my scooter with my eyes closed - to see if I could go straight. I was proved wrong when my scooter veered to the right. My scooter and I parted ways as I went over a culvert, striking my knee hard against a rock in the nallah below resulting in my patella bursting into a few pieces. A quick appreciation of facts as were evident to me forced me to go to the nearest Military Hospital - much against my earlier resolve of never going back there. The doctor in spite of having been woken up at an unearthly hour - for reasons beyond my comprehension - overlooked my inebriated state and arranged for my admission. Prior to admission I was to have been X-Rayed.
And then disaster struck. As I was being loaded into the ambulance the stretcher bearer, unable to bear my weight dropped me resulting in a deep cut on my brow. (Five stitches). What was a bad start to a morning did not end there. My people from home were horrified seeing my bloody face (I was not yet cleaned up after my ambulance mishap). After a lot of recriminations I was left alone to meet up with the orthopaedic surgeon.When the doctor did finally arrive, his examination was cursory and his bedside manner brusque. I was slated for getting operated upon in a matter of few days. In the evening I found the ward full of activity. I was told that the orthopaedic surgeon had suffered a cardiac event and was admitted in my ward .
That put a halt to any further treatment - at least till a replacement for the orthopaedician came in to complete the task at hand. For the next ten days the torture of Injections at odd times - something I did not look forward to with any enthusiasm whatsoever - Waking up early (or rather being rudely awakened so that the nursing assistants could make my bed) and the painful journey to the toilet - somehow I could never master the use of a bedpan all added to my misery. Ensuring that the leg did'nt get banged on the way was an exercise in itself. Meanwhile a search for my suitor/ doctor was still on. Somehow it seemed to be the time when all the orthopaedecians were either on leave or admitted in the hospital with me. My long stay saw me getting familiar with the nursing staff and the nursing trainees. I proved to be a guinea pig to the trainees who took a vicious pleasure in practicing on me with injections. By this time I had really dreaded the injections and regarded them as a torture. They suitably softened me. Was I being questioned then Anyone seeking answers from me would have got them easily. Finally the the day was set for my being operated upon.
The indignity of wearing a gown with nothing else to keep me away from the prying eyes of the operating staff soon dissolved into nothingness when I was put under anaesthesia. Somewhere in the evening when I came to, I discovered that my legs were clean shaven and the cause of my misery for the past so many days had been reduced to a clean wound which had been stitched across. The torture of the injections continued. Just when I was congratulating myself that the extended sojourn at the hospital was coming to an end, I realised that the doctors had some new techniques with which to make my life hell. The next morning I was taken to the operation theatre where the doctor without much ado squeezed my knee like it was dough. Was it not for the presence of a young lady doctor (I was young and my vanity was intact) I would have howled in pain. I contented myself with a silent gasp of pain which further encouraged the Doctor to squeeze my knee even more harder - removing infection he called it - I think he was taking pleasure in my discomfiture. This continued throughout the time I was in the hospital.
My ward mates were interesting in their own way. One of them was a patient who had blown up his foot in the '71 war. His doctor was scared that he would get addicted to morphine and introduced him to liquor to fight pain. Now, after all these years he had become habituated to liquor. His de- addiction programme was not working and every morning he would be up and about pacing the ward. The slap of slippers on the ward floor used to wake me up early in the morning.Then there was this other patient who was interested in tantric rituals. Sometimes he would go into trances, which amused the Nursing staff but was not funny t the patients at all.
While the patients were interesting the visitors were no less a study in human behaviour. From nagging wives to concerned family members I saw them all . My own friends who visited me - after the preliminaries - handed me my crutches and took me outside where they could smoke in peace. I who had eschewed smoking as a teenager was drawn into this habit again and took it up with a vengeance.
and so the days passed .. Soon it was time to get discharged. Hospital life had made me soft. When I tried to get up and walk , the pain was intense in my leg. For the next few minutes I could not move. The nurse who had come to see me was getting impatient. Finally she said " guys who had lost their leg do not make as much fuss as you do." This spurred me into action and I walked out of the hospital dedtermined tha t it would be the last time. .. But was it? That is another story.
