That night in the hospital...

It’s not easy to spend a night in the hospital. The patent smell with mixture of bitter medicines, anti-germicides was making me extremely nauseated while I was trying to rest. I had to; for getting rid off the severe allergic attack that I was undergoing. Some kind of strong food allergy had swollen me like a hanuman langoor. I always try my level best to keep the doctor away even though I find doctors very attractive (Gosh they look so dashing and assumingly intelligent in their crisp white coats and stethoscopes resting upon their shoulders like their coat of arms!). Why won’t anyone kneel forth them when they play the role of live saviors and they purge your pain off; if your lucky enough and respond to their treatment! However all the attraction fizzles out when he comes armed with a long thin needle or an assorted collection of multi-colored and multi-shaped capsules? I am assuming hereby that you wouldn’t want to blow your money to see a doctor without a health problem. What’s more humiliating is that if he turns out to be interesting; you still end up visiting him in worst of your looks and exposing your mouth cavity wide open with your tongue out followed by an elongated ‘AAAA’. My condition was even worse. With rose red rashes all over me my body was burning and my bones aching adding to my buffoon like appearance. The nurse had injected God knows what potion into my veins that my body refused to acknowledge and I was invited for a sleepover in the luxurious comfortable suite in the clinic under observation albeit I had gorged medicines extravagantly as I wanted to shun spending any time under the roof of a hospital. Apart from my fear of injection and aversion of its atmosphere; I have heartbreaking memories associated with that institution which I was afraid will resurface again.

And it did as expected. I relived all those moments sadly again. It was terrible. I lay there all alone. With no family members to bring me home food and no friends to cheer me up as I was cast away from everyone. I had to reckon myself that I was sick and needed medical assistance. Go seek it in the hospital; purchase my medicines; accept the gravity of the situation and take actions to debug myself. I admit for the first time; how miserably lonely I felt. I have number of friends who I thought would come running for help should I call them. But I have always refrained from doing that. Having this urge to be independent and strong had always made me say a strong THANKS BUT NO THANKS to care and concern offered unless I have no other alternatives. I know I have also eventually hurt my dear pals in doing so. And there I was. Sick, tired, hungry, sad and in deep pain with absolutely no one around to share that pain with. I hoped somebody would call me up at least that day. I kept staring at the pale roof holding my mobile in hand anticipating at least some call. It never rang. I can’t tell you how much I wanted to; but I did not call anybody too. I don’t know why and how; but my extremely formal attitude and sense of independence has always held me aback when it comes to asking for a helping hand. In the endeavor of not wanting to bother others; I had made them all ‘others’ without even realizing. That's the negative effect of strength. I recalled how heartbroken I was to hear from a dear family member a confirmation that 'we don't worry about you as we know you're capable enough to take care of yourself no matter what!'. I had pushed everyone away and now I was dying to hear from people…ask them if they can talk to me for a while…tell them how much I missed them. But I didn’t. As usual I didn’t. All I did was shed a few silent tears alone. As usual I did.

In just a while suddenly there was chaos and I heard a group of people approaching. They carried a stretcher upon which slept a smartly dressed pretty unconscious lady. They gently placed her on the bed next to me. The sleepy hospital awoke as it was midnight and the doctors came to examine her. She had collapsed out of fits due to immense stress. Accompanied by her gangful of friends and colleagues she was being taken care of like a princess. Somebody was rubbing her feet; somebody was arranging for medicines and somebody was caressing her hair and comforting her. Despite my zombie state (courtesy – the injected potion) I could clearly witness all the care her friends showered on her even in such an odd hour. I felt really nice for her; and won’t lie; felt equally miserable for myself. My saline drip pricked even deeper. I wished I had not been there to yet again realize how fortunate some other people are and how forlorn I am.

She threw up a number of times and the doctors geared up for an injection to prevent puking. The moment she realized there would be an injection; she almost created a scene by yelling and crying aloud. Like a small baby all her friends tried convincing her how quick and painless injection would be and how much necessary it was. There I got damn irritated. What kind of a selfish girl is she; I thought. Who is not even thinking about the relief of her friends who are toiling in the middle of the night for her well being and she is creating still more problems rather that co-operating. How can people do that; I kept wondering. I don’t even ask for help when I need and she is asking for help even when she does not need it. My thought process continued and I felt more and more depressed.

However; it wasn’t just me but the nurse also got annoyed and asked what her age was and where on earth is she from to make such a big fuss about a stupid injection. One of her friends hastily answered that she was from Calcutta and from a very ‘different’ background. Must be a heiress to some Bong multi-millionaire I concluded; to have been pampered to the core and used to bullying people around her. My dislike towards her increased even more. After great and noisy efforts they managed to give her that injection and she was put to sleep. It was then; the climax of the story happened in when her friend uttered to the nurse, “…she is an orphan and has been raised by Missionaries of charity. She has never before been admitted a hospital and has never had a vaccination to have known the severity of pain of an injection or any other medical thing. She has just had a serious fight with her room mate who questioned her if her parents had never taught her how to behave. She couldn’t take that… she collapsed…”

Life sometimes makes biggest jokes out of our lives. On one bed; I was lying. A girl blessed with a beautiful complete family and loads of caring friends. All alone. Longing for some company while handling her life single handedly. And on the next one laid an orphan who had her friends collecting her puke in plastic bag in the middle of the night.. Can it get more ironical?

Pradnya Joshi
12 June 2007