Remembrance of Things Past: Volume 2

SSKM Hospital (Part 1)

Back at the hospital, I was glad that I was alive, conscious and feeling fairly better than I had before my hospitalization. However, I soon had other problems. Although I did not perceive this (again, though, my mental acuity was extremely weak), Caroline and at least one of the doctors said that I had a bloated stomach and that it was very hard. I was not aware of having any pain but when the doctor performed the typical thumping test, it did hurt in one area of my stomach (but this could have been because I was not expecting it). However, within a few days, my stomach returned to normal, and there was never any additional pain from the thumping tests.

I was bedridden partly because I was connected to an IV bag (although I saw other patients walking around with the IV bags in their hands or in the hands of their caretakers) and partly because I still had some pain or discomfort in my legs. Regardless, I soon developed bedsores. The doctor prescribed a topical medicine which was often applied. It may not have been applied on a regular basis as, about four weeks later, I experienced some discomfort there. Caroline still had the medicine and put it on me but was horrified. Apparently the medicines and/or IV solutions that I had taken at SSKM Hospital caused very deep holes or pits where my skin used to be. However, after Caroline did apply the topical medicine, I soon returned to 100% normalcy.

Again, I was bedridden partly because of the weakness of my legs (especially in my upper legs, where the yellow was especially strong and brightest), and Caroline was getting frustrated at this because she wanted me to heal quickly and to take some load off of her as she had to do everything, including cleaning my bed pan (not a very desirable thing for anyone to do). One evening while she was gone (I wanted to surprise her), I carefully took my IV bag, got out of bed, and started walking. I found, however, that I had to walk very gingerly and only by using the bed rails as assistance; the spaces between the beds were an ordeal. I had gotten about halfway to my destination of the bathroom when I suddenly collapsed (but not passed out). Two nearby youths helped me to my feet and to a nearby chair. I rested on the chair for a short while before returning to my bed.

News apparently travels quickly in a hospital, or especially so when you are an obvious foreigner there. At the entrance to the hospital ward, she was told told of my collapse, and came to me, greatly concerned. I told her what specifically had happened and why I walked, and this seemed to alleviate her concerns.

The doctors continued to take blood tests, test my blood pressure and to do other required things, but they seemed to pull back on seeing me on a regular or detailed basis. They indicated that I was ready to be discharged. We tried to postpone this as much as possible because I was still fearful of my inability to walk properly. Nevertheless, on the appointed day, I was discharged and a wheelchair was used to transport me to the hospital grounds.

The Hospital Grounds

Because of my condition, I decided to stay on the hospital grounds (until I became better or until a better solution came along) while Caroline would do her errands and to bring me late breakfast / early lunch, as well as dinner. I especially liked the mixed fruit salad that she found in the neighbourhood as I felt that it was very salubrious and very tasty.) All this occurred in late August-early September; the monsoon had abated somewhat, but not the summer heat. I usually laid down on a bench and it is courteous and expected to take off one's shoes when doing so, so my feet were always exposed. Instead of becoming sun-burnt (as my fair skin often and quickly does) however, they became dark brown or black, much like the appearance of many Indians.

As I attempted to do once in the hospital ward, I attempted to walk on the grounds. However, it was not a noticeable success. I do remember being proud of walking to the hospital's gate and back, but it was such a distance that even a toddler could have traversed it. I also walked four times around a perimeter of a sitting area which I estimate was about twenty meters around, for a total of eighty meters. It was so arduous that I never attempted it again.

During the time that I had been in the hospital ward, Caroline often stayed on the hospital grounds waiting for visiting hours or to get medicines from the Medicine Shop (a chemist shop / pharmacy on hospital grounds that gave a 67% discount from the MRP--maximum retail price). During her stays, she struck up conversations with a man named Manoj who, we much later learnt, seemed to be a doctor-in-training or, at least, had a great deal of medical knowledge.

Unbeknownst to us, Manoj contacted a journalist who came to us shortly after I was discharged. He came and took our story. I felt that I had been discharged too early; Caroline was upset about how she was treated by the security personnel, doctors and others; and we both had complaints and concerns about other things that were somewhat interrelated to the hospital. The article came out the next morning in a popular Bengali newspaper and, we believe, in the English-language Telegraph.

This article (or perhaps it was from the efforts of Manoj) came to the attention of a major television news channel. That same morning, someone from X News, Times Now or another channel (I was able to only glance at the microphone from which I saw those two labels affixed) interviewed us and we basically repeated what we had told the print journalist. He then delivered a monologue to the camera which was in part or all in English. I did hear him saying that it was the shame of West Bengal that we were mistreated whenever and wherever we turned for help.

This unwanted attention (to the hospital) soon came to the attention of the police who are stationed at the hospital. There was some commotion, and a great many passers-by who were intrigued by the appearance of the television news network, a few feet from where I was laying down. At about the same time, there was some commotion toward Caroline and me. Apparently, the TV journalist was able to get me re-admitted to the hospital. Especially in my weakened physical and mental states, I was not sure how to react to it. I seemed to be there merely for the ride, although I was more accepting of everything when the journalist stated that he would speak to someone high up in the hospital's command structure to admit me free of cost to us which, unfortunately--but not surprisingly--never came to fruition.

The links to the newspaper article, and perhaps to a video of the television interview, were widely disseminated on Facebook. Later on, a few people approached us saying that they read about us. A few days ago, a young man whom I had befriended at Gopal's Planet and whom I had not seen in many months, saw us as we were having breakfast (not very far from the Cyber Cafe) and said that he, too, had read about us at Facebook.

SSKM Hospital (Part 2)

Regardless, I was back inside the hospital and in the same ward although at the other end of the room. Everything else seemed to be the same, although I felt more healthy and strong than I had felt. They seemed to agree and did not place me on the IV solution. I continued my walking exercises and was far more successful than I had been, although Caroline sometimes asked others to help guide me to my destination (usually the toilet or shower).

All of the previous attention and publicity led people to call the print journalist or Caroline, or to arrive at the hospital offering to help. Some of them were pleasantly large amounts of money. The first such contribution was on the day of the appearance of the print article and from a man who said that he was a government worker and who wanted to help. He then handed me INR200. This was amongst the lowest of the contributions but I was still taken aback by his generosity, especially as I had expected that the article would have little or no effect. I told him that Caroline would want to thank him personally and would return between 12-1pm. For better or for worse, by 1pm, I had been readmitted to the hospital, never saw him again nor even learnt his name.

Another memorable contribution was from a man who gave us INR1,000 which included INR100 from his son. I am not good at inferring things. Caroline sometimes tells a joke, but I take it in a serious manner. However, this man's face read as if it were of poverty and hardship, and Caroline inferred basically the same thing. Thus, the contribution from this man deeply moved both of us.

Dr. Hippo

All of this attention and publicity brought Dr. Hippo to us. No, that is not his real name; that is the name that Caroline referred to him as having (due to his corpulent figure). His real name was Dr.(?) Naushkar. Although he did seem to possess some medical knowledge and ability, we were never able to confirm that he was a medical doctor.

He came one afternoon unannounced so Caroline was not at the hospital. Moreover, he came when I was seeing others who had come previously. Finally, I never felt comfortable describing my condition and situation; I always left it to Caroline to speak to others. She was more or less my media spokesperson. I did apologize to Dr. Hippo that Caroline was not there (and that she would be the better person to speak to) and told him that she is usually with me after 7pm. He then gave me his phone number and asked me to have her call him, and he did indicate that he could help me greatly.

I cannot recall whether or not Caroline did call him, or whether he did come back at a better time--or perhaps both things occurred. I do know that he told us that he would be able to take us out of the hospital and take us to another place (seemingly a rest home or place where I could recuperate, under medical observation),for as long as I wanted and at no financial cost to us.

This was certainly extremely attractive but Caroline--and I, to a limited extent--had some misgivings about taking this opportunity. Caroline did not know anything about him--he could have been an axe-murderer, for all she knew. My assumption was that he was affiliated with an NGO but upon further reflection, I wondered how they would get their funding. This arrangement was certainly attractive to patients such as I. This arrangement would also benefit the rest home provided that they were paid by the NGO or other source. However, it held no discernible benefit to anyone or anything else so it would be unlikely that people or an organization would fund the NGO.

However, Caroline was becoming increasingly frustrated with SSKM and, despite her misgivings, stated that we should go there. I agreed. She called Dr. Hippo and requested that the arrangements be made to have me go there. On the appointed day, he arrived early while Caroline arrived late. We were not able to leave until about 5:30pm. This turned out to be a mistake or, at least, something undesirable.

Arrival at the Village Rest Home

We had been told that it was a seventy-kilometers journey; I estimated that it should take us one hour to complete that. It turned out to be nothing like that; it turned out to be not at all auspicious. Relatively early in our travel, we stopped and Dr. Hippo (and perhaps one other person) exited. As I was laying down on the gurney, I could see virtually nothing regarding our location but Caroline was horrified to see that it was the hospital where her mother had her horrific operation to "fix" her leg which had suffered a compound fracture when she fell down the steps to her home in 1995. The operation seemed to have made her worse and perhaps contributed to her death in 2011 as the continued pain and unaligned bones caused enormous stress on her spine. I was trying to think of my options and how I would respond if this were the destination; I concluded that I would stay there only if there were guarantees that nobody associated with the hospital would do anything remotely invasive on me (such as having blood tests taken or having an IV solution, although the taking of my blood pressure would be acceptable). When Dr. Hippo returned (much later, he always seemed to talk for hours with others) with others from the hospital, Caroline asked whether or not her mother's doctor still worked there. There was no certainty in the reply although the assumption was that the doctor was no longer there. As it turned out though, we stopped because Dr. Hippo (seemingly) got them to make a contribution of food and snacks, as well as a small monetary donation.

We were soon on our way again. "We" were the driver, Dr. Hippo, two attendants, and Caroline and myself. It was getting increasingly late, and Caroline was getting increasingly uncomfortable and tired in the cramped, small ambulance. She decided to rest virtually on top of me on the gurney. I did not object to this position but the lack of movement caused my body to go numb.

We seemed to continue driving until 12 December 2018; in other words, it was endless. At one point, we stopped seemingly to let everyone (except Caroline, the lone female) urinate by the side of the (desolate) road and to rest for awhile. Caroline and I were told that we had travelled eighty kilometres so far and we eventually realized that we were only halfway there! This was a complete disappointment to the promised seventy kilometres. The journey was closer to 200 km than it was to 70 km.

As we were nearing our destination (we hoped), Caroline and I developed the same thoughts although this was unbeknownst to us at that time. It seems that we had watched too much of Savdhaan India and Crime Patrol which are Indian television shows (shown on the channel Life OK) whose stories are based on real-life events, such as a person being driven to a far-off destination where s/he would be hacked to death. We realized that our situation was frighteningly similar to that.

The Village Rest Home

After an aeon had passed, we arrived at our destination. I tersely asked Dr. Hippo whether or not we were still in India. I was able to get out of the ambulance more or less on my own but I needed some assistance in walking. I have concluded that the quality of my walking ability was dependent upon the location. I walked poorly on the hospital grounds; walked better in the hospital ward (for my second admission there); walked poorly at this new place; and walked extremely well in yet another hospital (see below).

We walked up to what was to become our room on the second floor. It was "our" room because, unlike at SSKM, Caroline was able to stay (and leave) as she saw fit, with no worries about visiting hours or encountering security personnel. Dr. Hippo and the staff there congregated there and the doctor seemed eager to introduce everybody and to explain the place and the program. However, it was quite late and both Caroline and I were extremely tired (especially after we had travelled for about three hours after being led to believe that it would be one hour) so I think that this was kept mercifully short. We did find out that there was no attached bath but that the bathroom was next door.

We went to sleep and I was the first one to wake up. I looked out the window and saw nothing!

Well, not nothing but it sure seemed like that. After being in densely-populated Kolkata, we saw very few people and buildings; we were obviously in a village. The rest home (the name of which--as well as the name of the district--we never learnt) provided three meals a day to both Caroline and myself. However, Dr. Hippo assured us that we could stay there (free of cost to us) for as long as I wanted. I envisioned that I would stay there for two months, which is the time that I thought would be required for me to fully recuperate. (As it turned out, I did need two full months after arriving at that rest home before I became fully healthy--although I am still slightly apprehensive of having diarrhoea again). Thus, Caroline was desirous of finding eating places in the area, and we were both desirous of finding a residence in the neighbourhood / village. In short, we were quite pleased with our situation and, as I told others several times, I truly felt that I could get the recuperation that I needed there.

Everything went well for us there. The beds were comfortable (certainly more comfortable than those at SSKM), the staff were pleasant, the food was good, and I was attended to medically. I do not believe that they took any blood tests, but someone did take my blood pressure.

On the third day, however, we were introduced to the manager--and this was not good. The very first thing out of his mouth was his yelling at Caroline. Caroline and I had surmised that we were virtually the only patients in the complex. We felt that he ought to have treated us very kindly and appreciatively for staying there. Instead, the yelling escalated although it eventually decreased, and the manager left our room. Other staff members tried to find a resolution to the crisis that the manager created, and Caroline also called and spoke to Dr. Hippo to voice her concerns. Eventually, a resolution was found and everything seemed to return to normal and I was once again happy with my situation.

A little while later, however, Dr. Hippo came to see us at the rest home. Apparently, the manager had gone to the local police and reported something about us. This news somehow got to Dr. Hippo and he had the very real fear that the police would arrive at the rest home and arrest Caroline and/or myself. In other words, Dr. Hippo came to save us and to take us away. I was quite sad because Caroline and I both thought that this was the ideal place for everything but, of course, we did not want to get arrested on false charges.

Please continue reading at Volume 3