To Be Or Not To Be

To Be Or Not To Be! That's the question. Well, that's half the question really. To be sick / ill / indisposed is the true question. 

Long long ago it wasn't uncommon to wait for your turn at a Government hospital before a disinterested ward boy would shout your name or number and you would awake from your slumber with a shudder with adrenaline rushing all the way up from groin to brain - or is it other way round? Anyway you would run towards the door behind which lay your wealth of health, all the while trying to hold on to your falling reports and prescriptions, only to be stopped by the pan chewing ward boy who would ask you to wait for the 30 people inside to thin out before you could enter the din inside and hope to see the doctor from above the shoulders of others or through the gaps in between bums (of different people). You would inwardly curse him for not letting you catch up on your two winks and letting the seat on the wooden bench go out of your control but outwardly it would be a grin and a "meherbani bhayya". The ward boy would not even acknowledge and continue to either read an old Hindi newspaper / magazine with colored pictures of half clad females or chat with a colleague in chaste native language splattered with adjectives related to anatomy of mothers and sisters.

After another eternal wait finally some one would slip out of the room and you would heave a sigh of relief on entering the chamber of doctor sahab. One battle won.. prepare for the next one. While jostling for space and trying not to curse people stepping on your already bruised toe, you would be witness to some real real-life narrations of what all can go wrong with a human body. While the old man sitting on the iron stool would give graphic details of his bloody fight with piles, the sari clad lady shoving her layers of fat on your face would be enumerating her issues with constipation and the troubled mother of a shy teenager would butt in regarding delayed periods of the child. Not to forget the coughing gentlemen who is keen to transfer all his micro-organisms on to you and the aged lady would be breathing vigorously complaining about her high BP and nausea she is feeling. Some one would improve the auditory ambiance of the room with a silent spray of some unnamed gas which surely would have been the result of indigestion due to unhygienic street food. And as you inch forward to occupy the coveted iron stool or at least come in eye contact of the doctor, there is a commotion behind and ward boy escorts some VIP patient superseding all the waiting list. You are made to get up to make space for the VIP who happens to be the brother in law of the neighbor of sister in law of the wife of dean of the hospital's driver. He has a serious and urgent problem of slight headache due to hangover of yesterday night party, you see. After all the drama ends with departure of the VIP patient, you would be able to engage in the conversation with your doctor - his only dialogue being " haan ji kya problem hai?" By the time you are talking about the lump in your neck / breast or the severe ankle twist you have, he has already written your prognosis and jotted down some paracetamol, cetrizine, vitamin C and pantrapazole. If you are insistent he would also write a couple of tests like CBC and an X-ray. Before you have gathered your wits and are trying to ask about food restrictions you would be literally thrown out of the room.

Life in cities and towns has moved at a rapid pace in the domain of patient care. Today after having been pulverized with glitzy ad campaigns and constant reminders on your mobile despite DND service one is magnetically drawn towards one of the slew of private hospitals that have mushroomed all over. In stark contrast to our previous experience of Govt hospitals one looks at a sprawling cacophony of high rises, gardens, fountains and spic and span ambiance four KMs from the main gate of the hospital manned by uniformed security guards. They will stop you with a folded hand gesture and with profound apologetic attitude and a smile request you to open your back side...err! boot of your car. The boom barrier opens magically and you enter the palace of your dreams with brick and glass facade in front of number of building blocks rising majestically towards God Almighty. Another guard proceeds to open your car door while you disembark to be greeted by another one who opens the main glass door. A strong gush of air conditioned air hits you with vengeance and you can smell the aroma of jasmine.

A bevy of beauties in a dress coded saree would welcome you with a smile and folded hands. I think the only thing left is an aarti, a tika on forehead and offering of sweets to make this welcome same as the one I got on my wedding day. One of the hospital hostess would then escort you to a set of plush sofa where you would dictate details filled up on a form by her. A welcome health drink is the only distraction brought by an uniformed steward / stewardess without you observing any one to have gestured for it. Oh, before I forget, a soothing soft music playing in the background could be missed in the awestruck state you are in - the multi level chandelier, paintings / copies of paintings of renowned  artistes on walls and branded furniture/ fitment items can have that effect on you specially when you are not expecting ambiance of a 5 star luxury hotel in a hospital. On completion of registration formalities which is accompanied by a mildly extravagant fees for which cash in your wallet is insufficient you are escorted through a maze of corridors and escalators to the floor where the doctor shall see you. You can't miss the bare essentials of a waiting room with 5-D audio-visual screen and internet facilities for visitors, a food court with multiple brands of eateries, a children play area, a smoker's lounge, an artificial green turf for putting on a balcony and of course a gym cum physiotherapy hall on your way.

Your landing on 15th floor is announced by a soft but distinct bell of state of the art escalator operated by a smart card by the lady accompanying you. There you are met by another dress coded saree clad beauty who literally takes you over from the reception area one. She not only makes you comfortable on plush seating while entering / confirming computer records created for you at the reception you are helped in going through preliminary checks which could pass for annual medical examination in army - height, weight, BP, pulse, eye sight, allergies and what not. All the while two / three uniformed nurse / attendants are giving their full attention to you and literally carry you in their arms. There is so much soft nothings, motivating words and sorrys thrown at you that you feel like throwing up.

After all the hullabaloo you are finally taken to the chamber of the doctor whose degrees outrun the name board on the door. Don't be surprised to see a youngish smart doctor in white coat (name stitched on breast pocket) and a host of electronic diagnostic machines all around the room in an organised manner. You'll be met with a smile and a warm handshake..one wonders why don't they hug you. A series of question and answer later he/she will take you through a long journey of clinical diagnostic ritual of putting to use all those costly machines installed with you as the test case. The accompanying lady helps through out and keeps checking with you if you are ok so many times that one feels nauseating once again. The hottie doctor proceeds to write long notes on the case history on media which could range from paper to a tab to a desk top. Before you can ask him/ her what is wrong either another more smiling doctor enters or you are ushered into another doctor's chamber with lengthier list of degrees. It is now you realize that the real doctor will see you now. All the steps in the process taken till now were preparatory only. The Real Doctor will take some time to explain in simple words all that is wrong with you or could go wrong which will be little short of Latin lecture for you. He'll also tell you that all the previous doctors you've consulted were a..holes and treatment taken incorrect and/or primitive. You'll be given a list of tests to be undertaken and in the meanwhile medicines to be consumed. He'll ask the accompanying lady to arrange to fix an appointment after 10 days or so and rise to shake hands with you signalling the meeting is over.

While you are still trying to understand the risks you are facing due to the medical condition unexplained to you .. you'll pay for all the tests prescribed which may exceed the credit limit of any one of your credit cards. Going through all the tests in the world class facilities of the same hospital under the guidance of smartly turned out young technicians who almost tickle you to death by constant physical support given including during getting into the hospital gown (you could mistake it for party ware) can be surreal experience. The lady on 15th floor by then has messaged your friendly escort from reception area unobtrusively and magically she appears to take you down to 10th floor which houses a retail hypermarket besides a few medical outlets. She helps you in purchasing the medicines with astronomical prices thereby forcing you to start thinking about that jumbo loan offer on the credit card. You are then very respectfully taken to the reception area again and the lady requests you to fill a feedback form with folded hands. You are obviously left with no option but to give maximum points / grades for all the service objects mentioned as also fill your social calender and e-mail id. You drive out with experience of a lifetime and a heavy credit card bill. You mobile and e-mail will be flooded with feedback questionnaire and promotional stuff besides constant reminders about your test results and next appointment from the moment you pass the pearly gates of the hospital.

To Be or Not To Be! That is the question.