Last couple of weeks I've had very little internet, so have basically given up posting photos for now. Hopefully it will get better, because I have lots of nice photos! I ended up in hospital with gastritis last week, and as a student of anthropology and Hindi I found the whole experience fascinating. Awful, but fascinating.
Being sick, properly sick, in India, is something I wouldn’t really recommend. The last two weeks or so I’ve been to three different doctors and each time come home with a small mountain of pills (some from a drawer in the doctor’s office), each time totally different medicines, none of which seem to work. I got two or three different kinds of antibiotics - they don’t tell you what pills the give you, as you don’t get the whole box, just trays with specific amount of pills - and no one thought that was important to tell me, or check if I had problems with that. In Norway doctors don’t give out antibiotics unless you’re basically on your deathbed, here they give them out willy nilly. And the pasient examination is a chapter in itself, although a very short one, as there basically isn’t an examination. They ask about some symptoms (one or two is plenty), and for how long you’ve had them - period. Then proceed to writing a long prescription list just like that. And obviously paid in cash. Another thing is privacy, like everywhere else in India, it is completely non-existing. The first doc just had his door open and an assistant going in and out; the second had paper thin, slightly matte glass walls, so the whole waiting room when I came out knew everything about me; and the third had two other doctors or assistants staying in the room, and two other doctors coming in and out to ask about medical matters, each time opening the door to the hall where a group of people stood impatiently staring in. Not to speak of the blood test! I had heard about the «safety» of needles in India, and was a little bit concerned. I guess with good reason. The nurse came in seemingly directly from the street outside (ok that’s a little bit harsh but that was honestly my first thought), reeking of aftershave, spent ages putting on rubber gloves, then proceeded to fill out a form, which he dropped and picked up from the dirty floor (with the same gloves remaining), got some antiseptic out from an old can (the cleanest thing I have ever seen. Ha!) and swept across my arm before finding a random needle in a messy drawer and drawing blood.
Hospital stays on the other hand, is something completely different. Or maybe it was just me who was lucky. I was admitted in the morning and was seen immediately, although there were several people in line and although I was near fainting at least I wasn’t dying or having a broken bone hanging out somewhere, but having health insurance got me in quick as anything. I even had a «Deluxe room», presumably because it had a separate bathroom and only one bed, otherwise I think «Deluxe» was maybe taking it a little far, with a broken window that didn’t shut properly (yes it’s India, but it’s winter and at night it gets cold) (not to mention the mosquitos); no soap by the sink and pretty recent blood and other stains in the bathroom. But I am not complaining: I had two woolen blankets, wifi, wonderful care by the nurses and last but not least a never ending flow of visitors, as apparently when one is alone in hospital (in India) you should never be alone. I was in the hospital for two full days and I was literally not alone for more than approximately one hour in total during my stay. Friends, school staff, my host family and hospital staff were there constantly, ultimately to my pleasure as hours can pass extremely slowly once one starts feeling better. There was no end to the housekeeping that had to be done in my room, sweeping and washing the floor twice a day, changing bed sheets (or rather sheet, the woolen blanket and pillow stayed the same, as it probably had done for the last few patients in the room!) and some half-hearted attempt to wash the bathroom (blood stains remained and soap was obviously not a priority), also nurses came to check about every half hour. Never had so much company in my own house in my whole life, it was surprisingly nice! After the doctor and nurses realized I spoke a little bit Hindi they were thrilled, and despite all my mistakes in speaking they understood most of it and at any rate appreciated the effort. When they spoke too fast for me, they immediately slowed down to toddler-level at my request («dheere boliye, ji»). As I have never been admitted to hospital in Norway more than a few hours as a child (at least not as far as I can remember), I don’t know what conditions really are like there, but I have never experienced such nice people anywhere as the nurses at the Apollo clinic here in Varanasi. In the short time when I was alone there, they went out and got me juice, biscuits and water (have to buy bottled water of course), as there is no cafeteria or such in the hospital. I somehow can’t imagine any staff at a Norwegian hospital doing that (not necessarily because they don’t want to, but probably heavy regulations), although of course I might be wrong, I hope I am! In the morning before I was going home I complained to the doctor that I was fine, but feeling dizzy (a word I don’t know in hindi so even tried pointing to the fan and miming how it spins), which he totally did not understand, and simply smiled and patted me on the shoulder and said: «sab theek ho jaega» - everything will be fine. After four weeks here in Varanasi this was the first time I really got a chance to have conversations in Hindi with real people (ie not teachers or fellow students), despite being extremely fatigued after four days of no food, it felt intensely motivating to be able, and even be forced, to use the language I’ve been studying for over a year. So at the end of the day: try avoid getting sick in India, but if you do, don’t hesitate before going to a good hospital, you will be fine - sab theek ho jaega.
