At Least It Only Cost Me $2
Hannah and I returned from a two-week trip in the north of India about a week ago. Since we've been back, I've been sick and completely out of commission. At first I thought that it was minor fatigue given our many sleepless nights on trains and buses on our travels. It didn't seem to improve and our downstairs neighbor volunteered to take me to see a doctor. I was horrified. Not only am I absolutely afraid of going to doctors in the States, I couldn't imagine how the experience could unfold in India.
Suhas, our neighbor, phoned ahead and made sure that we would be seen right away. We shared a rickshaw and arrived to the doctor's office to find a full waiting room. Actually, the waiting room was more like a covered entrance to the building, with benches against the two walls. To pass the time, Suhas and I chatted about our trip up north (we'll save that for another entry). After about eight patients, I was allowed inside.
The doctor's office was no larger than my bedroom and I had never seen so many stacked papers in all my life. The decor was simple: dark woods, a desk here, a stool there, an examination table, and a haphazardly hung curtain. I sat on the stool and shared with the kind doctor my symptoms. After spelling out some ailments I'm sure he's heard a few times before, he asked me to go to the back of the room and lay on the examination table. I couldn't help but notice that as soon as I laid down, the doctor leaned his chair back, put his hands behind his head and started a conversation with my accompaniment, Suhas. Albeit, he is Suhas' family physician, but cut the chit chat man, let us not forget the task at hand. "How's life," the doctor questions Suhas.
After a few minutes of discussing things, the doctor decided it was time to regain his duties and slowly scuffled over to me. He lifted my shirt, pressed a few places on my belly, slapped his stethoscope around, and looked at my tongue. "You're dehydrated," he said. "That's it?" I thought, I've only been in here 30 seconds. I sat up, slipped my shoes back on and sat back on the stool at his desk. He told me I had an intestinal infection and scribbled some notes on a piece of paper. Sometimes his pen didn't even make it to the note pad, but he kept it writing. Before leaving, I paid the doctor 100 Rupees for the consultation. At least my visit only cost me a little over $2.
Later in the rickshaw back home, Suhas told me about a time when a doctor prescribed two pills for him to take for an ear infection. He was told to take one pill in the morning and the other in the evening. Suhas went to the Chemist (the Pharmacists in India are called Chemists) to pick up the prescription. He curiously read the ingredients of each medicine and it turned out they were the same exact pill, just two different brands! Its good to know even the locals get half-assed diagnoses.
Suhas, our neighbor, phoned ahead and made sure that we would be seen right away. We shared a rickshaw and arrived to the doctor's office to find a full waiting room. Actually, the waiting room was more like a covered entrance to the building, with benches against the two walls. To pass the time, Suhas and I chatted about our trip up north (we'll save that for another entry). After about eight patients, I was allowed inside.
The doctor's office was no larger than my bedroom and I had never seen so many stacked papers in all my life. The decor was simple: dark woods, a desk here, a stool there, an examination table, and a haphazardly hung curtain. I sat on the stool and shared with the kind doctor my symptoms. After spelling out some ailments I'm sure he's heard a few times before, he asked me to go to the back of the room and lay on the examination table. I couldn't help but notice that as soon as I laid down, the doctor leaned his chair back, put his hands behind his head and started a conversation with my accompaniment, Suhas. Albeit, he is Suhas' family physician, but cut the chit chat man, let us not forget the task at hand. "How's life," the doctor questions Suhas.
After a few minutes of discussing things, the doctor decided it was time to regain his duties and slowly scuffled over to me. He lifted my shirt, pressed a few places on my belly, slapped his stethoscope around, and looked at my tongue. "You're dehydrated," he said. "That's it?" I thought, I've only been in here 30 seconds. I sat up, slipped my shoes back on and sat back on the stool at his desk. He told me I had an intestinal infection and scribbled some notes on a piece of paper. Sometimes his pen didn't even make it to the note pad, but he kept it writing. Before leaving, I paid the doctor 100 Rupees for the consultation. At least my visit only cost me a little over $2.
Later in the rickshaw back home, Suhas told me about a time when a doctor prescribed two pills for him to take for an ear infection. He was told to take one pill in the morning and the other in the evening. Suhas went to the Chemist (the Pharmacists in India are called Chemists) to pick up the prescription. He curiously read the ingredients of each medicine and it turned out they were the same exact pill, just two different brands! Its good to know even the locals get half-assed diagnoses.
posted by Seth & Hannah at 11:05 AM
2 Comments:
In case you missed it, this anonymous guy found out where he could make some nice extra cash.
...Seth and Hannah, the trip and the images look fantastic. Thanks for all your generosity in posting these things.
...and, of course, hope you feel better soon!
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