The Healer of the Abyss

I am still in shock. I came out of the coma yesterday, but I haven’t yet recovered fully. Skoda is still out, with a GCS score of 4. We were the only witnesses, and I don’t think either of us could relive the experience. *shudder*

In a moment of misguided enthusiasm, we decided that we would go to the casualty after classes, on our admission day, to have a Live! experience of how patients are treated in an emergency setting. Arch and Hope, and Skoda and I trotted off to the Orthopaedics casualty. The guys in my unit are bats. Skoda and I are deer.

Our first impression on entering the Orthopaedics casualty was that we had somehow entered a men’s club by mistake. 6 of the members stared at us like we were extra terrestrials, complete with green skin, antennae, and white coats. Then they recognised us as 4^th year students, smiled and invited us in. My, what a lot of teeth you have, Grandma.

Dramatis personae
1 duty medical officer- a doctor employed by the medical college in the Department of Orthopaedics, known as Sir
4 PG students- MBBS graduates who have crossed the post graduate entrance hurdle, doing their residency in orthopaedics, known as PG Chettan
1 house surgeon- a glorified manual labourer who has passed his final year, and is allowed to be addressed as doctor to satisfy his ego, but has not yet received his MBBS degree, known as HS Chettan
2 undergraduate students- 2 sacrificial lambs who had no idea what was in store for them, known as AP and Skoda
Patients- I don’t know why they are called that, impatients would have been a better term for most of them. After a while, a few became inpatients.

Boy, was it crowded. All the old people in the area seemed to be using the bathroom only to slip and fall, while the younger ones were getting drunk and having accidents. The children, in the absence of adult supervision, climbed trees and fell from them. This is the Ortho casualty in a nutshell. Full of nuts. Not counting me, of course.

Things became really hectic, and Skoda and I got drafted. I held arms and legs while PG Chettans bandaged them. My new dress and I, both of us got covered in plaster of Paris. But we didn’t mind, because it did feel a little like we were helping, almost like we were real doctors.

It was some time before we noticed the byplays. At first we took it for some sort of tribal ritual. It then dawned on us that we were the first females to observe males in the wild, on their territory. I refuse to elaborate on the details, suffice to say that I have been scarred for life. Some might call it insights into the psychological profile of males, but it felt more like a lesson on the habits of Wild Animals, that goes by the innocuous sounding name of male bonding. Testosterone is poison.

I have informed my parents of my decision to marry a blue wildebeest called Ramu. He is an absolute darling, who occasionally has trouble controlling his temper. Nothing I can’t handle with some alfalfa and TLC.

I can say that my already considerable respect for Orthopaedics has gone up several notches. You can’t help but admire their sturdiness and perseverance. Who would have guessed that all those apparently bird boned PG Chettans had so much strength? Why is it so hot around here all of a sudden? And who on earth is Ramu?

One of the patients was a very old man; he reminded me very strongly of my grandfather. He was disoriented (Alzheimer's?) and had a fractured hip. I had to hold his legs while they drilled his bone to insert a pin for the skeletal traction. He kept calling his son, whose name just happened to be the same as my uncle’s. I rarely have trouble keeping myself detached, but he got to me. Dammit, he looked Achachan. Why can’t my heart just pump blood when I’m in the hospital?

Objectivity is an invaluable asset. How else can a neonatologist not resuscitate a child born with anencephaly (clicking on the link is strongly discouraged if your last meal was less than 6 hours ago) struggling to breathe? The parents could not afford a scan, and the developmental anomaly was detected only at birth. You can’t take pity on the mother and help her child live a little longer, the child will not survive, and you’ll only be prolonging its miserable existence. Maybe euthanasia should be legalised.

I heart the casualty, at any rate. I'm definitely going back next week, but this time they are in for a surprise. Oestrogen pills cunningly dissolved in coffee. I'm going to have a great time.