Hospital

Last night we were on our way to a friend’s house for a birthday celebration. On my way I started to get a tummy ache.

The pains in my abdomen became increasingly sharper until it was clear that we would not be going to the party.

I went home and lay in my bed only to find I couldn’t stretch out. The pain was horrible coupled with the fear of the many parasites and food issues here in India. I couldn’t think straight… Scott was worried and John was scared.

Scott called our maid Vijaya to come to our house to watch John (and the dog) while he took me to the hospital in a cab as our driver was out of town at a wedding.

Vijaya showed up and we continued to wait for the cab… and wait.

After a 40 minute wait, we called the cab company to see where our cab was and they said the cabbie was near our house but couldn’t find it.

Vijaya gave them instructions (after yelling at him for not calling us to ask for directions) and he was there in a few minutes.

We got into the smelly car with lots of signs instructing us to buckle up...but no seat belts, and asked the extremely smelly cab driver if he knew where we were going. Apollo Hospital? No answer… this meant that the extremely smelly driver was either deaf, rude or didn’t speak English.

Half way to the hospital we realized the cab driver was taking us to the airport. Airport/Apollo… I can see it. We told him that we were going to the hospital… hospital… Apollo Hospital. He said, “Oh, yes… Care Hospital”. Care/Apollo…I’m not buying it. We called Vijaya and asked her to tell the driver where we were going over the phone. (People sometimes wonder why we pay Vijaya so much.)

The driver finally took us to the hospital… slowly. We were actually passed by people on bicycles… this is not an exaggeration.

At the hospital there were bodies everywhere. I don’t think they were sick people they were just the many family members waiting for their loved ones in the emergency room.

The emergency room was a large open room. No curtains for privacy. I think there was a heart patient and a burn patient all displayed on beds for our viewing pleasure. I was directed by a man (who later turned out to be the doctor) in jeans and a plaid shirt and no I.D. to go into a room off to the side… I’m thinking because I am a woman I was given special treatment… and allowed a small amount of modesty.

Out in the main room an orderly knocked over one of those electric monitors that show you the pulse/heart beat and other statistics on who ever it’s hooked up to. He was promptly slapped by several nurses.

In the “private” room there was a bed with a pillow. The bed was covered with a cloth sheet and the pillow had a cloth pillow case. Both were stained and dirty.

I know I was in a lot of pain because in laid down on the gurney without a second thought about the oily head print on the pillow… until Scott told me that I would be exiled to the futon tonight if I didn’t shower before going to bed.

The doctor was nice and seemed knowledgeable… He poked my stomach and ruled out appendix, gal bladder, miscarriage… because I was not vomiting or didn’t have ‘loose movements’ he was out of guesses. He gave me a prescription for pain killers and an anti-spasmodic. We joked about the anti-spasmodic and how I would start to disappear if I took them as I am such a spaz.

(We also joked about the sign on the wall that said emergency plastic surgeon on call… “Doctor my wife needs D-cups stat!)… Thank you Scott for keeping my mind off the pain. Laughter is the best medicine after all.

The doctor told me to come back tomorrow for a scan (ultrasound), and sent Scott to get the prescriptions.

I realized where and what I was lying on and opted to move to a chair, while I waited for Scott’s return. While I sat there bent over looking at my toes… a mouse ran over my foot. No I wasn’t hallucinating.

Scott came back and I told him about the mouse… he told me he paid the hospital bill (300 rupees… about $6.12) and picked up the medicine at the pharmacy (another 54 rupees…$1.10). For the record this was not co-pay… this was the total bill. I think the postage would cost more to send the claim to our insurance company.

For how laughably unsanitary the hospital was… the medicine the doctor gave me helped and I’m feeling much better today.

My adventure has left me with a lot of unanswered questions:
1. What was wrong with me?
2. What happened to the orderly who dropped the expensive machine?
3. Where exactly are our healthcare funds going?

Hyderabad Hash House Harriers

On Sunday afternoons we like to go on the Hash House Harrier Runs (also known as H4). This is a group of people (mainly expats) that get together and run or walk a different pre-marked trail every week. There are Hash clubs all over the world, but each one is unique.

Each week a different person (or persons) marks the trail early Sunday morning...to be followed by the runners later that evening. These people are known as the Hash Hares.

This week was a special run marked by the Hyderabad Hash House Harrier Horrors (the kids).

The trail is marked with lyme...I think it's more like chalk. As they set the trail the kids throw the powder on the ground to show the runners which way they should go when they run the trail later that day. The powder lasts the whole day but washes away easily with water.

Some of the kids got a little creative with the powder...

And some of the kids just went a little overboard.

After they set the trail the Horrors hitched a ride with one of the parents back to the house we started at.

Later that evening the Hashers meet at the start of the run (a different place every week). We register and sometimes get free t-shirts. Here are Scott and I in our matching Kingfisher shirts.

This Sunday the kids got theses stylish yellow shirts with their hash names written on the back... I think I failed to mention the name... After you mark the trail for the first time or be the Hash Hare you are given a Hash name. My name is "Both Sides" (because I drive on both sides of the road)...(India and America), John is known as Dr. Bear Foot (because he refuses to wear shoes...only sandals for him), and Scott has not yet been a Hare so he doesn't have a Hash name.

When the kids marked the trail there are certain codes marked by the Hash Hares... when you come to a place where you can go more than one way you put a circle with a dot in it, this is called a check point... then you must go a little way down each path to see either an X telling the runner they are on the wrong path or a mark telling the runners they are on the correct path. The kids tried to trick the adults into exploring lots of different paths, but one of the bags of powder broke and gave up the secret to the correct path.

After the run we all met at Isabelle and Venkats house for a 'circle'. This is a fraternity like circle where certain silly songs are sung and silly rituals take place.

The kids, having run the Hash twice that day opted to go swimming...

Picnic

This years Valentines Day was spent attending a picnic at ICRISAT thrown by the expat association.The picnic had a variety of people...
Couples...Friends... Families...

People of all ages...

From many different countries.

There was a festive feeling in the air...As we played games...

Relaxed...

Got creative...

Ate yummy food...

And hung out...With good company.

Some of the highlights of the day included:
A 'treasure' dig in a big bucket of rice. (The kids all left with their pockets full of candy)

Our famous sari relay...

The men are wrapped in a sari and have to carry a bucket on their heads down the field and back without losing the sari.

Some of the men had their saris wrapped so tight they had to hop down the field like a mummy.
We had a refreshing ice cream bar with fruit, syrups and (of course) ice cream.

The ICRISAT campus is such a peaceful place. We really enjoyed listening to the birds and forgetting how hectic Hyderabad can get.

Here is Aiden asking when the food will be here?

Here are some of the kid playing tug of war.

Against some of the adults.

Here are some friends enjoying some good conversation...
While the kids had a water fight.

Here is a family enjoying the green grass, and the warm February weather.

The men were challenged to play a game we call, "The Coconut Bonk".

A coconut is tied to their waist and they are to swing it without using their hands... they are supposed to hit a loose coconut on the ground rolling it closer to a finish line. The first one with their coconut over the line wins.

The men wanting to share the humiliation decided it was only fair to have to women compete also.

I hope everyone had as much fun as I had.

Lorraines Visit to Hyderabad

My Mother-in-law came to visit us here in Hyderabad from Canada...her visit was directly on the heels of my parents visit from America. We wanted them to come this time of the year because of the weather. The Indian summer is starting up and we thought it would be better for them to miss as much of the heat as possible.
Scott was in his usual work-aholic mode so Lorraine and I had a great time seeing the sights of the city without him and some of the other 'work widows' that live here.

No visit to Hyderabad would be complete without a trip to Charminar and the row after row of bangle stores that could be found there. (Lorraine wanted to know exactly how many bangles can one person use in a lifetime?)

I was really pleased with how quickly Lorraine fit in with the locals... she even took a scooter for a spin around the neighborhood. (Kidding...this as close as she got.)

Here is a picture of Lorraine and our dog Scruff... Lorraine is prepared for the outdoor market with her water, hat, comfortable shoes, light cool clothes, sunscreen lotion, mosquito repellent, sun glasses, and I suspect tissues in her purse... Scruff said, "forget it...I'll just stay home".

Lorraine was hounded by the paparazzi everywhere we went...We took her to the F-cafe incognito. F-cafe stands for Fashion cafe... It's really nice, professional decorated... gourmet western food.

I also took her to McDonald's after a day of clothes shopping. McDonald's doesn't really need an explanation...except the only things the same in an Indian McDonald's that are at an American/Canadian McDonald's is the fillet of fish and ice cream... they claim the fries are the same, but I don't believe them.

Don't tell Scott but Lorraine and I caught an Auto Rickshaw home one day after seeing some sights. This is a ride I think Universal Studios should put in their theme parks.

Lorraine made many new friends at the cooking classes we attended at the Novotel. Here is a picture of some of us with the chef.

I think one of the highlights of her visit was sari shopping. This is one of the best experiences you can have (for women) in India. You sit on a chair with a big long table in front of you. The shop keepers bring sari after sari and spread them out on the table for you to view. The table gets higher and higher as the saris pile up.

When you find one you like they will wrap you in the sari and show you what it will look like in a full length mirror... (Orest better watch out... this guy behind Lorraine seemed really interested in her).

Here is Trina Joi, Me, Lorraine, Meera, Vijaya and Rathnamma at the sari shop...It was a really fun day that ended with us going to Chutney's restaurant for a vegetarian Indian lunch.

We took the sari that Lorraine picked out to a tailor, where they measured her and stitched her blouse and sari overnight. There was a little resistance when we told them we wanted the blouse to come all the way to her waist (most sari blouses are short and show the midriff... no matter age or physical attributes).

We went to dinner at the Golden Dragon Restaurant at the Taj Krishna Hotel. Here is a picture of John and Lorraine.

Here is a picture of Lorraine and Scott looking rather smart.

The whole family.... Viajya took the picture, below is a picture of Vijaya and Lorraine in John's room.

Lorraine is one of the best writers I know... she wrote down some of her thoughts for me to use in the blog. Her words were so well expressed that I thought it best to just put them down below as she wrote them:
Lorraine's thoughts on Hyderabad

People here always want to know what visitors think about Hyderabad.

When I first began riding around the city, all I could see on the streets was construction. Scaffolding everywhere, with huge blue plastic sheets covering the skeletons of buildings, and rubble on every corner. After being here a few days, I began to look past the debris to the houses behind the walls that separate them from the streets. Beautiful wrought-iron gates guard the entrance to tree-lined courtyards behind high walls. Huge stucco houses, mainly white, with tiled roofs – to me, very Mediterranean. Rooms are large and spacious with beautiful marble floors and high ceilings featuring a variety of designs and decorations. Hyderabad is a great city growing a little too fast for comfort. As long as everyone goes in the same general direction on their side of the street, traffic is a no-holds-barred affair not advisable for the faint of heart. Picture a divided racetrack, with at least four lanes on each side of the median. Now put hundreds of bumper cars, bicycles, motorcycles, pedestrians and the odd water buffalo into the mix, and a 10-year old boy on each vehicle. Shout, “Have fun!” and get the hell out of the way. Signs urge drivers to obey traffic rules, but I could see no signs that spelled out the actual rules, although I’m sure there are some. In North America, cutting in front of other drivers is considered not only rude but dangerous, but here it seems to be the norm, as long as everyone continually honks their horns. I felt safer in the back seat, to tell the truth! Even though the family has a driver, Robyn managed to acquire her driver’s license here and drives the family’s second car on a daily basis. An independent woman who comes and goes as she pleases, she has since motivated other western women to give it a try. Even most western men don’t venture forth in this traffic, let alone their wives, and everyone uses the services of a male driver.

Beggars tap on car windows whenever traffic slows down enough. If one were to act on a sympathetic impulse and contribute to their constant requests for alms, there would be an instant and demanding group of people crowding around the car. This necessitates learning to ignore these pitiful souls, which is hard to do when they start as little children, often holding their infant siblings while they mime “food in mouth” to tourists and visitors. Nearby and trying to be invisible is the “uncle” everything misbegotten goes to, like a pimp. It’s been said before, but India truly is a land of contrasts.

We had a lovely family dinner at the Golden Dragon restaurant in the Taj Krishna, a beautiful and grand old hotel in Hyderabad. Huge, elegant, old-world and traditional are descriptive words that come to mind. The family often has lunch or dinner at their favourite dining spots, such as the F Café (The F stands for Fashion), Ohri’s, and Chutney’s. We tried out a newer hillside restaurant with an outdoor bar, called Tamaara.

Weekly cooking classes sponsored by the nearby Hotel Novotel were enlightening and inspiring, and I’ve gained a new respect for the magical mystical blending of fresh spices (this blend is called a masala, a detail I’m proud to report I already knew from my Indian friend Alison, who now lives in Canada).

Shopping was terrific and varied, with everything a tourist could ask for, from large shopping malls to little shops in the middle of the city. A historic street bazaar called Charminar boasted dozens of bangle kiosks, and we also visited a handicraft village called Shilparmam, where I went a little pashmina-crazy, I’m afraid. My friends back in Canada will love them, I think.

As for the Indian food – well, I really enjoyed it, although it took my system a good ten days to catch up with my enthusiasm.

Before I came to India, I was advised to bring two different medicines to sooth an upset tummy, as well as a bottle of antibiotic pills in case the other medicines didn’t solve the problem. After getting innoculated for Hepatitis A and Typhoid, and purchasing my daily anti-Malaria pills, I was outright warned to protect myself against both the daytime, Dengue Fever-carrying mosquitos and the dusk-to-dawn Malaria-causing mosquitos. I hated to douse myself in Deet-drenched insect repellent, but I endured the stink in the name of the cause – namely, not to make a long-lastng souvenir of some exotic tropical disease.