No, nothing serious, just a checkup so that they can issue me some medical insurance. Nonetheless, I was a little nervous about this as I had no idea how the facilities would be and how well I could communicate. It seems to me that the more critical situations become the less English seems to be the language of choice, but it is always there somewhere as a safety net. It's always possible to find someone who speaks both English and Hindi.
This trip happened a few weeks ago, so I was still pretty unsettled in India. My regular driver was out on vacation so it was the first day with the new driver, who of course, spoke no English but had directions of where we were going. I was told I would need a blood test, so I was starving and stressed out as we wandered around a part of Mumbai that was new to me, asking directions and turning around every two or three minutes. We'd pull into a nice building and I'd relax, then we would turn around and pull into a dilapidated building and I'd get nervous. In the end, when we did find the place, I was more nervous than relaxed. My handler was supposed to meet us but he didn't show until later, so I began filling out the obligatory paperwork with all the same information I had put down on every other form I have seen in India. Then they told me I had to go into this open door and get the blood test. I headed that way and was told not very kindly by a different person that I needed to sit down and wait for the room to clear. OK, OK, I'm new here.
The doctor's office/medical clinic was not very comforting. It was kind of the same as every other semi-clean office, which isn't saying much. By our standards it was closer to the waiting room of a car mechanic than it was to a hospital. Everything that needed to be sterile was sterile, but the rest of the office… well it was clean but not shiny. I had a hard time with the first nurses. I tried to tell them that I needed to lie down for the blood test and they kept saying, "OK, now stick out your arm." and I'd say, "No you don't understand. I need to lie down." and they'd say, "Yes, we understand, now stick out your arm." Ugh. Call in the English Speaker. Terrific, it's the woman who was ordering me around earlier. She somewhat huffily agreed to take me to a room where I could lie down. They tried a novel and effective approach to keeping me from fainting, which was that some guy came in and held my legs in the air while they took the blood. Classical Indian solution: manpower. It's the least expensive and most effective way to solve most problems. So I made it through that, and I knew enough to use the sandals outside the washroom so my socks didn't get wet. (Shoes were left at the door as is Indian custom.) The lab technique is pure 1950s. Everything is tracked (you hope) by competent people who read and write labels accurately. It's all done by hand. I suspect that in the finer hospitals you get more modern treatment, but here, more than in the USA, that costs a lot extra, so people pay for the medical care they can afford by shopping price, which although now coming into vogue, used to be impossible in the US. The idea that you will pay anything to get the best care is not the way people think here.
They then took me into another room crowded with a treadmill from a 1970s gym and an old computer and a bunch of wires hanging everywhere. ECG. They wired me up and did a long ECG monitor. Then I got up, they unwired me, wired me up to a different set of wires and I was asked to, yes, wait some time. While I waited the nurse looked over my records and commented on how young I looked. Aw shucks, I bet she says that to all the long-haired Euros that come through here. Then she asked me if I was Catholic. What? "You have a Catholic name, yes?" Uh… yeah, I guess I do. "Anglican." I told her. Then I got to sit and wait some time for "The Doctor" to come and run the computer. Looked like the nurse was capable though. She booted it up, checked the system, ran a test and then while I was sitting there, paraded a few more people through the ECG test with just a curtain separating us. The last was a fairly old woman who was looking quite nervously at the treadmill.
After some time The Doctor showed up. He waved me onto the treadmill, the nurse hooked me up and he hit one button and without even looking up at the monitor or at me, buried his head in his newspaper. He paid no further attention to anyone in the room until I was done and it was the elderly ladies turn. Then he had to look up and hit the button again. He showed no enthusiasm for this work. I think they used me to show the woman what was required on the treadmill. I can't imagine it made her feel any better as I literally took it all in stride. If they ran it as fast for her as they did for me, she was going to be hoofing it! I didn't see that part as after removing the electrodes, (and a lot of chest hair, YOWCH!) I went in to be interviewed. The doctor spent 90% of the time asking me the same questions that were on the form that I filled out earlier and writing it all down on another form. Then he asked about medical history, particularly surgery, of which all I had to tell was my ankle injury.
Then they said, "OK. You're done. Bye."
Several weeks later I was told I was approved for insurance but that my left ankle would be exempted. This was odd since the screw from the sports injury is in my right ankle. It took a long time to sort that out as the insurance company thought I was fighting the exemption when I was just trying to point out that due to a clerical error they were exempting the wrong foot! Several weeks after that I received my insurance card and a bunch of documents which I guess I should read.
In the end, I would say that I was disappointed in the overall state of affairs of medicine in India, but also have a better understanding of what is actually required to practice safe medicine as opposed to what is done simply to make patients more comfortable in a medical environment. In no case however did my experience make me any more reckless with my own personal safety, if you get my meaning.
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