Tuesday, 23 August 2016

Nosocomephobia or One more reason why I detest hospitals

Hospitals are such annying places. Especially when you go by yourself. And if you are lucky enough to have a raging fever and headache, you can bet that the hospital is out to get you. Take the case of Manipal hospital. Despite it being expensive as shit, I'm comfortable coming here since I've seen the insides of it from the time I was 12 or 13 courtesy 2 hip replacements that my grandmother underwent. So I continue to come here. Like a fool.

I'm down with a fever and a hacking cough. A relapse since I neglected to take the antibiotics prescribed by another doctor. So came here on Sunday. Spent 600 as consultation fee to see someone who asked me to get a number of tests. Tests reports showed some slight anomalies and I still had a cough that would kill a lesser being. Report in hand, I make my way to the hospital once again. And wonder of wonders, the doctor is not here.

So I talk to him over the phone. He had prescribed Calpol! He says, yes, continue taking the medicines I gave you. But I know that the throat is in dire need of antibiotics, else I'll probably cough up my lungs in a couple of hours. I also want to stop feeling like I want to quit work, run away to some obscure place where I manage to become really skinny, endure this horrible feeling of homesickness, etc etc. And did I mention my dear boyfriend, who is my rock of Gibraltar especially when it comes to hospital visits is not in town. And that my brother who was for the first two days was really useless. And that I'm missing my mother  who would have taken care of me oh so beautifully.

So I ask to see another doctor. And I need to pay once again to see him. Another 600 bucks to listen to him say ok dear, have another Calpol. And I need to wait for 45 minutes to an hour before I can see him. Fuck this shit! Seems more like a money making racket than a place that's supposed to look after the sick.

Ok then. Venting done and I'm feeling a teensy bit better.One last exciting little tidbit. It is understandable that hospitals will have sick people. But why must they burp loudly? Especially when they are sitting next to me. And then follow it up with a ladylike excuse me.

Fuck my life and toodles!

Monday, 11 July 2016

2 extremely hilarious things I heard today

Hilarious thing no 1: Where beer is fine...

Lunch break at work. 

Old conservative gentleman to a rather young single woman: "Beer is a ladies drink. You can drink beer." 

(All I could think of was all the whiskeys and Old Monks I've consumed by the gallon.) 

Hilarious thing no 2: Where unmarried women obviously mingle...

A message from an old friend. 

"Can't believe you're getting married. Thought you would die single and ready to mingle."

(This is weird only because I have been mingling with one man for eight years now, and she knows it! Not marrying him sooner = obviously mingling. If only... :p)

Friday, 15 January 2016

Flashback: On the joy of repairing

I have vivid memories of my childhood, where something in the house would go kaput, many a time, because my brother or I (mostly me) felt the need to meddle with it. Living in a remote area in the Nilgiris meant that we would have to wait to get it fixed till we travelled to town (Gudalur or Sulthan Bathery, both around 25 km away), or if it needed major repair, a trip to the ‘big city’, typically Mysore, Bangalore or Ooty.
We of course, couldn't wait until then! So my father would roll up his sleeves, sit at the dining table with the machine in question placed on a brightly coloured cloth, and get to work. In case of the VCR (where it almost always swallowed the cassette and refused to spit it out), he would slowly and painstakingly unscrew the screws, remove the top panel, and use the screwdriver to wedge out the cassette. This would be followed by removing the dust that had gathered since the last ‘operation’.
I really am not too sure if he knew what he was doing, but once he reassembled it, the mixie or VCR or whatever it was, would actually work! If it didn’t function as it was supposed to, he would go through the dissembling/assembling process once again. This saga repeated itself at least five or six times before my father would throw his hands up in the air, and decide that it needed to be looked at by someone more competent.
The times have changed though. These days, when something goes kaput, I pick up the phone, google the nearest service centre, call them and place a complaint and wait for the gentleman (or woman) in question to come home to fix it.
Within two working days preferably.