The Indian Hospital Experience

The Indian Hospital Experience

While Kelly and I were chilling in staff housing in Mumbai, I eventually committed the cardinal digestive sin on India; I drank tap water. I have been blessed to live my entire life in circumstances that made this a normal activity for me. This is not a normal activity in Mumbai.

The first few days were very unpleasant. Stomach cramps, fever, chills, headache, and of course dehydration. This dehydration occurs because the digestive tract responds to any attempt at hydration by simply engaging in warp speed processing. This meant that any time I ate or drank anything, I would be parked on the toilet 20 minutes later.

No big deal. Food poisoning and bad water are so prevalent in India that there is a localized name for the phenomenon – Delhi Belly. If you spend significant time here, you are guaranteed to get some stomach irritation and diarrhea.

Locals have adopted the view that this is because Westerners have a delicate palate that cannot handle ‘spicy’ Indian cuisine. As a guy that puts habaneros in my curry at home, this is laughable. The problem is that sanitation isn’t really a thing that is done in many places, at least not by the standards that outsiders may be used to.

Anyway, when the symptoms persisted past the 10 day mark, I thought it would be wise to seek out medical advice. After consulting the knowledge base of my wife’s co-workers, I headed over to the fancy-schmancy hospital in Powai. This was Hiranandani Hospital. I didn’t research it on my own, just took their word for it. This would become a valuable object lesson.

I got to the hospital, got through security, and went up to the first floor (more on security in India in Pages). I was checked in with more swiftness and efficiency than I had dared to hope for. I was escorted to an exam room and left to wait for the doctor. And wait I did. Then I waited some more. After that, I waited some more.

At this point I was beginning to figure that there was a misunderstanding or that the doctor had left for the day. I went to inquire at the reception desk, and they just smiled meekly and said that the doctor would be seeing me shortly, and please to wait. So I went back and waited.

With an hour and a half of waiting completed, the doctor found his way to me with a young assistant in tow. He kind of greeted me without bothering to look at me. He glanced at my chart and said that I was sick to my stomach. As I began to explain that I also had a fever and other symptoms, I noticed that he was already writing on what looked like a prescription pad… So I attempted to make sure we were on the same page.

“Doctor? Yes, I have a fever, headache, and very, very severe diarrhea for well over a week now.”

“Mmm. Hmm.” This without looking up. 

Up to now there had been no examination, no discussion of cause(s), and nothing that I was familiar with in the way of a visit to the doctor in any form. I looked to the young assistant, trying to gauge the normalcy of the scene. It was then that I realized that the young woman was not an assistant. She was another patient. As I opened my mouth to ask what the hell was going on, the doctor looked up from his pad.

“Ok, sir, the pharmacy is just off the lobby downstairs. They can take care of you there. Drink water consistently.”

He thrust 6 lines worth of prescription into my hand. And got up from his desk. At this point I was deeply conflicted. Was my condition so obvious and common that there simply wasn’t a need for any firsthand knowledge beyond whatever was on my intake paperwork? Was it just the cultural norm to see patients sort of in tandem?

Without any context to go from, and with a splitting headache and an intense fever, I was baffled and adrift. I mumbled an ok, and left the exam room. I made my way to the pharmacy and attempted to stand in line. This is a futile method of doing anything in India. There aren’t really lines, you just kind of push your way into the amorphous blob of humanity that congregates anywhere a product or service is provided.

I made it to the counter and got my prescription filled. I bumbled my way back outside, summoning an Uber as I did. I got home, took a handful of pills and fell back into my fever dreams.

More on medicine in India in Part 2