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Wednesday, March 29, 2006

YOUR BODY IS A WONDERLAND…..

It is not everyday that a body that has retained its inherent imperfections for long years is subject to the ravages of a medical team with an intent to probe, prick and pierce, albeit with nobility at heart and an urge to heal.
I have always hated hospitals, the sound that metallic pages make as they are flicked by at the Medical Register, the I’ve –seen-it-all-just-follow-me-you-petrified-oaf mien of the nurses and staff, the clinical precision of the specialists and doctors-the Hippocratic version of the Efficient Baxters, and the glassy stares of fellow co-passengers , oops co-sufferers , have ensured that hospitals aren’t nice places to visit.

All this inspite of the fact that my father has spent over three decades in these vile spots, and the little one is well on her way to the same.

Not an auspicious beginning, the previous day spent pontificating in a full-day (t)raining programme, and the one before that spent in spoiling the Sunday of several other innocent gentry vide hosting a quiz ( details later ). Some arcane law of Physics, the Father decide to pull out of the anesthesiologist’s role—he doesn’t treat family in an operation, leaving me with one outstanding ENT surgeon and a chatty and warm anesthesiologist.
The nurse cheerfully informed me that my left dorsum was invitingly vein-laden and hence would be the willing recipient of a tube that would convey all necessary chemical effluvia to the rest of the body. Preempting my sigh of relief as having restricted damages to this, she then proceeded to poke another needle into my right wrist, all to check for allergy, and my usually glib answer as my only allergy I had was towards work, barely made it past my lips.

Surgery itself wasn’t that tough but the sedation I received saw to it that my inclination to stay in a horizontal pos. lasted through the day, and that my incessant jabbering was as cogent as most well-wishers say it usually is—speech defects, solecisms and all. So an eventful day, my first experience of going under the knife, and I cannot remember an instance when all I had during a full day’s play were three Marie biscuits and about sixty ml of water.
I plan to make the most of my enforced period of rest and gladly lap up the ministrations of my gran, uncle and aunt too.

It’s a sobering thought but the World appears to have gotten by perfectly well in my absence.

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