My first hit!

I was driving after about a year and a half. My friend's apprehension was understandable. I was in the process of telling her that mobile phones are a cause of road-accidents even when pedestrians use them; in the process because my speech-function slows down considerably while I am driving, when a man crossing his fore-fathers' road (thats what he made it seem like) stopped in a bit of surprise right in front of my car. Well, I braked. But all my descending tract fibers were consumed in pushing the brake and so the car stopped after jerking several times in third gear. Anyways, I started the engine and my friend said, "Use the horn." I heard her but was too consumed in I dunno what. Slowly I proceeded to park ahead. Honked a couple of times but not enough number of times. It felt like a tap on the side, but my friend was saying, "Why don't you use the horn? You just hit a man!" She deserves all the credit for saying it ever-so-calmly to me! I was like, really?
"If things are falling from your hand then you are highly distracted Spriha!" I re-adjusted the bowl of infiltration fluid at the head end of the operating-table. Some fluid had spelled out moments ago.I thought to myself, ' Of course I am. These kids are standing so close to me that they brush against me now and then. Don't they realize I'm washed up?' " I am sorry sir." I said aloud. "Please try not to touch me or the table." I requested the students bent over the patient, trying to take a glimpse of whats going on inside his left nostril! I was assisting a septoplasty. The houseman had my full attention once he pointed out that I was indeed distracted.
"Must have hit his bag...", I said, expecting her to give me a 'may be'. "No. You brushed his arm. But it was very slow. Don't worry...", said she, helping me chill and at the same time telling me to be more careful.
I dropped her and reached home. The compound gate was shut so I started honking to wake up the watchman. After a few minutes, I decided I couldn't bear the noise so I started off to open the gate myself when he magically appeared. I went back inside and started the engine. He opened the right gate inside and the left one outside. There's just enough space for a car to pass through the gate and of course, there's the upward slope. Its this slope that kept me inhibited for a year and a half. I was never sure I could drive my Santro up it. But turns out that its quite easy. I had advanced half of the vehicle inside the gate when I saw the right gate, that was opened inside, closing on me! I realized in a jiffy...
'Oh shit!' I saw the pool of blood collected in an indentation on the drape. The source of the blood was a severely battered head with countless CLW's currently being sutured by the trauma resident. I was holding it and I couldn't move. I saw the pool growing in quantity every second. The drape was under the head (obviously) and since it was put there loosely, blood had collected in the space between the trolley and its handle. My feet were directly below the two pints of life-fluid and I knew I couldn't shift at all! The surgeon was mumbling ," When a mass casualty comes, everyone gets busy with that. No one cares for other patients, cuz they won't be newspaper headlines. No one even bothered to shave this lady's head when she arrived. Now see, she's bled so much!" I had to hold the head strongly for there was still some life remaining, only the last flame of instinct to withdraw whatever was touched. And then I saw the drape beginning to give way. I knew there was nothing that I could do. And the next moment, all the collected blood splashed on the floor and my feet! Thanks to my skids, I didn't come in direct blood-contact, but it was bad.
In order to avoid the gate I turned left, but I knew there was nothing I could do. So I let it hit the side of the car. Surprisingly, it wasn't too hard. Fortunately, no damage was done. The watchman clarified that it was the wind and I let it go, for there actually was nothing more to it.
And then I don't know what happened. I drove half the circumference of my building to park at our usual place. And just when I was supposed to stop the car, I hit the accelerator! Bumped into the curved boundary wall ahead. Got away with few scratches on the bumper on one side. Where was my concentration???
I sincerely wish that there never would be an analogy to this one! Gotta find some white paint...

PS: I really think that its bad manners to push aside or brush against people to have a better view in an OT. Especially touching a washed-up person. Its leaves the surgeon unsterile and distracted. I think a better way to learn is to politely ask the operators to show it to you. Please be careful, students.

Just...

I am through with seven months of my internship quite successfully. Of course, like everyone else I've had some problem or the other in almost all of my postings but what the hell! I never expected to be given honorary-treatment. I haven't done a single night yet (if you are not a medico then it simply means I haven't had any night duties yet, which is quite enviable for an intern), except of course, the strike period. And thats quite a success! I've just been too lucky. But these seven months did consist of many learning opportunities for me. Professionally, academically and most of all, personally. I managed to grab a few...
My first official clinical posting was ENT. That was after three months of PSM. I dunno why PSM is not considered clinical enough because thats perhaps the only posting where we do what doctors do, i.e., see patients. Executing a doctor's orders is considered more clinical here. But I did learn quite some clinical stuff there. Anyways, ENT was my first clinical posting in the sense that I'd never put an IV line before. Suddenly I was put in a tertiary care centre and I felt like a complete fool. I carried out all the orders obediently, literally. Still felt like a fool. So when the reg chuckled in the OT while I was frantically trying to locate my cell phone crying "pick up the phone" (yeah thats my ring-tone and I forgot to turn it on silent mode) in the loose baggy-pants, I almost got irritated. With me only, I guess. I felt really out of place. Even the servants knew more about the hospital stuff than me. Later that morning the same reg started on a myringoplasty and I just stood behind him, observing. I was completely absorbed and I still am surprised how that happens when I watch a procedure. I just become a passive audience. Some ten minutes must have passed when he cut out a part of the temporalis fascia. I took a break and suddenly realized that it was getting pretty cold out there. And then I saw the reg's back. Beads of sweat were growing both in number and size on his blue changes by the second! That was the first time I smiled to myself, of course behind a face-mask. Its all a process and I've just started.
One is bound to be nervous here because one has to be responsible. This is one profession where even a second attempt is considered a mistake. But then, everybody makes one or more at some time during their practical life and this is the best period to make it, when you are already considered a fool!
And then there are moments when you see God!
I had an evening duty in labour ward during the strike period. There I met this new lecturer who used to be a reg when I was posted in his unit earlier as a student. I wont name him here. He was tall, dark and beginning to get obese. He had nice features. His mouth reminded me strongly of Hemil! (I always notice people's mouth and eyes. I can't remember any other facial feature unless I really pay attention to it.) He looked like a gujju but wasn't one. He even had that some what high pitched voice, a nasal twang and a dragging tone. Basically, he reminded me more of a business guy than a doc. Finally he asked me what I'd like to do in future. And so a conversation began. During that time I was beginning to feel uncertain about my choice to be a researcher. The process was tedious and I wasn't sure I could commit my life to just one research-field. But he finally made me give up on the idea. He only told me ground reality. And the fact that I will have to leave my country! That really put me off about the whole GRE and PhD stuff. But only later.
At the end of the conversation, which was rather abrupt cuz someone decided to come to this ugly world, I concluded that he was another frustrated young doctor who could only see the picture in negative. Inside the labour room, among the screaming and shouting and of course, the gross visuals, he took me and my co-intern to a patient and casually told us to rupture her membranes and then left us staring at each other. Thank God I remembered Kocher's. The baba (student nurse) was expanding with pride when we looked at her for help. She gave us the instrument. We put pieces of our vague memory together to construct the steps of the procedure. I let my co-intern try first. She came out unsuccessful. Then I tried. When I came out (that sounds funny) I had clamped my gloves! I finally decided to accept my incompetence or whatever openly for the good of the patient and call the lecturer. When he came the patient was screaming her lungs out. He just held the forceps in his hand and asked her name. Before she answered he had gone in, ruptured it and come out! And I was in complete awe. Then he conducted a forceps on her.
It was just the way it was conducted. He didn't shout at her, he narrated the steps to us and he just did it so well. The spontaneity with which he made his decisions was amazing. He didn't even considered options. He spoke when he had made a decision. And then he was the same again. Talking to me about how pathetic is the whole system everywhere. As if he was human again.
That day I learned two things- one, its not just the skill that counts, one has to be confident to practise it. Two, you gotta be really strong to pull that thing out of that thing!
And just when you thought this is a really long post, I've got more on my mind...
About a week ago, I witnessed an emergency in dermat! I had been sent to skin ward, which is shared by psychiatry too, to monitor the vitals of a patient started on steroid pulse therapy. Well I was doing my job there, checking his pulse-BP every half an hour and reading in between and later listening to radio. Suddenly a patient walked upto me and said, "Namaste sister! Kaise ho?" I knew I was in ward one so I just smiled and he moved on to greet the next person he saw. Just then the hefty patient sitting on a bed right in front of me, started clapping, staring into void space! "Wow!" I thought, "These are the people I intend to spend the rest of my professional life with!" After research, my interest has rested on psychiatry. Amongst all this 'madness', I vaguely was aware that another patient of dermat was being prepared for a liver biopsy. From the way they scrubbed the patient I was certain that they were not surgery people. I guessed patho. The procedure was uneventful till the drawing out of the tru-cut needle with the specimen. Barely two minutes had passed by and the patient started complaining of severe pain. They gave voveran. They gave tramadol. Twice. Then his abdomen became rigid. Then his BP fell. Blood was ordered. The residents who had done the biopsy called their entire unit to the ward. Then I realized they were gastro people. The patient was collapsing very fast and he was damn 'roudy'! Reminded me of the head injury patients I saw day in and out during my trauma posting. I can write another entry on them! Skin residents also came down to the ward. Obviously from the orders that were passed it looked like they were suspecting a bleed. But I felt odd about it. For one thing, the clinical features were quite out of proportion for a bleed caused by a tru-cut. And secondly, it happened way too quickly.
Finally the patient was shifted to E-ward under surgery people. They confirmed that there wasn't any hemorrhage under USG. So the diagnosis settled on anaphylactic reaction to LA.
You've got to be careful every time.
Well, thats enough talking for now. Do comment.

Unkind kindness

If there's one sentence form my school text-books that perturbs my conscious mind from time to time, it is, man is a social animal.
He is, no doubt. Man seeks others of his kind. My co-intern and ever-ready-for-a-philosophical-discussion-pal Rachana was quoting this idea from a book called 'The art of Loving'. (That might be shocking to some people who know her, but the title of the book is misleading, so chill guys. There's nothing wrong with her yet!) Its like, man, due to his superior intelligence has long since stopped feeling one with nature. He isn't simply happy with himself like other animals. So he seeks other humans who agree with him to agree with. It helps him feel accepted.
That makes perfect sense. Once we are done with the struggle to survive, we need a meaning to live. And most of our feeling of worth comes from other people's sanction of our being. And sometimes from their disapproval.
The fact of the matter is, man is a social animal. People matter. Our groups matter. We feel secure in a group. We like to work in a group, of course, with our kind of group. And the kind changes with the purpose.
So when Arjun Singh gets mischievous, open-category people unite to shout slogans against him and others against the open-category people. And when the police lathi-charges medics, all anti and pro people shout slogans against the police. The cause changed and so did the group. On a smaller scale, at least once in a year small groups shout GMCites and parasites slogans too drooling, enjoying a 'fashion show'! Of course, they shout in unison later in Aazad maidan.
And there is nothing wrong with it. So if you are Italian, you had full rights to celebrate when the French-head lost it. And if you are French then of course the Italian should have minded his language.
But since I am neither, I know it was poor sportsmanship on the part of the Italian and sheer foolishness on the part of the French. What gives me this neutral point of view is my independent judgment. Its my ability to see the truth without any bias. And this is the clearest view and therefore, the best.
Everything that exists exists because it is perceived by us. It may be perceived by our senses or imagination, but it is. I mean, we cannot imagine a color we can't imagine. But we know existence is wider than this because I actually wrote the above sentence!
The point that I am trying to make is, perhaps its impossible for us to know the truth completely but we can nevertheless get quite close to it if we want to.
There is always one truth value in reality. If there is an idea you want to evaluate, break it into its minutest components. Then assign each component its truth value, T or F. Now again go through the algorithm and see if you can reach the final idea. In essense, now it will be true or false. It cannot be anything in between. Or simply as Ayn Rand says it, A is A. Its pure mathematics. Its logic.
Groupism blunts the bluntness of logic. A group has rules and if you are a part of it, you have to follow them even if they are irrational. An individual's sense of judgment should not depend on his fellows' views. A group's point of view can distort the truth. It can blind a person's perception due to its sheer strength. And in a world where boredom and loneliness are more abundant than fresh air, being a part of a group that can have an impact sounds like a brilliant idea. We want to be on the side of everyone even if we are standing against truth. We want to be a part of a strong group and not a weak individual.
To live upto our admirations is one thing and to copy someone else to escape what we don't like in ourselves is another. We lose originality. We get lost in them. And its almost futile to try to escape the truth about self for it never leaves you. Whatever they may say, A is A.
This group-attitude also forces you to stereotype people. You tend to generalize everything and everyone which is the most impractical thing to do.
All you need to hear is that its okay to be you. But you don't need someone to really say that because its true. So accept yourself. Make amendments that you want to. Celebrate what you think are your virtues. And most of all think clearly.
My tone has become direct now. There's something wrong with me. I intended to say something else when I started typing. Now I can't remember what! But while I am saying, I am an individual conscience. I have no religion or nationality, except for general convenience. I do what my mind says is right and my heart says is fun. I make myself look like a fool entirely at my own risk. I love what I love for what it is and I wish to be loved so. I am always open to criticism and even more so to praises but its me who ultimately will judge myself!

The usual jabbering...

Hello readers. I know it has been a very long time since I put anything up here. In fact, I think most of you must have even stopped checking my blog. Well sometimes you just don't have the inspiration to write. I mean, either the intensity or the clarity is lacking. And on other times, you just don't have the time and then the idea fades away. There are a couple of drafts that I've written and saved, but I wont post them because they don't seem honest enough!
(God! What happened to me while I was evolving?)

Okay. This was one of the funny dinner-table conversations at home recently. (Most of it was hindi but I'll translate anyway.)
Mom: Mera dil dehel gaya kal!
(Me, bro n dad look up at her, shocked and then confused.)
Me: Reference?
Dad: I'm guessing its that female fetecide news from Udaipur.
(Mom continues to chew her food. I nod at my dad and bro.)
Mom: It was horrifying!
Dad (generalizing): Such cruelty persists only in north-India now.
Mom (personalizing): Even my in-laws never wanted a daughter in the family. (Then suddenly remembers dad is going out of the country for three months.) Of course, except your dad. He was crazy for a daughter.
(My parents smile. My bro is busy feeding himself, hardly looking up.)
(Then follows for the nth time how my dad used to adore me as a kid, how he used to take me every where with him on his bicycle...)
Dad: There should be a daughter in a family.
(Now my bro is interested.)
Bro: Why?
Dad: Its good to have a daughter.
Mom: Yes its good to have a daughter.
Bro: How?
(Since I have known that being mean to sibs is a way of life, I chose to be amused over being defensive. Okay mom and dad, whats the advantages of having a daughter?)
Mom: *silent*
Dad: *silent*
Bro: And to be specific, what are the advantages that you have?
(Thats what is taking them so long you freak!)
Mom: Well, (turns to me) you used to help me out in house-hold work in some era.
Dad: *silent*
Mom: Girls have their own way of life, but...er...
Dad: *silent*
Mom: I got it! We all have one-one!
(Now we are totally amazed! Can't wait for whats coming next!)
Mom: I mean, like I have one husband, one son and one daughter.
(Bro feels the enlightenment too.)
Bro: Yes. And I have one father, one mother and one sister. And you...
(I concentrated on my food thereafter.)

PS : Regarding the AMOship crap, as Roshni Desai put it very aptly,"The gov should concentrate on building more toilets than recruiting AMO's. Its toilets that we need today. More and more toilets!" I totally agree Roshni. But they just can't stop giving us this shit instead of toilets!

PPS: Steve Irwin was a great guy. His demise is very shocking and disturbing. He was the guy who taught us Australian. His dedication to wild-life was more than just his job. We have seen him cry while sending one of his crocs back to the wild. We have seen him amused like a child when he came across some exotic species in the Australian desert. Its a loss. May his family find peace. I'll miss him...