Journal 3 – three: First Clinic Near Leh October 23, 2006
Posted by jaotte in Healthcare, India, Medical School, Medicine, Volunteering.1 comment so far
Up, breakfast (assorted carbs – toast, cereal, naan) and eggs. Into the jeeps. Tents are set up already in the clinic area at a Tibetan settlement’s community center. Mountains and prayer flags envelope us.
I am in OBS/GYNE today with our ER resident and 3 other med students. The day goes well but I miss the one pelvic exam. The women are shy and skeptical of us, and I don’t blame them. Having a good female translator is essential. A fellow student’s Hindi really comes in handy and we can see a lot more patients as a result. Helpers come around and deliver chai, cookies, and cola. I try to earn my keep by moving supplies, searching for specula/swabs/drapes, etc. It’s amazing how we are already scrambling just to set up a private area, just to communicate with our patients. But it will get harder.
The pharmacy is swamped and we’ve got patients vomitting blood. I make up some Prev Packs (for ulcers). Our recipe is as follows:
1. 1 X lansoprazole 30 mg or pantoprazole 40 mg or rabeprazole 20 mg
2. 2 X amoxixillin 500 mg
3. 1 X clarithromycin 500 mg
–> all BID for 14 days
That’s a lot of pills. I sure hope the translator is able to explain the regime! I also learn that “acha” means good in Hindi (the language), and the religion is Hindu. Important things to know.
The patients are so patient. They sit in the hot sun or under an awning waiting to be seen all day. We take a break to eat our lunches (right in front of them) and they don’t complain. I send one lady to the lab, but they are closed for an hour. She disappears off site and to my surprise reappears. The lab gets confused but they get the tests done and I go over them. Everything is normal… hmm… she disappears again. Comes back. I walk her to the pharmacy where I fill her ’script. She disappears again. Home, I think this time.
We see a lot of general med, because there are so few (voluntary) Gyne patients. I spend a long while helping the pharmacy pack up at the end of the day. We are one of the last cars back. Run for a shower – it’s luke warm, yes!! – and I miss the lecture on Buddhism which (accidentally) started an hour early. Dinner is late and not that exciting.
Journal 2 – two: Getting to Leh October 20, 2006
Posted by jaotte in Medicine.1 comment so far
At the Delhi airport in the dark. We pile out of the vans and go through ticket counters, luggage security, regular security, and baggage check – where the clerk steals my pen. I managed to find another by rifling around the bottom of my bag, so it’s okay… we wait around in the lounge with a lot of trekkers. I mean, hiking boot, nalgene, dust-proof sunglasses kind of trekkers, not people dressed up like Spock or their favourite Klingon. The foreignness of Hindi becomes quickly apparent, as I look to the Indo-Canadian in our group to give us the exit queue. Our hand luggage is checked again. As we take the low-ceilinged bus, I am reminded again of Mexico. The experience at the airport was quite similar, except this time there’s no condensation inside the bus dripping on the passengers.
The plane is much larger than I imagined. This Leh trekking thing must make for a lucrative route! The flight wasn’t uneventful. Those in my group who’d arrived early in Delhi, experimented with the food, and subsequently acquired a nasty gastroenteritis were making use of the “Inflight Sickness Bags.” We were given a nice meal with aloo ghobi, rice, raita, roti and that super-sweet dessert of doughy balls smothered in honey and spices (cinnamon, cardamom), the name of which will NEVER stick in my head.
Gorgeous views of the mountains all around us. Secretly, I think the Canadian Rockies in the winter are more beautiful and magnificent, but anyone who knows me would put it down to my obsession with snow.
We land in Leh where a big military cargo aircraft and fighter are taking off. The weather is gorgeous. A hot sun, ~20C, and a light, warm breeze. We get out luggage from the tiny conveyor and cram into Jeeps. I meet part of the Canadian contigent (a couple of the 4 students from Queens in Kingston) and our driver says “me, Canada Jeep.” We smile and nod, and say, yep, we’re from Canada(!) but we didn’t really understand until we got out. He went around the back and pointed to a big sticker on his rear windshield of the Canadian flag that said “Canada in India: www.india.gc.ca.” Aha! The ride onwards was bumpy and beautiful.
We saw the omnipresent Leh Palance and stupas nestled in the hills. All the irrigated green of the village was more spectacular and sweeping from the air. Little shops line the streets in this quiet place. It’s much more peaceful than Delhi, although quite developed by any standards.
The sun is warm and the sky clear. We wander the markets and learn the techniques for bargaining. I’ve been in transit for a few days now, and am able to update my family as to my whereabouts by the use of a small Internet cafe – about 60 Rupees for 45 minutes. I have the sneaking suspicion there is a kind of sliding scale (based on the friendliness of the customer) despite the formal rates being posted. More smiling!
We have been put in a nice guest house – again, this is much plusher than my standards led me to expect. Okay, so it doesn’t compare to a North American hotel really, but there are clean beds, a TV, a mostly working bathroom, and great meals in the dining hall. My roomate – one of my fellow Canadians – and I head down for lunch, which involves an amazing spiced paneer dish and some other great treats. Dinner is a kind of Chinese hybrid. I suppose we are very close to the border so that shouldn’t be a surprise.
At night, I get some postcards and stamps. Somehow I managed to bargain for the stamps (due to a lack of change, more than anything), even though they are set at a government rate. I get 8 for 60 Rs [about $1.33US], saving 4Rs and buy some postcards from the same shop. The stamps here are weird… they have no ’stickyness’ to them, so the shopkeeper shares his glue to help me attach them to my mail. I’ll have to get them cancelled at the post office, as I’ve been warned that the underpaid post workers often remove uncancelled stamps for their own profit.
The rest of the night is all about relaxing and settling in with my teammates. This is going to be good.
Journal 1- one: En Route to Delhi October 20, 2006
Posted by jaotte in Culture, Humour, India, Travel.1 comment so far
It’s been forever and a day since I updated. A variety of excuses are available, but let’s just get to it, shall we? Here begins the series of my journal entries from my trip this summer.
Journal 1- one: En Route to Delhi
On the plane. Sleeping and exchanging occasional quips with a businessman on his way to Bahrain. Watch a bit of the flight movie and sleep most of the way. I don’t miss the meals, and am happy to devour a Gulf Air veggie something-or-other.
We arrive in Bahrain and I immediately note my flight is delayed to 12:20 (from 10:00). Attempts to get food fail for various reasons: the duty free shop has all the cartons of cigarettes anyone could ever need, some Coca-Cola, but no food. I follow the signs for a cafeteria, but only spot a little food stand, “Café Costa.” I seek help from a flight attendant and she directs me to the very same stand, the cafeteria. Not really appealing. They do take $USD, but I only have $20s and they give change in the local currency which is useless to me and probably not easily exchangeable in rural Northern India. What do I know? I’m so stupid about everything here. I wander around in my capris and t-shirt with red-streaked hair, drawing the attention of many onlookers. It’s getting uncomfortable, so I meekly don my sarong.
Mostly Western flush toilets here which is comforting, although I do eventually find a squat toilet and test it out. Not too bad, actually. The ultimate toilet would combine this with toilet paper. Yes.
In the halls, men in white linen ensembles and embroidered hats wander by. I know so little about which religion goes with which crazy outfit. Some Arabs (I think) with Arafat style headdresses here. Indian women draped in saris look empowered next to little black bumps walking around: women covered from heat to toe in yards of black fabric, even over their eyes, tailored black gloves on their hands, trailing their husbands by several meters – so unusual for me to see.
I’ve got the Diamox Tingles (TM). and my coke – saved from time at Heathrow – definitely tastes weird, just as the pharmacist warned. Finally gate 33 is announced of my flight. GF 134 through Muscat (Oman) to Delhi, yes! Grab a chair by the gate and doze with the help my my ipod. Tonnes of announcements in Arabic awaken me periodically, I attempt to listen for cognates, thinking myself smart, but I cannot understand. I can only hear “sabbotoge.” I think it has something to do with a flight departing, and less to do with terrorism.
I doze again. A young man plops down next to me and says, in English, “Jesus!” with a sigh. Oh boy, this is one to ignore, he definitley wants to chat! I ignore him, but he introduces himself as an Arab on his way to Jordan. It also happens that he’s a student in Winnipeg, Canada. We get along well and I don’t mind so much now that he’s stealing my sleep. We trade swears and opinions on religious fanaticism, He offers wonderful hospitality if I mention his name at a certain restaurant in Winnipeg.
His flight departs and I sleep. Awake with a start. My gate has moved to #11, and the screen no longer says “delayed.” In a confused panic – oh, I’m so friggin’ confused! – I run to the new gate only to discover that it is still delayed. I keep my eye on the westerners for a pink-clad lady; a dentist coming from Scotland and working with the same team as me (The Himalayan Health Exchange) is supposed to be on the same flight. Problem is, I’m not sure which airport I’ll see her at, I only know she’s wearing pink. None of the women here are her, upon my inquiry.
Finally we board. Sleep. Eat. Sleep. Land in Muscat. Next flight: Blonde in pink shirt sitting ahead of me looks promisingly Scottish, but who knows? I’m tired of asking strangers. . . we land late. It was supposed to be 17:30 but it’s already a late, tired, and grumpy 21:00.
Delhi is only 4 hours ahead of London. I thought it was 5, but they don’t use Daylight Savings Time here, so that will help with the lag a bit. At least I can cling to this hope.
I have to pee! Find the toilets and head for the 3rd stall but before I can slam the door shut I hear “no, no, no!” from behind me. A woman points to a Western style toilet so I thank her and enter the stall. “No, no” – she isn’t done – and I thank her again as she shoves a roll of toilet paper into my hands. I do my thing, wash my hands, and look around for some paper towel or dryer. She’s already torn off some tissue paper and hands it to me. Having finished washing up, the natural course would be to seek the trash can to deposit the waste paper, but before it is possible, she takes it from my hands.
Thank you Delhi Airport. (I later learn that I was probably supposed to tip her, but I had no rupees anyway and I ran like a bat out of hell outta there to get my luggage before someone else snatched it – apparently it is a problem there; don’t worry, I tipped her extra when I came through here leaving India!!)
I ask around and finally locate my soon-to-be-friend, the Scottish dentist. She really is wearing a pink T-shirt. It even says “Pink” on the front! They check our bags and passports numerous times before we can leave. A driver is waiting with an HHE sign and after some phone calls, he decides to take us to our hotel.
The heat. Delhi heat is like Mexico heat x2. A wall of sauna hits us as we exit the building.
Lots of cars and taxis, motorbikes and scooters, and autorickshaws hover here, but it’s only a fraction of what we are about to encounter on the main roads in the darkness. [this photo was taken on a different day, but I refer to the same scene at the airport, only in darkness]
Donkeys and cars, buses. So hot. We have the windows open for a nice breeze but the dist in our eyes is making it difficult to enjoy this small salvation. Our driver is pleasant enough, but he joins his peers in a vicious game of dodge and hock as the bob and weave between each other, paying no attention to lane markings, signals, or humans. They honk. He honks back. Honk honk! The scooters in front of us are too slow. That rickshaw can’t fit through the gap. A bicycle? Ye Gods! And will SOMEONE please come and fetch their astray donkey!? Honk honk honk. No signalling, just honking. We drive for what seems like an eternity, but a capped doorman with white gloves greets us and shoves us inside towards the marble foyer.
We find ourselves in a very fancy hotel, The Hotel Shirpa International. I really didn’t expect it to be this cushy. I guess when you are only their for 3 hours of sleep, this is a nice treat. Hot/warm showers as they please us. Up at 2:45 am to meet half of the team in the lobby. Cram into touring vans with our gear and get to know each other and get a taste of those southern US and various UK accents. We begin the process of learning and forgetting names.
