I wait in the medical centre while gently holding my injured right hand with my left.
The paramedic had wrapped it in gauze the night before, after applying Burn Aid. I could see that he feels pretty bad for me when he sees the scalding.
"you're right handed aren't you?" He had asked pityingly.
At last they call my name, and I am in the nurses' room with a doctor. The nurse is a cheery motherly hen type with a sort of handyman's kit on her hip. She says she got it as a present on Mothers day and use it to keep things like scissors and tape, since they always seem to go missing.
The doctor and nurse chatter on while the nurse cuts open my dressing and proceeds to soak the gauze in saline.
I sit glumly staring at my hand, feeling sorry for myself and a little put off by the jovial chatter.
"I didn't see you for a few months. Were you away?" asks the doctor as the nurse gingerly removes the last piece of gauze.
I peek at my poor hand apprehensively. It had looked a sickening angry pink the night before and just seeing it had made me nauseous and made my head spin.
"Oh yes I was not here...I had brain cancer" says the nurse.
Wait...what?
She says it as casually as if she had gone to Bali for a fortnight.
She says she was diagnosed but is OK now after undergoing treatment.
**********************************************************************
Outside the nurses room, I am waiting for my ride.
My very kind flatmate had offered to drive me to and from the clinic, on account of my right hand not exactly operating in full swing at at the moment.
Suddenly, a blond girl - who from the uniform seems to be someone working at the medical clinic- hurriedly walks to the elderly Indian woman standing by the ladies toilet.
"You have to take her to a hospital now!" the girl says, emphasizing on the now.
Immediately, mental picture pops into my head, of an old woman on a stretcher, too sick to move. The elderly woman's sister perhaps?
The toilet door opens, and a young Indian woman who could have been my age steps out.
"Take her to a hospital now!" the blond repeats.
The young Indian woman looks pale.
"Is it a miscarriage?" she asks, in a voice that is tired and heartbreakingly sad.
The blond girl hesitates.
Then she reaches for the young woman and squeezes her shoulder gently. Then she nods.
"I think so" she says.
**********************************************************************
The paramedic had wrapped it in gauze the night before, after applying Burn Aid. I could see that he feels pretty bad for me when he sees the scalding.
"you're right handed aren't you?" He had asked pityingly.
At last they call my name, and I am in the nurses' room with a doctor. The nurse is a cheery motherly hen type with a sort of handyman's kit on her hip. She says she got it as a present on Mothers day and use it to keep things like scissors and tape, since they always seem to go missing.
The doctor and nurse chatter on while the nurse cuts open my dressing and proceeds to soak the gauze in saline.
I sit glumly staring at my hand, feeling sorry for myself and a little put off by the jovial chatter.
"I didn't see you for a few months. Were you away?" asks the doctor as the nurse gingerly removes the last piece of gauze.
I peek at my poor hand apprehensively. It had looked a sickening angry pink the night before and just seeing it had made me nauseous and made my head spin.
"Oh yes I was not here...I had brain cancer" says the nurse.
Wait...what?
She says it as casually as if she had gone to Bali for a fortnight.
She says she was diagnosed but is OK now after undergoing treatment.
**********************************************************************
Outside the nurses room, I am waiting for my ride.
My very kind flatmate had offered to drive me to and from the clinic, on account of my right hand not exactly operating in full swing at at the moment.
Suddenly, a blond girl - who from the uniform seems to be someone working at the medical clinic- hurriedly walks to the elderly Indian woman standing by the ladies toilet.
"You have to take her to a hospital now!" the girl says, emphasizing on the now.
Immediately, mental picture pops into my head, of an old woman on a stretcher, too sick to move. The elderly woman's sister perhaps?
The toilet door opens, and a young Indian woman who could have been my age steps out.
"Take her to a hospital now!" the blond repeats.
The young Indian woman looks pale.
"Is it a miscarriage?" she asks, in a voice that is tired and heartbreakingly sad.
The blond girl hesitates.
Then she reaches for the young woman and squeezes her shoulder gently. Then she nods.
"I think so" she says.
**********************************************************************
Have you heard the term, "first world problems"?
ReplyDeleteI guess thats what a second degree burn is, compared to the other two :)
DeleteEverything is relative, There could be times, a second degree burn is the one that needs most attention. I am OK as long as they are put into perspective and treated accordingly.
ReplyDeleteAs a piece of writing, I would have preferred, if you didn't write the last sentence. The story already give that message to the reader :)
//As a piece of writing, I would have preferred, if you didn't write the last sentence. The story already give that message to the reader :)
DeleteYes agree. I also debated whether to put that or not, since I wasn't sure if readers will get it. After reading your comment, decided to remove it. Thanks for the input :)
"We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses!"
ReplyDeleteAbraham Lincoln
How true! thanks Muhudu :)
DeleteWaiting rooms are funny place....waiting for what? Bad news? For a miracle ?
ReplyDeleteindeed... I had to go to the doctor for my burn every three days or so for a fortnight. It was great for people watching :)
Delete