old timers would recall quite vividly, was one of the hilarious “Carry On”
series of light-hearted comedy films of 60s and 70s. The bumbling doctors and
the buxom nurses prancing about in their smart skirts and heels kept us in
splits. Although medical profession is amongst the noblest and the doctors are
accorded a God-like stature if the patient recovers. But God forbid if the
patient succumbs then even God himself cannot save the poor unfortunate medical
practitioners. No wonder some hospitals have asked their doctors to
undergo self defence training (taek-won-do, karate (!)) to address these lumpen
elements, while some hospitals have resorted to hiring bouncers.
commences even before we are actually born, so to say. It is the doctors who
actually announce and confirm our existence in the womb and they are the last
ones to certify our last breaths on this planet. In between, too they have a
major role to play with vaccinations, sicknesses and injuries
over the years. In the Armed Forces, of course, even if we are seemingly fit as
a fiddle, we need the annual visit to the doctors’ to confirm, if things are
really as they appear or we need to rein in our binges.
of my existence on this planet, I have had my share of brushes with these
medical professionals, may be a little more than the average for my age group
personnel because, firstly I am very injury prone and secondly I also
have a knack of getting afflicted with strange sounding uncommon maladies,
Bell’s Palsy, Herpes, Gastro Oesophageal Reflux `Disorder(GERD)… the names
themselves sound very impressive like the unforgettable “Lympho sarcoma
of the intestine” which ailed super star Rajesh Khanna in “Anand”, a popular
movie of the 70s. Of course these are the peculiar ones but the usual bouts of
chicken pox, measles, appendicitis and fevers, allergies have turned me into
quite a veteran. As if these weren’t all, my sports injuries have made me
conversant with the 206 bones of the body and the cartilages and acquainted me
with the different ways in which these can be hurt.
Bhatti, christened Dr Jhatka, after the comic character of “Lotpot”, a popular
Hindi comic strip. A good Tennis player, he handled the cadets quite well,
having seen through our malingering acts through the years. Naturally he wasn’t
very popular amongst the cadets. Although some of us still managed to hoodwink
him; one such occasion was the outbreak of conjunctivitis epidemic, when half
the cadets scooted home merely by applying some balm on the eyelids. He didn’t
want to come near and would from a distance just take a glance and send them
away…. Hospitalisation in school was like a well deserved break , no PT, games or punishments hot meals relished dressed in gowns. The nursing assistants were really old men from a different era, one of them used to smoke bidis and was constantly coughing so he was called “khaon khaon”, the other one was called Shivratri don’t really know why.
In NDA, we had many doctors in the MH, however, two of them remain vivid
in our memory, the first was Maj (Mrs) Siddiqui, who was quite a terror known
for handing out M&D or Att “A”, which was basically meant to send the lambs
( second termers) to the butcher (Cadet Sergeant Major, CSM for short). An Att “A”
implied the cadet was fit and was actually feigning illness, so he had it
coming and was sorted out nice and proper. After this session the cadet would not
dare to sham. The other lady was Sqn Ldr Anita Singh, who was blessed by all
the cadets for her benevolence, as, when she was the Duty Medical Officer, most
of the cadets reporting sick would return triumphant with an Att “C”, which in
simple terms was “Sick in quarter” or a whole days bed rest.
started at NDA, where I broke my left wrist while trying to play soccer
practically in slush, though it was the battleground for the seventh string
inter squadron match, in pouring rain. The lower strings matches were “free for all” i.e. the sport didn’t matter, it was the opponent who was the target. Having seen Pele’s scissor kick in
“Escape to Victory”, (the 80s movie, where allied Prisoners of War
escaped during a soccer game), I was convinced this acrobatic move would cement
my place straight away in the academy team. As you would have guessed seventh
stringer naturally landed on the wrist missing the ball altogether, the wrist
dangling away from the rest of the hand, hung loosely by the skin and whatever
connectivity was left with the bone. Quite a mess actually! The Physical
Training Ustaad, who was present cast a disinterested look and asked me to sit
outside till the game was over.
An ambulance then carted me to the Command
Hospital, where I was examined by a team of doctors. Feeling like a battle
wounded VIP I started to enjoy despite the severe pain that I was
suffering from. But with their line of questions I realised to my horror that
these were AFMC interns and suddenly from a VIP I was reduced to the status of
a guinea pig. Thankfully the surgeon walked in at that very moment and saved me
from further ordeal. By now I was extremely thirsty and also hungry, but was curtly
told “You have to be under “reduction””, God knows what it meant
except that I was not to be fed till my wrist was put in place surgically under
anaesthesia. Sometime around midnight I was woken up and wheeled into the
Operation theatre and the needful was done, so I thought. Next morning when I
woke up still groggy from the effects of anaesthesia, I was still in pain and
the cast on the hand felt a little too tight. The surgeon asked for the plaster
cast to be removed and a fresh cast was applied.
subsided, I was ready to enjoy the fruits of this blessing in disguise….
hospitality of the Command Hospital Officers ward for a few days. I had heard
stories how; the cadets would just stroll of to the MG road every now and then.
Not to forget the pretty MNS nurses, but alas, that was not to be; apparently
the officers’ ward did not have any spare beds, so I was discharged
unceremoniously. I was to be in this cast for six weeks, which of course
was terrible news for me….no sports, squash, tennis, cross country,
athletics…I was really looking forward to most of these events to display my
prowess. The silver lining of course was the exemption from PT and Drill. Some consolation
(!)
cellulites on the knees, I stayed healthy, avoided any more misadventures while
at NDA, and even survived the desperate attempts by my mount in the equestrian
arena to throw me off. The trips to MH were limited to some vaccinations,
except when there was an epidemic of chicken pox and fortunately for some of
us, one of our flank second termer caught the pox. We were immediately
quarantined in our very own squadron ante room. Having been afflicted with
the pox earlier , I was immune, so a fortnight of paid holiday with no
classes, PT, Drill and all the meals served right there. For a cadet this was
heavenly, pure bliss. We were obviously blessed.
encounter with the medical fraternity was after commissioning with a severe
knee injury sustained during an Inter Company Basket ball match. When you score
one too many baskets, you are a marked man and in the hard fought inter-company
battles it is the man who is targeted. Just too bad…. so with a swollen knee
I was carried away with lot of josh (Our company had won (!)) with the
youngsters giving me company to keep me in high spirits literally. There were
no Orthopaedic Surgeons in the hospital, the General Surgeon, a Bengali
gentleman was too busy with his surgeries, and so could not find time to look
me up for next almost 36 hours. I was kept on a diet of pain killers, probably
waiting for the swelling to subside. Moreover the only pretty nurse was already
hooked to a dashing Capt from the Mech Inf a couple of courses senior. Finally
the surgeon did take out time for this lowly creature and put the knee in a six
weeks cast with sick leave. While leave was welcome, the highly restricted
mobility was quite a dampener. The prospect of a travel by train to Bhopal and
then by the State Road Transport Bus on the pothole ridden roads to a town
called Rajgarh (back of the beyond…straight from some old Bollywood movie)
was not quite encouraging. Anyway, in keeping with the tradition of removal and
re plastering which I had set for myself the last time, here again, I had to
have it removed and the needful done in the local City Hospital as the nearest
MH was at Bhopal, 200 kms away. The end result was a category for next six
months, which put paid to my ambition of donning the maroon beret, as I was
planning to volunteer for Para Brigade Signals.
could not prevent me from indulging in the occasional sporting encounters less
Basket ball and gallivanting around on my new LML Vespa scooter. One such trip
after a Dining out party, decked up in 6B, the summer ceremonials, I crashed
into a cycle rickshaw blinded by the headlights of a car coming from the
opposite direction. I did the Superman act took off from the scooter but landed rather unceremoniously
with a thud, lost consciousness and was evacuated to the MH, with a concussion
on the head, contusion in the shoulder and a broken nose. The last one getting
me into the elite category of people as even Mrs Indira Gandhi also had a
broken nose (!). This injury, though helped me get upgraded as the doctors
forgot about the knee injury and within three months was declared SHAPE1 (medically
fit for the uninitiated, SHAPE standing for Psychology, Hearing, Appendages, Physiology,
Eyes) raring to go.
Thereafter I was doubly careful. firstly as I was to get married shortly and secondly was due to proceed on the dream engineering degree course for three years. We the RIMC, NDA variety miss out on the “college life” which everyone reminisces about very fondly. This is the closest we get to a college life in a military institution; some lucky ones move on for pursuing M Tech in Indian Institutes of Technology which is college life alright although almost a decade too late. But the exotic maladies commenced with Herpes Simplex striking at the most inopportune moment, in the middle of final semester exam. I was immediately advised hospitalisation, but my previous experiences made me wiser, I refused and asked to be quarantined at home instead. Sure enough I staged a remarkable recovery; a detention on medical grounds loomed large, and ended up missing just one/two exams, which I could comfortable reappear and clear.
The age old adage “An apple a day keeps the doctor away” seemed to work when I was in Kashmir, with plenty of apples and a medical incident free two and a half years ensued. May be the sporting activities too were on a low key, being in highly active insurgency effected area as well. The next bout manifested in the salubrious climes of Wellington during the coveted Staff Course at Defence Services Staff College. Suddenly, one fine day I started coughing like crazy, couidn’t even breathe and had to be evacuated to the Military Hospital. I was diagnosed with Severe Allergic Bronchitis, as to what triggered this allergy, nobody had a clue. I was nebulised and was ready to go back till the Duty Medical Officer politely conveyed that I was to be admitted and kept under observation. I tried reasoning with him, the fact that I was ok, I had the miracle “inhaler” with me, I could manage. I didn’t want to miss the classes, scared a long period of detention may result in me being returned to unit (RTU). The prospect of going through the agony again was dreadful, little did I realise then, that I was cursed to do it twice more as a Directing Staff(!).
The MH at Wellington obviously had other ideas, they put me through a battery of tests, all kinds of pathological ones and ECG etc, disappointed that all of them turned out to be “NAD” (no abnormality detected). I, on my part took permission to attend the classes, even while staying admitted. So after three days of incarceration I was released. It was only later that I realised that the aim of the hospital was not a genuine care for my well being, but improving their statistical record in the officers ward. After all there were hardly any admissions there, so some one had to be the fall guy ;). But MH Wellington was not going to let go so easily, more about that later.
It was during OP PARAKRAM when we were deployed in Rajasthan after the staff course, during a routine annual medical examination, the surgeon after stripping me and feeling the family jewels, announced his verdict that I needed to be operated for Hernia. I said the Hernia could wait, we are in the middle of a war/ warlike situation, and I have no intention of being confined to the bed or being sent on sick leave. Fortunately, the doctor, an Air Force bloke in Jodhpur, let me off with the rejoinder that the moment this mobilisation ended, I should go under the scalpel, and avoid lifting heavy objests or stressful physical activity. A promise which I had no intention of keeping, I simply scooted back to the unit, not disclosing this to anyone, lest I be forced into it. The best part of this episode was that I dutifully got myself examined once we got back to civilisation but this time under a civil doctor, who pronounced me absolutely fit, so apparently I had miraculously recovered, and have steered clear of Hernia at least.
From one desert to another, the next destination was Ladakh, our very own Shangrila, posted in the staff in Divisional HQ. Adhering to the laid down norms of strict acclimitisation schedule, I was sure that this should be a healthy period with no pollution, even less Oxygen. But fate had ordained that Leh Base Hospital too had its place in the sun in my life. One Sunday morning turned out to be quite a miserable one when I woke up with a terrible stomach ache, throwing up, convinced the officers mess food was the culprit, I dutifully reported the MI room, where equally promptly they despatched me back with the panacea for stomach related ailments “baralgan”. Unfortunately the discomfort only multiplied exponentially, this time a senior doctor decided to examine me and detained me in the MI room itself keeping me under close observation. The psychological effect of a senior dcotor’s presence did precious little to soothe my suffering,writhing in pain, but under observation I stayed till it was almost midnight, when the senior doctor took the call of evacuating me to Leh, about 35 kms away in the 1 ton ambulance which were invented to primarily frighten the patients into immediate recovery rather than transporting them anywhere. I had no option, my colleague and senior Rimcollian Col Mukul Singhal accompanied. By then the senior doctor had more or less made up his mind that mine was case of acute appendicitis and needed immediate surgery. Better late than never, so I moved hoping to be wheeled into the OT straight from the ambulance, with the proverbial red bulb outside depicting a major surgery, with relations of the patient pacing worriedly in the corridors, so I imagined. No such luck, you are too lowly a creature, the Duty medical Officer took one look at me, announced that I was to be admitted in the Officers Ward, the venerable surgeon would be informed the next morning. That was one terrible night, I was wondering if the pain which our lasses had to endure was similar or worse… it was actually killing.
Next morning the surgeon arrived and asked for an ultrasound to be conducted, while actually even the nursing assistant was convinced that the surgery was already over delayed. Sure enough, in the middle of the ultrasound, he got so scared that he wheeled me into the OT and straightaway wielded the scalpel to remove the vestigial organ called Appendix. When he enquired whether I wanted a general or a local anesthesia I said whichever is earlier and so I observed the surgery could hear them chat and finally when they did sever it and held it, the damned thing was red bulging to the extremes and ready to burst any minute. No the ordeal did not end here, the poor hygiene in the hospital resulted in pus formation in the sutures thus prolonging my stay in the hospital. Our families`are great and adapt themselves amazingly to any of these unforeseen eventualities with exceptional ease. So my son. whose final exams were on would give me company after the exam as his mother, my better half would have come along with my soup and the meal which she carried all the way from Karu. Incidentally even my birthday was celebrated in the confines of officers ward at Leh BH. The sutures refused to heal prolonging my agony, all this while I had maintained silence with my sister who is a Neurosurgeon in Delhi. But a prolonged stay of more than two weeks was too much for her to accept. She finally got round to me spilling the beans. Her first question was whether the culture test had been conducted on the oozing pus, when I expressed my ignorance, she immediately asked me to give a piece of her mind to the surgeon and that finally got me out.
Bell’s Palsy has nothing whatsoever to do with a bell, it is a nerve disorder of the seventh cranial nerve; the cause could be idiopathic. (cause unknown)…. impressed(!)Well I really had no option, but to read up on all the info available on the net when one evening I suddenly felt a little unease while having dinner in the Officers Mess at Wellington. Yes I was back in Wellington, the symptoms were ominous with a little slurring of speech and water running down from the corner of the mouth. I asked my friend Anjan Datta to take me to the MI room, where the DMO was a Sikh by the name of “Capt Judge”, with a name like that he was obviously in the wrong profession. He examined me carefully and announced an alprax (a sleeping pill, for the uninitiated) should cure me of the discomfort…I would be fighting fit in the new morn. I was relieved the doctor said since I had travelled fro Bangalore that very day, I may have been a little stressed, which may have caused it. The next morning, my buddy let out a little shriek at seeing my contorted face, the mirror did not lie, my face had really twisted to the left with no sensations on that side. I knew now that it was time to call sis dear, she once again hauled me up for not calling her at night itself, as the damage could have been restricted and so also the resultant deformity of the face . Friends and family were horrified to see me in this situation. We were not sure if a total recovery was possible, but luckily the earnest prayers were answered and I did recover and regained the same dashing looks (!) It left me wondering whether the students in staff College practised some sort of voo doo to avenge the assault which we dutifully conducted on their written assignments by painting it in red graffiti.
The GERD or “gastro oesophageal reflux disorder” takes the credit for being most deceptive, the symptoms were typical bronchial … incessant cough but neither allopathy nor home remedies brought any relief. Luckily our landlady Mrs Iyengar, a Vyjayanthimala look alike, suggested a civil Pulmonologist, who after conducting a battery of tests, announced his verdict that my lungs were perfectly healthy and I needed to consult a gastroenterologist. He conducted an endoscopy and confirmed that GERD it was, “hyperacidity”…thankfully no scalpel …no deformities .. just managed with medicines, thankfully the biopsy was negative.
There is a saying in Urdu ” Tandurasti hazaar niyamat” or the more common version “heath is wealth”! Now that I am half a century plus…..doctors have to be befriended. So just walks, yoga, keep fit!
By the way ours is a family of doctors apart from my sister aunts uncles cousins nephews nieces and the latest entrant to this club is the apple of my eye Ananya, my daughter. How I wish having doctors in the family provided some insurance. Anyway let me end with “Sarve santu nirayamah”
Let everyone be healthy as goes to AMC motto !!!
Original Comments:
Surbhi (2019-05-02):
Carry on doctors for sure…
But definitely not the official rendezvous with them…
Extremely engripping story of your encounters with the docs.
Sarve santu Niramayah
KPM Das (2019-05-03):
Great read there. Ten years back in time at the NDA, call it a generation removed and memories of Dr Nangia (we thought she had no heart!!) and Maj Borkar- they could sense a shirking cadet a mile away. In Bravo Sqn, we began our second line of medical cover- many Xrays, doctor rubber stamps, case sheets, and medical stationery made their way from CH to the Sqn. And lo, we had a full fledged MI Room running without a doctor issuing Att Cs and expansive case sheets………
nononsense (2019-05-03):
Innovation initiative and ingenuity have traditionally been the hallmark of ex-NDAs, it can't be referred to as forgery…. Yes I forgot also courage , after all there was always the lurking threat of the Div Officer catching you.