Rx Panipuri

Sunday siesta was on the list until I got the call I least look forward to on Sundays.

Google map helped me calculate that I have to leave by 3 to be there at 4, which meant I have to book a cab at 2:45, which meant I have to start getting ready at 2:15, which meant I have to finish my lunch by 2:10, that is I have to start having lunch at 1:40, which meant I have to place the order for home delivery of my Malabar mutton biriyani at 1, which meant bidding adieu to my afternoon slumber.. sob.. sob..  

Getting myself seated in the silver indica with a slouch and a grouch, I checked in to my clinician app to view the patient details. 42 yr old male. To get a clearer picture of his clinical condition I made a call to the triaging team. Fever and no other associated co-morbidities raised my right brow along with some suspicion in my mind as I have not come across any febrile 42year old male who is otherwise healthy, thinking of seeing a doctor before popping a few paracetamol pills. I asked if she is sure that the patient has no other debilitating condition. She affirmed so again. On reaching the premises, a lady in her 40s answered the doorbell. I was guided by her to a room where in the said patient, occupied a wheelchair. After 2 secs of mentally cursing the person who had triaged for gathering incomplete information, I proceeded with my differential diagnoses while I walked in to the room. Looks like a stroke, mmm.. no, maybe road traffic accident.. just then the patient turned his face towards me with a wobbly head and an asymmetric smile, which suggested a cerebral stroke or palsy.. before I digged my brain’s grey mater further to extract more details, the lady added “ he has multiple sclerosis”.. oh yes, multiple sclerosis too can make your smile lose aesthetic sense...

 A steaming cup of coffee arrived at my disposal after I discharged my service by diagnosing his viral upper respiratory tract infection and before supplying a prescription for the same. While I sipped on my caffeine, the lady slipped in a few recitals of her husband’s hey days. She spoke with immense fondness of the times when her husband used to leave no hill unconquered, no tourist spots unexplored and no stone unturned to make no weekend unexciting. And there was a sense of pride in those gleaming moistened eyes, pride that was occasionally interspersed with pain. The corners of her lips made me uneasy as they quivered and tried their best to not invert her smile. I shifted my gaze from her to allay my uneasiness, but lamentably landed my eyes on her husband, whom I found staring somewhere in to thinnest of air, looking through a view finder. To make things worse, I started choking on my coffee, but calmed myself with the realisation that, the lump in my throat, just like his view finder, were inhabitants of the same imaginary world. 

The lady made a request that I dissuade her husband against requesting for fast food, especially food from street side vendors, specifically pani puris. Now, this is the most annoying part of being a doctor. People count on you to discourage them against habits and practices that the people very well know they should be discouraged about. Before I could commence my declamation, the husband suffered a minor fit, fit of rage. “fhow can vaani oori ghive u kold?”, he shot at me, while blowing his nose. “well, it can’t.”, I miaowd back. “though it may give you gastroenteritis”, I added in a hurried fumble, not at all keen to piss him off anymore. I started writing the prescription, in the backdrop of constant bickering between them. Before leaving, I handed the prescription over to the patient and winked at his wife. She thought I wrote a joke on it seeing her husband’s fit of rage transform into a fit of mirth, and snatched the prescription from his hands. On reading it she gave me a disapproving nod and I responded with an approving smile. Rx panipuri- 1 plate once a week, was the joke.

On my way back home, while I was still recovering from the imaginary lump in my throat, I was disappointed by life’s rationality and decision making abilities, but then as Dr. House once said, “People get what they get. It has nothing to do with what they deserve”.Sunday siesta was on the list until I got the call I least look forward to on Sundays.

Google map helped me calculate that I have to leave by 3 to be there at 4, which meant I have to book a cab at 2:45, which meant I have to start getting ready at 2:15, which meant I have to finish my lunch by 2:10, that is I have to start having lunch at 1:40, which meant I have to place the order for home delivery of my Malabar mutton biriyani at 1, which meant bidding adieu to my afternoon slumber.. sob.. sob..  

Getting myself seated in the silver indica with a slouch and a grouch, I checked in to my clinician app to view the patient details. 42 yr old male. To get a clearer picture of his clinical condition I made a call to the triaging team. Fever and no other associated co-morbidities raised my right brow along with some suspicion in my mind as I have not come across any febrile 42year old male who is otherwise healthy, thinking of seeing a doctor before popping a few paracetamol pills. I asked if she is sure that the patient has no other debilitating condition. She affirmed so again. On reaching the premises, a lady in her 40s answered the doorbell. I was guided by her to a room where in the said patient, occupied a wheelchair. After 2 secs of mentally cursing the person who had triaged for gathering incomplete information, I proceeded with my differential diagnoses while I walked in to the room. Looks like a stroke, mmm.. no, maybe road traffic accident.. just then the patient turned his face towards me with a wobbly head and an asymmetric smile, which suggested a cerebral stroke or palsy.. before I digged my brain’s grey mater further to extract more details, the lady added “ he has multiple sclerosis”.. oh yes, multiple sclerosis too can make your smile lose aesthetic sense...

 A steaming cup of coffee arrived at my disposal after I discharged my service by diagnosing his viral upper respiratory tract infection and before supplying a prescription for the same. While I sipped on my caffeine, the lady slipped in a few recitals of her husband’s hey days. She spoke with immense fondness of the times when her husband used to leave no hill unconquered, no tourist spots unexplored and no stone unturned to make no weekend unexciting. And there was a sense of pride in those gleaming moistened eyes, pride that was occasionally interspersed with pain. The corners of her lips made me uneasy as they quivered and tried their best to not invert her smile. I shifted my gaze from her to allay my uneasiness, but lamentably landed my eyes on her husband, whom I found staring somewhere in to thinnest of air, looking through a view finder. To make things worse, I started choking on my coffee, but calmed myself with the realisation that, the lump in my throat, just like his view finder, were inhabitants of the same imaginary world. 

The lady made a request that I dissuade her husband against requesting for fast food, especially food from street side vendors, specifically pani puris. Now, this is the most annoying part of being a doctor. People count on you to discourage them against habits and practices that the people very well know they should be discouraged about. Before I could commence my declamation, the husband suffered a minor fit, fit of rage. “fhow can vaani oori ghive u kold?”, he shot at me, while blowing his nose. “well, it can’t.”, I miaowd back. “though it may give you gastroenteritis”, I added in a hurried fumble, not at all keen to piss him off anymore. I started writing the prescription, in the backdrop of constant bickering between them. Before leaving, I handed the prescription over to the patient and winked at his wife. She thought I wrote a joke on it seeing her husband’s fit of rage transform into a fit of mirth, and snatched the prescription from his hands. On reading it she gave me a disapproving nod and I responded with an approving smile. Rx panipuri- 1 plate once a week, was the joke.

On my way back home, while I was still recovering from the imaginary lump in my throat, I was disappointed by life’s rationality and decision making abilities, but then as Dr. House once said, “People get what they get. It has nothing to do with what they deserve”.