Badinage

A li'l bit of this that and that

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

EEGad!

Refreshing a dozen dear memories at Synergy + haggling on Pep with chum on muck filled craters in the mad rain + Shahid flick + buddy's birthday party = a day well spent I thought. Weary and satisfied, I overslept through two hours of duty the next day. I quickly found out where the CME was being held and readied my newest excuse for going late.

PG: Take this boy for EEG. Go now. Hurry.

It was a ten year old boy with cerebral palsy, moderate mental retardation and seizure disorder. He looked at me, clutched harder on to his mother as she carried him and got ready to leave.

Where should I take them? How do I take them? Who will pay? She spoke fluent Kannada, Tulu and Hindi. Why should I go along? I called friends who had finished here. "Dude relax. Did you expect to intubate babies and save lives and all? This is what you have to do."

I went through his folder as our auto ride started. He was thrilled about getting out of the hospital and was busy wide eyedly looking at every passing object. I tried to talk to him. He responded by babbling and pounding my palm. He took great interest in my key chain which had a G carved out of wood. He was happy and playful. Shouldn't the kid be asleep for the procedure, I wondered...

PG: Give Trichlorfos. Rounds. Don't call. Bye.

Tri what??

Dad: It is a sedative. Sold under trade name Pedicloryl. So he is 10 years old and weighs 20 kg. Give him 5 ml. You may repeat after half an hour if required. Don't fret the small stuff. Enjoy whatever you do.

We reached the place. Waiting hall was full. We managed to make place to sit. She was carrying a bottle of the medicine. I gave one dose. We waited. One hour up. I was bored and irritated already. One group of shiny burqa clad women entered.

Technician to the mother: Wenlock inda alla? Kelage koothkoli. (From Wenlock? Sit on the floor.)

I was shocked. In my thought of choosing the right response, I managed to ask "Why? I want to talk to your doctor about this." She walked away nonchalantly. I got angry. The mother signalled at me that it was ok. I told her sternly not to budge.

Two hours up. He was wide awake, looking outside the window from her lap and smiling to himelf.

PG: Didn't I ask you not to call? Repeat the dose.
G: I did.
PG: Give some more.
G: It is almost over.
PG: Get from somewhere. Bye.

I had already given 15 ml. I decided to just wait. He would look drowsy. We would gently take him to the procedure room. Technician would start placing electrodes. He would wake up, act aggressive, pull the wires, try to pull his hair and howl. These episodes repeated four times. Fifth time, his mother lost it. She started beating him and joined his howling. I didn't know who I felt more sorry for. I tried to calm her down and convinced her that this method would not work.

G: Do you have Trichlorfos?
Technician: No
G: How do you put patients to sleep.
T: Can't give for Wenlock patients.

It was foolish to even ask. I decided not to talk to her again.

T: Parwagilla. Tagoli. Aadre solpa. (It's ok, you can take. But little.)

I went to the nearest pharmacy and got a bottle. I had decided to thump it into her hands before leaving, but I didn't remember.

More waiting. Three hours up. I beat all my previous high scores in all the games in my cell phone. I watched half of a Vishnuvardhan movie in the waiting hall. I was watching an old lady's jewellery as she went for a CT. I called dad and cribbed.

The procedure finally started. 45 minutes more.

T: Report ready untu. Abnormal EEG.

Wow! Really? What a revelation.

I sat and wondered about the glorious prefix to my name on the ride back to the hospital.