I’ve been unable to put up any posts for some time; life has been keeping me busy…and away from the internet. First there were exams, followed by this competition at the IMT in Ghaziabad where my team got the first place…thank you very much. But, the significant event that kept me away was a major attack of appendicitis which kept me in a hospital bed and away from the internet. Now without going into gross details…oh wait…then where’s the fun? Okay….i’m getting into the details and the lighter side of all the pain and tragedy. The acute pain began while I was at Ghaziabad last to last Friday night. I assumed it was gas. Two reasons…one – I’m specializing in marketing, so we lot are full of gas and two – I saw the chicken being served at the canteen there and went berserk.
Right throughout our stay there, I kind of grinned and moaned and bore the pain while we gave our prize winning presentation. I must say, it was nice to beat the chaps from IIM who are absolutely sore irrational losers. We gave the presentation and I ran out to my room. The best compliment I could ever get was from this chap from FMS, “Dude! You’re costing model was absolutely brilliant. Detailed to the last. You must be a finance chap…or else no way it could have been so strong!” I am thinking to myself, “ Me? A finance chap? Really? Holy mother….why isn’t my dad around to hear this?” There is no way in reality I could be a finance chap…all those numbers make me dizzy. Come to think of it, I believe the acute pain might have begun thanks to designing that costing model. Anyway, Sunday evening we are out of IMT, with 10k worth of prizes, which means they gave us absolute crap which we could not divide amongst ourselves as there was no cash involved. Atleast we got certificates and I have something more to add to my resume. Another occasion where I win first place, but cannot enjoy the moment as I am in terrible pain.
We land in Chennai and I manage till college. Next day, hell breaks loose and I feel like I have been shot. Or at least, the description of how a bullet feels in you kind of matched the pain in me. Now, I go to the hospital to get a scan and what not. Leaving aside the details, I’ll talk about the CT scan which was a totally fun affair in my head. First and foremost, the guy asks me to wear one of those ridiculous gowns and then asks me, in broken English, if I have any metal inside me. Uh-oh….not the best thing to ask a geek. I wonder to myself, “Should I tell him about the adamantium that has been infused on my skin? And the claws that would come out and slice him into two if he ticks me off?” (Think wolverine) But then, the joke would have been totally wasted. While the wheels of geekness turn in my head, he stares and asks, “ Sir ,I meant in case you have a metal plate in your head or something?”….Seriously dude? Metal plate in my head? That was the first thing that came to your mind? I look like the ‘plate-in-head’ types eh? You could have asked a million other things…but nooooooo…..plate in my head? What about my titanium hip?
After clarifying that I am metal free, I am made to lay on the CT scan table. While the scan by itself is a boring affair, you can make it fun through imagination. All the sounds and the green lights had the geek-wheels turning again. I am sitting there imagining that the next minute there is going to be a radiation blast and the pain in my abdomen is a anger-gland waiting for a radiation catalyst. Next minute, muscles ripping through the gown, I turn into this big green muscular abomination (Think ‘The Incredible Hulk’). Next minute I am smashing through the walls and running into the wilderness. But then, there is one basic thing missing. All super-freak heroes need to have a dame who still believes that the freakiness in them can be cured. It was the same with Superman, The hulk, Wolverine and many others. Since there is no Dr.Betty Ross right now…applications though are open…. I quickly threw aside the Hulk fantasy. New fantasy….Half Life. Next minute, there is a resonance cascade and a portal to the Zen world opens up through which aliens come through. I am busy fighting them off with my crowbar and gun. But before I can let that fantasy develop in my head, the scan is done. Boooooooooooooring! Nothing happened!
I made my way to Bangalore and home…went to the hospital. Turns out I have this humongous b*tch of an infection thanks to all the travelling and without that being taken care off; no surgery. So I get admitted. Being the quintessential hero that I am, I say that I refuse to be pushed on a wheelchair and that I will walk to my room. 4 steps in, the pain is too much. I give in and call for the wheel-chair. Mum tries pushing…but then, she needs to realize the last time she was pushing me around was in the pram as a baby. I have gained a fair amount of weight since then (Really? No way? No kidding….) Out of nowhere comes this tiny dynamo of a nurse who pushes me so fast that mum had to break into a slow jog to keep up. Where that dainty little thing got the energy to push me ….I’ll never know.
It is also medically proven now, that I am thick-skinned. I kid you not. It took the nurse a fair amount of time to find a vein to shove the extremely large needle for the intra-venous thingy. (It’s a good thing I did not get into medicine…imagine going about referring to stuff as that blood-pumping thingy in your chest…).When a suitable location was found, she pushed the needle in. And it refuses to budge. On the contrary it actually gets bent at a 20 degree angle….The nurse announced, “Sir, you are thick-skinned….I have never seen a needle get bent inside a person.” I can’t help but smile and tell mum that all the years she kept beating me to get me to study was not her fault…it’s just the way I am. Note to my friends too. I am not stubborn….God made me this way. I remember the scene from ‘Superman Returns’ where they can’t administer the injection as he is made of steel. Kind of makes me feel invincible.
Coming to the part that might have the guys interested… NO! I did not have any hot or cute nurses. There were no sponge-baths and the doctors were all male. The one lady doctor in the entourage was old and looked like she was suffering from some disease herself. But she knew her job, and that was important. I did however get one hot intern come and stare for 2 minutes on the last day before I checked out. So some salvation! I am one of those guys who have all the luck when it comes to such matters. Not even a remotely cute nurse. Everyone who attended to me were German….in the sense, not much to look at…but awesome on the service and efficiency. Not once did we have to call to get the saline bottles or antibiotics replaced. They always knew the time. On the other hand, my friend who was getting her eye fixed was getting a fair amount of eye-candy. Ironic isn’t it?
With all this, I did my best to crack jokes and smile through the pain. Mum on the other hand was terribly worried and bore the look. Many people asked if she was the patient. Even as a patient, I could not be taken too seriously. One guard told me to get out of the wheelchair once while we were waiting for the room. I looked too healthy and jovial to be a patient. If there is one thing, I refuse to look morose and on the verge of meeting my maker. People come in with something as non-serious as a fractured toe and look like the good-lord is taking them away any minute. Sad, droopy face with an “I am doomed” look, pleading for the sympathy of by-standers. I refuse to be that. Even if I am going, I going out with a smile on my face as I am grateful for all the little things I have in life to call my own.
On a serious note, I am back home after 4 agonizing days of pain at the hospital. I am recuperating quite well. Mum cracked a joke saying that I am to stop eating non-veg for the next few months. I already more or less drink once in 2 months, have quit junk food all together…. Have quit gaming, stopped playing football, don’t have a girlfriend…I’m better off dead if she thinks I am going to quit my chicken, fish and prawns. I am now subjected to salt less…spice less….hence, tasteless food, but apparently its good for me. The antibiotics make me high and sleepy. I did not bring any spare clothes when I came down from college, and I can’t wear any of the shorts I have as the elastic presses against the stomach. I have to wear dad’s humongous PJs which, besides being terribly large, are terribly short. This makes me look like an ugly hobbit. Anyway, I hope to resume classes by the end of next week and to be back to my normal junk-food eating self soon. Am just praying that they say I don’t require surgery when I go in for my check up on Wednesday. I can’t take any more of those sky-blue hospital gowns, those pista-green walls and the incessant injections and blood taking. So, pray for me whenever you get the time.
Right throughout our stay there, I kind of grinned and moaned and bore the pain while we gave our prize winning presentation. I must say, it was nice to beat the chaps from IIM who are absolutely sore irrational losers. We gave the presentation and I ran out to my room. The best compliment I could ever get was from this chap from FMS, “Dude! You’re costing model was absolutely brilliant. Detailed to the last. You must be a finance chap…or else no way it could have been so strong!” I am thinking to myself, “ Me? A finance chap? Really? Holy mother….why isn’t my dad around to hear this?” There is no way in reality I could be a finance chap…all those numbers make me dizzy. Come to think of it, I believe the acute pain might have begun thanks to designing that costing model. Anyway, Sunday evening we are out of IMT, with 10k worth of prizes, which means they gave us absolute crap which we could not divide amongst ourselves as there was no cash involved. Atleast we got certificates and I have something more to add to my resume. Another occasion where I win first place, but cannot enjoy the moment as I am in terrible pain.
We land in Chennai and I manage till college. Next day, hell breaks loose and I feel like I have been shot. Or at least, the description of how a bullet feels in you kind of matched the pain in me. Now, I go to the hospital to get a scan and what not. Leaving aside the details, I’ll talk about the CT scan which was a totally fun affair in my head. First and foremost, the guy asks me to wear one of those ridiculous gowns and then asks me, in broken English, if I have any metal inside me. Uh-oh….not the best thing to ask a geek. I wonder to myself, “Should I tell him about the adamantium that has been infused on my skin? And the claws that would come out and slice him into two if he ticks me off?” (Think wolverine) But then, the joke would have been totally wasted. While the wheels of geekness turn in my head, he stares and asks, “ Sir ,I meant in case you have a metal plate in your head or something?”….Seriously dude? Metal plate in my head? That was the first thing that came to your mind? I look like the ‘plate-in-head’ types eh? You could have asked a million other things…but nooooooo…..plate in my head? What about my titanium hip?
After clarifying that I am metal free, I am made to lay on the CT scan table. While the scan by itself is a boring affair, you can make it fun through imagination. All the sounds and the green lights had the geek-wheels turning again. I am sitting there imagining that the next minute there is going to be a radiation blast and the pain in my abdomen is a anger-gland waiting for a radiation catalyst. Next minute, muscles ripping through the gown, I turn into this big green muscular abomination (Think ‘The Incredible Hulk’). Next minute I am smashing through the walls and running into the wilderness. But then, there is one basic thing missing. All super-freak heroes need to have a dame who still believes that the freakiness in them can be cured. It was the same with Superman, The hulk, Wolverine and many others. Since there is no Dr.Betty Ross right now…applications though are open…. I quickly threw aside the Hulk fantasy. New fantasy….Half Life. Next minute, there is a resonance cascade and a portal to the Zen world opens up through which aliens come through. I am busy fighting them off with my crowbar and gun. But before I can let that fantasy develop in my head, the scan is done. Boooooooooooooring! Nothing happened!
I made my way to Bangalore and home…went to the hospital. Turns out I have this humongous b*tch of an infection thanks to all the travelling and without that being taken care off; no surgery. So I get admitted. Being the quintessential hero that I am, I say that I refuse to be pushed on a wheelchair and that I will walk to my room. 4 steps in, the pain is too much. I give in and call for the wheel-chair. Mum tries pushing…but then, she needs to realize the last time she was pushing me around was in the pram as a baby. I have gained a fair amount of weight since then (Really? No way? No kidding….) Out of nowhere comes this tiny dynamo of a nurse who pushes me so fast that mum had to break into a slow jog to keep up. Where that dainty little thing got the energy to push me ….I’ll never know.
It is also medically proven now, that I am thick-skinned. I kid you not. It took the nurse a fair amount of time to find a vein to shove the extremely large needle for the intra-venous thingy. (It’s a good thing I did not get into medicine…imagine going about referring to stuff as that blood-pumping thingy in your chest…).When a suitable location was found, she pushed the needle in. And it refuses to budge. On the contrary it actually gets bent at a 20 degree angle….The nurse announced, “Sir, you are thick-skinned….I have never seen a needle get bent inside a person.” I can’t help but smile and tell mum that all the years she kept beating me to get me to study was not her fault…it’s just the way I am. Note to my friends too. I am not stubborn….God made me this way. I remember the scene from ‘Superman Returns’ where they can’t administer the injection as he is made of steel. Kind of makes me feel invincible.
Coming to the part that might have the guys interested… NO! I did not have any hot or cute nurses. There were no sponge-baths and the doctors were all male. The one lady doctor in the entourage was old and looked like she was suffering from some disease herself. But she knew her job, and that was important. I did however get one hot intern come and stare for 2 minutes on the last day before I checked out. So some salvation! I am one of those guys who have all the luck when it comes to such matters. Not even a remotely cute nurse. Everyone who attended to me were German….in the sense, not much to look at…but awesome on the service and efficiency. Not once did we have to call to get the saline bottles or antibiotics replaced. They always knew the time. On the other hand, my friend who was getting her eye fixed was getting a fair amount of eye-candy. Ironic isn’t it?
With all this, I did my best to crack jokes and smile through the pain. Mum on the other hand was terribly worried and bore the look. Many people asked if she was the patient. Even as a patient, I could not be taken too seriously. One guard told me to get out of the wheelchair once while we were waiting for the room. I looked too healthy and jovial to be a patient. If there is one thing, I refuse to look morose and on the verge of meeting my maker. People come in with something as non-serious as a fractured toe and look like the good-lord is taking them away any minute. Sad, droopy face with an “I am doomed” look, pleading for the sympathy of by-standers. I refuse to be that. Even if I am going, I going out with a smile on my face as I am grateful for all the little things I have in life to call my own.
On a serious note, I am back home after 4 agonizing days of pain at the hospital. I am recuperating quite well. Mum cracked a joke saying that I am to stop eating non-veg for the next few months. I already more or less drink once in 2 months, have quit junk food all together…. Have quit gaming, stopped playing football, don’t have a girlfriend…I’m better off dead if she thinks I am going to quit my chicken, fish and prawns. I am now subjected to salt less…spice less….hence, tasteless food, but apparently its good for me. The antibiotics make me high and sleepy. I did not bring any spare clothes when I came down from college, and I can’t wear any of the shorts I have as the elastic presses against the stomach. I have to wear dad’s humongous PJs which, besides being terribly large, are terribly short. This makes me look like an ugly hobbit. Anyway, I hope to resume classes by the end of next week and to be back to my normal junk-food eating self soon. Am just praying that they say I don’t require surgery when I go in for my check up on Wednesday. I can’t take any more of those sky-blue hospital gowns, those pista-green walls and the incessant injections and blood taking. So, pray for me whenever you get the time.
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