A correction to my post on Monday. The neighbourhood vendor in the health sector isn't being muscled out. He or she has been co-opted by the healthcare biggies.
During the day, they work for a big hospital. In the evening, they run private clinics at home. Like the one we took our little one to, last evening.
She seemed lethargic, had a runny stomach, wasn't eating well and ran high temperature the previous night.
There was a small queue at the clinic. The kid before was a "healthy" boy, who needed an injection or something. His huge howls weren't the reassurance that our girl wanted. Even in her state, she was curious to check out "why the big boy was crying".
She has only ever heard such howls in 'Finding Nemo' when the dentist (P. Sherman) is struggling to get Nigel, the Pelican out of his room.
In her exposures to the National Health Service in the UK, it was the nurses who wielded the injection. They took time to settle her down and then dispense the vaccine/medication when she was distracted. The only visible thing would be a tiny droplet of blood, which was quickly sealed up.
The paediatrician was swift in her diagnosis. Viral hai (It's viral fever). We need to get her on to antibiotics. Ten minutes later, we were out of the clinic with a prescription in our hands.
If it were the NHS, that would be it. You would have haggled an appointment after spending lots of time over the phone. Then, after waiting patiently in the waiting area, see the only doctor who had time/space to see you.
But this is India. You are spoilt for choices here, and - curiously enough - it doesn't cost too much to consult two, or even three of such doctors. The standard fee, per consultation, is between 100-200 Indian Rupees (or 1.40-2.80 British Pounds). The most expensive it gets is 400 Indian Rupees (or 8 British Pounds).
Yes, I know what you are thinking. It isn't too expensive for the average Delhiwalla either. You would get a butter chicken in a decent restaurant for the most expensive consultation fee.
So, we went off to another doctor recommended by the landlady and another local.
"Paani (Water)," said the elderly Sikh doctor. "Paani bahut zaroori hai. Isse paani do. Zyada nahin. Thoda, thoda (Water is important. You must give her water. Not too much. Just a little by very often)". He asked if the little one had had enough water. No, she hadn't as she was asleep most of the day. "Paani bahut zaroori hai. Agar shareer mein paani kum hoga to aadmi kamzor mehsoos karega. Aur agar aap kamzor honge, to aapko beemari pakad legi. (Water is very important. If you don't have enough water, you will feel weak. And if you feel weak, the ailment will take control).
His diagnosis was similar. The little one had viral, made worse by a throat infection. We had to get her started on the antibiotics, but could continue with Calpol and Benilyn to tackle fever and cough. Aur paani do. Paani bahut zaroori hai. Thoda. Thoda.
During all this time, our little girl barely uttered a word. The throat infection had subdued her voice completely.
The moment we gave her antibiotics, she screamed. Yeh accha nahin hai. Yeh kharaab hai (This is not good. This is bad). We tried convincing her that it was good. That it'll make her feel better soon. But she only conceded when told the "cough monster" story and how it had to be defeated before she could visit my workplace.
The medicine was so bitter, she threw it out straightaway. Then, of her own choice, she put some water in her mouth to dilute the bitter medicine. It took three go's to finish off a 5ml dose.
Her temperature did go up during the night, but she slept better. By this morning, the stomach was better and her voice had returned.
The doctor saw her again in the morning. She is looking good. She may have fever this evening as well. If she doesn't, well and good. But tomorrow she will feel better.
We hope so too. She definitely looks better running around and making a mess.
Glad she's on the mend.
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