Saying ‘no’ to government hospital



   Doctors said you should leave that or get admitted again                     Photo: incurable_hippie/flickr

Becoming a patient is always so miserable. It’s even worse to stay idle on the bed at the hospital. Medical care in Bangladesh has developed, that’s what we hear from our republic’s publicity, however as a patient when I got admitted at the National Institute of Cardiovascular Diseases & Hospital in Dhaka, I thought next time, I won’t go near a government hospital.

3rd of October, 2010, my boss went to India. I was feeling quite fine and relaxed as I was handling works in a more comfortable way , without any pressure at all. But, in reality, I was feeling some sort of pressure on the right side of my chest since the 4th.  I was feeling lost, weird and dizzy without actually comprehending what’s taking shape in my body.

It was 5 AM in the morning and 6th October it was. I felt like a shock. Kind of a body-quake. Wow! That was quite huge on both sides of my chest. Well, finally I thought of seeing a doctor. Went to a private clinic and did the ECG. Nothing miraculous happened! Doctor advised me to get admitted immediately, but concealed what was found on the ECG report! Only my family members got the ‘ugly truth’. I was actually making fun of the doctor, saying how can a skinny man like me would get a heart disease who plays 90 minutes of football everyday, after work?

On way to hell

It was quarter to eleven at night on the 6th. My relative, Monzur bhai who is the Special Correspondent for a very famous Bengali newspaper in Bangladesh, came to my home. I didn’t know he already talked with my father and my uncle that he’ll take me to a hospital. Also, I didn’t know what was about to happen. Monzur Bhai asked to pack my bags with necessary stuffs. I was thundered but had to agree as he was elder to me and my family pressed me like hell.

Mr. Taufique. Please have a good night sleep here at the hospital. We promise we’ll let you go tomorrow

Duty Doctor, Emergency Unit, NICVD

We went to National Institute of Cardiovascular Diseases & Hospital, 10 minute drive from my residence. I was primarily taken to the emergency unit and once again my ECG report came bad, I mean it was lot worse than the previous one. A duty doctor, smilingly gave me the worst news of my life, ‘Mr. Taufique. Please have a good night sleep here at the hospital. We promise we’ll let you go tomorrow.’ I was so shocked, helplessly looking at my family members and requesting them not to admit me here.

Traumatic and social life

NICVD is full of shit. Well, sorry about the language. I’m writing my personal blog here. It’s a government hospital with prehistoric medical equipments. Most of the patients are from all parts of Bangladesh, very marginal and ultra poor (Not condemning patients at all). The first seat that they gave me was on the floor. And, I tell you I was never going to stay there. Then at 12:15 in the morning, I was shifted to a ward-bed.  I was mentally shocked and vomited four times with severe pain on the chest. Later, I passed the rest of the night at CCU with two bloody/painful injections over my belly.

I can’t remember the next two days clearly. I was in some sort of dilemma. I was becoming the absence in presence of mind. From 9th of October, I finally started realizing where I am and what actually happened to me. Sorry for not mentioning, I was shifted to a paying-bed on 7th of October, 2010. I could merely see any doctors coming to my bed trying to learn my whereabouts. In two days, one or two doctors used to come and they talked in a fashion that I’m Mr. Bean having a banana on the bed and doing messy stuffs with my next-bed patient/s!

My life with social media went pretty well from my mobile.  I gave the status messages on facebook from my cell phone. Internet was the only thing that entertained, that gave me a bit of company when I was staying at the hospital. I felt like I have so many people beside me.  Thanks to technology and thanks again that it’s now so easy to communicate the world…tell people how you are and from where you are actually posting your mental status.

Mockery…all around

 


                                       No young patients want to die at a young age                                   Photo: sluisga/flickr

I have seen many patients, below 25 years of age, having severe cardiovascular irregularities. I felt sorry for them. Then, I felt a bit shy that why am I getting so anxious about my health status? They’re in even worse situation. Right next to my bed, a boy was waiting to know what the doctors are going to do with him. He was always so very frustrated as he was in great indecision on what to do. His father was running here and there, but all his efforts went in vain.

I became an iconic hero of mockery. No doctors, no directions, no way out. Finally, I went through lots of medical tests on 11th of October, 2010. I was having a fever and doctors told me they need to do an angiogram to find what’s wrong with me and my dear heart. On the 13th, I went through that operation. And, it wasn’t bad at all. I mean the all the results came pretty well.

At the end of the war, I was liberated. I was free from the hospital. But, I saw many faces who are still waiting for their proper medication. I wonder whether they’ll ever get that! I saw many young-guns in gloomy face. I saw helpless women and children. I saw very unhygienic bathrooms. We, all the patients, were victims of sound pollution in a hospital. And, what not! All these are still engraved like a dark night inside my brain.

Now, my days are quite fine. After a good rest now I’m back at the office and steadily moving ahead with my work. I thought of writing this post many times but couldn’t actually come near to it. It’s a very subjective way that I expressed, not a journalistic way. I have become biased in writing this post. I know I shouldn’t be doing that in reality but that very reality made my life quite hapless at the hospital.  Still I can see the father running for his son in my dreams. I always pray for his son’s recovery from the bottom of my heart.

À Bientôt


 


Saying ‘no’ to government hospital