A couple of months ago, my little girl had to be taken to
the Lady Ridgeway Hospital. Like most
little girls (or boys) who have older siblings, she too wanted to do everything
her Akki did. She can do certain things,
but not all. Like climbing the Ambarella
tree. She fell. Hit her head, probably on a protruding root,
got bruised. She was feeling dizzy.
Vomited.
It was a Saturday. We
took her to the OPD. The doctor checked
her out and prescribed a scan. We were
anxious, naturally. We had to wait outside
the Radiography room until the technician returned from wherever he had
disappeared to. Every passing minute
raised the agony level. The results
however were not scary. We were told she could be taken home, but advised to
keep her under close observation. We
were relieved.
Last week we had to re-visit. It was the older girl this time. She hadn’t attended school in 3 days due to
suffering from a persistent fever. A
blood test revealed that her platelet count had dropped to 99,000. A doctor friend advised: ‘Take her
immediately to Lady Ridgeway’. We did.
The reports were shown to the doctor in attendance. She checked her out. Examined the reports. She was wheeled out to Ward 3. We followed.
There was some paper work to attend to.
Then an agonizing time waiting for the ward doctor to examine the little
girl. The place was full of other
anxious parents (mothers mostly) along with their sick children. Crowded.
Busy.
There weren’t enough beds, so our 11 year old daughter had
to share a bed (about twice the size of a baby’s cot and too short for her to
stretch herself out) with another little girl about 2-3 years of age. The little girl’s condition worsened and she
was shifted to the ICU. Our little one
was there for almost 2 days. Tests were
done, reports issued and examined. There
was, my wife said, continues, i.e. round-the-clock surveillance of all the
patients, with or without the support of the attending mothers. Food and liquid intake was taken note of, the
amount of urine passed measured and recorded.
A change in the condition of each and every patient was immediately
detected and necessary action taken.
It was a full ward.
Well, an overflowing one, one might say.
Noisy: simply because there were so many and since all the patients were
kids, mostly in discomfort and ever-ready to bawl. Given
the numbers it was not difficult to figure out how hard the hospital staff,
from consultant to doctor to nurse to attendant to janitor had to work. Two days is too short to make sweeping
statements and anyway what I saw was limited to morning, lunch-time and evening
visits. My wife however, a Sociologist
by training, could speak with more authority on the subject, for she was there,
with hardly any sleep watching over the child and what was happening around
her.
The following is the gist of her observations: Given the number of patients and the number
of people either attending to children or just visiting, the cleanliness is
amazing. The hospital staff is extremely
competent. They may appear dispassionate
and even brusque, but they clearly know what needs to be done.
Sure, it’s not pretty girls in pretty uniforms in pretty
rooms we are talking about. We are not
talking about smiling and courteous consultants. We are talking about illness and medical
care. Not the frills. And not squalor either. It’s about excellent service under trying
circumstances and with limited resources.
Most important: FREE OF CHARGE.
My father spent three days in a private hospital. I know that I can’t afford to have him spend
a similar period of time in such a facility.
He is visiting my sister in the USA and had to be hospitalized
again. My sister, having got to know
that my daughter was hospitalized, sent me an email: ‘Hope Mitsi is looking better. Better to keep her in hospital until she
is in the clear. Let me know if you need any help financially. Now that we are
reconciled to being completely out of our league w/
regard to finding the funds to pay for Appatchi's medical bills, we can at
least help where we can help!’
I concluded, ‘I am blessed beyond belief to live in Sri
Lanka’. I resolved: if ever I need to be
hospitalized, I want to be taken to a public health facility, even if
overcrowding forces the authorities to put me on the floor.