TROLLEYYYYYYYY …CHECHEEEEE… TROLLEYYYYYYYY (CHRONICLES OF LABOUR ROOM PART-1)

PART-1

It has been 4 years since I joined my course…

Finally amma asked me today as I was brushing my sparkling teeth…”eda kochu…1.5 years of study left …Ready to handle a patient yourself???”
I scan myself for a second and replies…

“SuRE MA…provided the patient is PREGNANT”

The month long Labour room posting has changed my outlook….honestly…I have a new perspective of everything…not just gals…360 degrees of life…kudos to all mother who have had normal vaginal deliveries (not de caesareans !!!)

There’s too much to write in…so I split my post into parts…so as not to tire my lovely readers…
This is the first instalment. No MASALA has been added…neither have I edited or proof read…what u r readin right now is what is pourin out as I sit in front of my dying monitor tappin my rusty keyboard.


“The number you’ve dialled is currently busy. Please try after sometime”-call WAITING

“One thali-meal please”…..and this is followed by a long WAIT…and curses begin to pour out of the hungry food bag of yours…as if the WAITER is responsible.

Yeah…to ’wait’ is something I hate just like anyone else (hmmm…yeah I hate too much ‘weight’ too)

Ladies n gentlemen, here I introduce to you a typical yet different, tiring yet thrilling ‘WAIT’.

She’s not mad…but anyone around might ask why someone isn’t tying her up to the bed. She twists…jumps…shouts…screams…yells…’Allah…Krishna…Eeesho…Ammaaa...etc’. What pushes a layman into curiosity is the environment surrounding her bed that remains serene in spite of all hues and cries.


8 heads peep into her perinium(ooo…no vulgarity meant…). All well –learnt, smart, trained heads. All wearing the ‘theatre’ chappals (ordinarily wearing a chappal after getting into a Parx trouser and tucking in an Excalibur shirt is weird…but inside a ‘sterile’ room, where everyone is supposed to be STERILE, no gals scoff at you…there is no choice).
Yeah that’s us…the Interns…!!! And this is ‘day one’ of our ‘labour room’ postings.
With every second the intensity of her cry rises…and we are the only ones who are tensed and sweating (freshers!!!)

‘Thar she blows’

A hairline appears…recedes…appear again…

‘No…it’s not going back…heyyyyyyy…it’s fullllllll…House surgeons…Interns…get ready…’

‘CHECHEEEEEEEE TROLLEYYYYYYYYYYY’

Now is the ‘run’…

’the run for a new life’

…attendant pants in with a trolley…the mother is asked (in reality shouted) to jump into the trolley…she will have snatched off all the cannulas (and that mean the giant needles that we laboriously instil into veins for needy supplementation of fluids…drugs etc.)…creating a ‘bloody’ field in the bed. The trolley reaches the ‘labour cot’ within seconds.


I ‘run’ towards the ‘dressing room’ (you don’t have face creams…body sprays…talc…combs waiting for you) put on the gown (‘sterility’ is the golden requirement…not a spot of contamination is allowed…in reality…this is a more self defensive technique…who’ll want to spoil his dress with meconium…blood and amniotic fluid?).

Now is the ‘tough’ part…wearing ‘gloves’… !!! I’ve not yet learnt to put my fingers into the sterile pair of gloves within split seconds as the seniors do.

“C’moonnnnnnnn what the hell are you waiting for”…yells the senior PG student-another female

(Fortunately or unfortunately Gynaecology is a female dominated area. Trust me, if males ruled here…half the labour related complications and unwanted fuzzes could’ve been history).
Still trying to adjust the gloves I rush to the labour cot…


“SUPPPPORTTTTTTTTTTT”


Rest is automated…I push the perineal towel so hard that I start to think if my force is what is blocking the baby from his journey into this world.

Two elephant sized PGs literally jump over the mother’s tummy(medically- fundal ‘push’)
The entire labour room shakes in her ‘thunderous’ cry.

HAAAA….ATLAST…HERE HE COMES…


A tiny head pops out…before I can say ‘hi doooooooo’ the HS pulls him out…and there is a spurt of all nasty fluids…you’ve got to be really lucky to save your mouth and attire.

No it’s not over…the baby is still clinging on to her womb…


I cut the final physical attachment between them (technically-‘clamping’ the cord and cutting it)(fortunately none can cut off the psychological tie)
Everyone sympathises at cries…but now is one special moment when a cry is the most vital and auspicious symbol of life.

The new kiddy has to cryyyyyy…(technically we record it as BABY CRIED SOON AFTER BIRTH…CSAB). Else you’ll witness another scene of terror…when a Paediatrician will be kicked out of sleep and driven in…you’ll see nurses running in search of suction tubes etc.


Well folks the first phase of ‘delivery’ is the hard yet fascinating part…it took me almost the experience of assisting 3 deliveries, to understand what exactly happens.
Rest of the action is passive…and boring and tiring…I don’t wish to scroll into the tale… (it involves suturing)

KEEP GLUED…TRUE ACTION IS JUST COMIN UP…
”HOW GOVERNMENT SAVED DE DAY n a WOMB”….
(2 B CONTD.)

L 4 labour!!! gud bye!!!

Yippie…I assure u peace 4 a month…!!! I’ll b off for thirty days (almost!!!)

My labour room postings begin 2moro…so here I fly off into de black hole…no more Sundays…perhaps no x-mas…n pretty gals around de globe I might b busy assistin labour even @ de stroke of midnight dec 31^st…

keep in touch. De 24x7 friendship services will b available via 9895404187 (carrier rates apply)

n hey...don't worry...even if de bloggersvilla forgets me...ill b bak 2 remind...wid a blast...

"ngee ngee"

yuppp....seems im already on call...so world here i wish u peaceful month without ma musings...!!!

HERO WILL B BACK!!!

The CHOVVA DOSHAM (A Star War)

‘TAARE’ ZAMEEN PAR…!!!

If it weren’t my own television set I would have smashed the screen with the remote control I held. Preity Zinta will no longer show off her dimples for BSNL. Instead the long legs of Deepika Padukone are going to lure customers from now on.
Am I happy?

A press on the remote control drives me to a round table conversation, the topic…”Shouldn’t the drunken minister have slapped his wife on her left cheek rather than the right?” Some of the nation’s best thinkers (and that means those thinkers who have nothing else to do) spit out their ‘precious’ opinions.

ME: MAMMMMAA I hope you are not booking tickets to Switzerland to get chocolate.

MAMMA: Kuttu, be patient!!! Chocolate milk is on the way. Ooo…c’mon sonny, you are 21 now…do you know that?
ME: Yeah! And what is that supposed to mean? A quarter of my pals are now employed and messaging me their salaries. And who the hell forced me to join a medical college?

MAMMA : Aha! Okay it’s me. But see the advantage.

ME: Advantage?!

MAMMA: Yeah. You have a reason for not touching the daily newspapers.

ME: Yupp.

MAMMA: Because no economic depression or Tsunami is going to deprive you of your bed coffee.

I had nothing to say. I switched off the television.

ME: Do you know mamma how much it hurts to see them suffering?

MAMMA: Them?

DAD: “Me? Great…this is the plight of every married man sunnie…” Dad popped his head out of ‘Business Today’.

ME:Dad…I said THEM, not HIM…grrrr…
DAD: Ha ha…Okay continue….

ME: I have to wait near the colossal Silver Jubilee gate of our college every morning to board the bus to the Regional Institute of Ophthalmology. I stand there…watching their miserable lives.
MAMMA: C’mon can you cut the suspense off from this?

ME: They earn their bread selling toothbrushes, towels and stuff…Some are paupers selling notes worth lakhs or crores.

You know mamma, some moments it’s a special warmth you get watching them enjoying giggling at each other, fighting with customers (The Bargain Rajas). My sole competitor for the shade of the gate is a self proclaimed healer who assures the mass around him that what he holds is a panacea that can cure all illnesses.

Bravo…I would say…a panacea being hawked right in front of the State’s official gung ho of registered healers.

Of the many vendors is a mother…emaciated out of poor business knack…perhaps her dingy looks held back customers. Her kid, half naked, is playing with a stray puppy…no…not Dobermann or German Shepherd…well it’s up to the Municipal Corporation to decide it’s breed. She has spicy vadas and samosas. Poor lady…!!!


The next moment, sometimes, I would see fear in their eyes. They would pack their ‘shops’, wrap up the articles and run away. After a few minutes, once the jeep of the ‘Flying Squad’ had cleared, everything went back to normal. My bus would come by then.

DAD: C’mon don’t tell me it’s this that bothers you.

ME: What the…? Dad…it is chaos everywhere…the world is really a bad place to live these days.

DAD :Not ‘these days’ son…the day Adam or Eve or whoever walked in, earth was contaminated!!! But what is philosophy doing here at this time of the day…

ME: A pal of mine called, a while back.


MAMMA: And that worried you? What happened sonnie? DAD :Hi…hi…she said no to your proposal?
DAAAAAAAAAAAD.
I was ready to jump over him. But hey…there must be a spy somewhere in my class…did dad really get the news?

MAMMA: RAAAAJ…c’mon…who is the grown up here…? (Mamma interferes)

Sonnie…which gal was it anyway?
ME:Mamma…et tu brutus….Gosh…

MAMMA: Hi Hi.

ME:K. It was Rekha. My school mate.
DAD: BINGO…Wow…your ex??? …she wanted to invite you to her wedding…right son? Howz ma guess?

ME: C’mon this ain’ fair.

MAMMA: Raaj…cut the crap please… (Thanks mammaa….)

ME: Well mom…dad’s right…it’s her wedding…but she says she ain’t prepared. She wants to take her job at Microsoft and earn some bucks for her own before getting ‘wed-locked’.

MAMMA: Aha…but what’s the rush? She’s of your age na?

DAD : Darling…bad memory…the gal is exactly a year older…remember kuttu’s face on that 14th of February? She had rejected, telling “Hey…you are still a toddler”!!!

(If it weren’t my dad I would have poured a bucket of water over him for reminding me about that black Valentine ’s Day.)

ME:Well mamma…’astrology’ screwed her…they found a “CHOVVA dosham “…and that means a groom should also have the same ‘dosham’. And the parents are worried since they can’t risk throwing away the current proposal. They say it’s tough to get everything rightly placed at a time -“Nair” (a Hindu community), “Handsome”, “Chovva dosham”, “Profession”, “Family background”.
MAMMA: What is the problem with the current proposal then?

ME: The guy is 10 years older than her. Mamma…a 31 year old engineer cum bachelor must have some kinda defect

MAMMA: Well…kuttu..31 years…hmmm…you are right…the fact is… A 24 year old Engg.graduate will have a bank balance of his own…but a 24 year old “just MBBS” doctor will just have passed out of his college. I would demand an age gap of at least five between a couple. Am I right Raj?
DAD: Yes Senior

MAMMA: Whaaaaaaaaat?


DAD: Hey I was kidding honey. Well,Kuttu. You know what. Even the most liberal dad will spare time for a second thought when his son falls for a gal of a different community or a religion…


Even the most stringent atheist will wear a mask or use the time of a power cut to visit an astrologer to cross check his child’s ‘fate’ before marrying him off.


But don’t you worry son. Your dad is an odd-man. What is the big deal with all the ‘star troubles’? Even god is a concept manipulated for our own greed.

I don’t even worry about the dowry. Hi hi…a ‘doctor’ son will automatically win a few kilos of gold and at least a Chevrolet…well more ‘degrees’ means…Mercedes or BMW…HI HI…!!!


ME: That’s the spirit dad…that’s the spirit. You know mamma…did you notice our new neighbours? They have a gal…name’s Rhazia…and she’s just entering her college.

It rained last week. I had an umbrella and she didn’t.


Dad, she wants me to hurry…a muslim…she says her dad is already out, searching for a groom.

(I didn’t wait to enjoy the bewildered look in my ‘liberal cum hardcore communist-by-the-heart’ dad’s face. I rushed back having returned the empty glass to mamma.)