Friday, February 18, 2011

me at phc

I’m a human, alas, though I wish to be some angel or demon or something supernatural… so that I’ll be able to do everything I’ve to. I go there, somehow… and encounter a big crowd called OPD patients waiting for me, and the MO raising his eyebrows (as the wall clock over there has been set at a wrong time). I get my own chamber, and I’m left alone to speak to, to examine and to diagnose and then to treat the patients. I do have experience with gynecology, I’ve worked in orthopedics (but it’s really hard to handle patients with injuries and joint complaints without the aids of X- ray films), and in ENT… I know surgery, and little quantity of ophthalmology… but I can’t control sweat gathering over my forehead when I encounter pediatric patients, then patients of deep lung infections and heart complaints, and then a tons of types of fevers and skin rashes and scabies and fungi… here I see everything, and I’m the whole and sole and the responsible person for them… I literally have to dig out information buried in the graveyard of my MBBS school memory. And ironically I’ve to refer patients with something like CSOM or DNS or like IUGR to my own tertiary care hospital… I sign the forms requesting them to do further investigations and do the necessary operations… as those things don’t happen in primary health centre.

The pharmacist insists me to prescribe something in her reach… people try to run away from work, no matter if it’s as small as getting up and opening the cupboard to take out the drugs. And they ask me why the hell I’ve chosen this PHC as it’s defamed for you really have to work hard here. I haven’t chosen it, I’ve been allotted, and no matter how exhausted I get I don’t feel my decision of working is a wrong one. I like experiences, I love patients… and as usual I feel tied because of lack of treatments to some diseases, and the hazards of the treatments I give to them… for some patients I do nothing rather than leaving them to their own luck (or badluck).

Today here was a camp day for laparoscopic tubal ligation operation. And there were maybe more than hundred women or girls (yeah, I don’t know what should I call to them when their average age is around twenty and they have two to three kids) waiting NBM since last night for the Civil Surgeon, and he happened to arrive at around 4.30 in the evening. I was shocked to see the en mass administration of anesthesia and the peon lifting the post operative patients and carrying them in his arms to their bedside (which’ a cloth piece laid on floor) … here are no stretures. But it’s good, that they’re doing family planning… in my hospital I’ve encountered many G4 G5 and sometimes G6, G7…

I don’t know from where I should start to do something that’ll transform the picture to close to ideal one… just trying… I really wish I would be some structure with super power!!! Oh my magic stick, where are you?

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