My hospital reeks of violence these days. We are used to suffering inflicted by violent diseases and injuries. But not the violence borne of testosterone infused stupidity.
Muscular males garrisoned the protest area instead of the regular folks. I am told, they are political folks supporting the newly appointed vice-chancellor. They are looking for trouble, someone warns. Protesters are asked to go to the attic of the hospital instead, for the regular one-hour protest.
One of my colleagues tells me there is a trouble at the ICU. A very sick man with liver failure from alcohol abuse died. There are men who blame the hospital for death. They are seeking compensation. He tells me these are people who negotiate compensation with the hospital and split the money between the family and themselves. I don't know the truth. The chaos outside is fertile for these kinds of things. It won't be surprising if true.
When I go to see patients at the outpatient clinic, hallway is packed with patients, clogging the entrance. My first patient is an 83 year old man who took a microbus from Balaju to come to Patan Hospital. He says, he has been coming to Patan Hospital for more than 15 years. Only the medicines given here help me, he declares. Another patient is a woman again in her 80s from somewhere close by. Sharp as a tack, she comes to show me a medicine because it looked different from the ones she was used to. Patient after patient, it is a different story, a different suffering, a different ailment. We attempt to negotiate solutions. In this relationship, I look for those muscular men. They are nowhere to be found. Where are they? What is their vocation? Why are they outside?
Muscular males garrisoned the protest area instead of the regular folks. I am told, they are political folks supporting the newly appointed vice-chancellor. They are looking for trouble, someone warns. Protesters are asked to go to the attic of the hospital instead, for the regular one-hour protest.
One of my colleagues tells me there is a trouble at the ICU. A very sick man with liver failure from alcohol abuse died. There are men who blame the hospital for death. They are seeking compensation. He tells me these are people who negotiate compensation with the hospital and split the money between the family and themselves. I don't know the truth. The chaos outside is fertile for these kinds of things. It won't be surprising if true.
When I go to see patients at the outpatient clinic, hallway is packed with patients, clogging the entrance. My first patient is an 83 year old man who took a microbus from Balaju to come to Patan Hospital. He says, he has been coming to Patan Hospital for more than 15 years. Only the medicines given here help me, he declares. Another patient is a woman again in her 80s from somewhere close by. Sharp as a tack, she comes to show me a medicine because it looked different from the ones she was used to. Patient after patient, it is a different story, a different suffering, a different ailment. We attempt to negotiate solutions. In this relationship, I look for those muscular men. They are nowhere to be found. Where are they? What is their vocation? Why are they outside?
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