As an army officer’s son, I grew up all over the country. But whichever station we were posted to, there was one connecting link. The iconic army MI Room, always ready for a medical quick fix. I remember having a severe throat pain and being sent to the MI room by the doctor. I was asked to open my mouth. The medical orderly produced a stick with a cotton swab at the end, dipped it into an orange-brown liquid, inserted it into my mouth and proceeded to apply it to my throat, while I contributed by enthusiastically going “bwaf, bwaf, bwaf”. Finally after a diligent painting, I “bwafed” my way to the doctor’s chamber where I was given a pat on the back and reassuringly told “you will be fine, son”. The pat, the words and the mural painting did it all.
By the time I reached home both my “bwafs” and the pain had gone.
When I was 7 my father got posted to the front and I was put in a boarding school. Consequently, I would spend vacations with my grandparents. This is where I came across the family doctor. A fever brought the good doctor to see me. A jovial man, whose mere presence made me feel better. “Nothing that a mixture won’t take care of,” he pronounced. The mixture turned out to be a maroon coloured, vile tasting liquid, which I was told was carminative mixture, a sure shot cure. And so it was! No pills, no blood tests.
The spurt in medical technology and specialisation was complemented by the arrival of large hospitals, including those linked to medical colleges, in many towns. Facilities were available but the reassurance, information and concern were missing. Many years ago my father was admitted to a medical college hospital. The doctor, a stern faced man, walked in with a couple of nurses in tow. He read the notepad hung on the frame of the bed, examined my father silently and reeled off instructions to the nurse. We mentioned that urine analysis, proposed at the time of admission, had not been done. The doctor turned, glared at us and asked, “Who is the doctor? You or me?” No bedside manners here, only curt, business as usual. Neither the patient nor his relatives were told what the ailment was. This was then.
Cut to today’s private hospitals, known as corporate hospitals, which is a welcome blend of top of the line facilities, concern, attention and health care. I had the occasion to experience this recently. Immediately after admission and the prescribed lab tests, the consultant physician came into the room, with his retinue. He was familiar with the case, had perused the reports. He explained what the diagnosis was and assured me that everything was under control. The dietician informed me what diet had been prescribed. Real comfort zone. I am sure that in time all hospitals will have similar approach to health care.
Medical science is continuously evolving to keep pace with the many mutant varieties of ailments. Hospitals combine health care with elements of the hospitality industry, again a welcome change. However, I sometimes wish that the good old carminative mixture had survived, just as fruit salt and gripe water have.