Thread by @NAN_DINI_

11th Jan 1985
7.30 pm
We received a call on our landline which worked 2 weeks out of 4 from my brother’s friend.

There had been an accident & both of them were at AIIMS.
A DTC bus with no headlights had rammed into their GTS.

Thankfully they were wearing helmets but my brother riding pillion, took the brunt of the impact.

Later we learnt that a taxi driver with the help of the bus passengers took both unconscious boys to AIIMS but dumped them at the Emergency entrance fearing police repercussions.

The friend, after coming to, had received first aid & was being discharged when he called me.
My brother, he said was lying unconscious, unattended, as he was considered unclaimed.

This was in the heart of the Capital.

The premier medical institution of the country.

Not pandemic times but just another hospital working day.

Forget all the American TV series you've seen.

How emergency patients are immediately taken in. That urgency of each life matters.…!

In India, in 1985 at least, you got no medical attention till you were signed for- emergency or not.

However when I arrived a good 3 hrs

later, without any proof or identification, they took my word for it that I was his sister !!

After the formalities it still took 40 mins for a doctor to look at him & that too after much badgering & cajoling.

With a cursory look he said, x-ray first.

A ward boy, my husband & I ran through cold, windy corridors pushing a stretcher with 3 working wheels, only to find the x-ray room locked.

We rushed to the next floor where the technicians were leaving for dinner....they hinted at some chai pani if we wanted immediate service.

It was by now midnight.

No blanket was available & in 8 deg C, unconscious & shivering on a stretcher in his jacket & my shawl we waited
for an available doctor to see the report.

Pubic bone shattered. Trauma to the head will be looked into tomorrow when he's sent to

the neurological department.
Won't that be too late ?
No answer.

A bed in the private ward was 'unavailable' till we came through some pull so the choice was a biting cold, windy corridor or the general ward if they could find a place…

Finally at 1am a bed in the general ward, with filthy sheets was allotted to him.

A helpful nurse asked me to give money to a ward boy for a pillow.

I forget the sum now, but yes, money did change hands.

I then realised that the bed we were so grateful for was actually that of an old, very frail & ill man now moved to the floor.
His family watched as my brother was shifted screaming in agony onto his place.

That day I knew in this country of millions each one is for himself.

I couldn't meet the eyes of the old patient’s wife & son but neither did I decline the bed for my brother.

Seeing my discomfort a nurse offered advice -Madam next time you come to Private Ward.

Yes but this was not planned ! For God’s sake it was an Emergency!

The poorest of the poor were in that ward.
They begged, cried, asked questions but it was met with unbelievable disdain & callousness.

Doctors had no time for even a minute of personal interaction. Nurses, inefficient & rude.

It was a long night of many important lessons learnt.

Speaking in English to people in authority definitely got attention.

Others noticed that I was being heard through the chaos.
Through the night they brought files & x-rays for me to read. To explain.

When a doctor made a round they pushed me forward to ask questions on their behalf.

Wardboys were tough enough to find but they were also rough in the general ward.

Hence emptying the bed pan became my responsibility.

That stench of that overflowing lavatory with 6 inches of urine & excreta to empty the pan didn't leave me for years to come.

By 7 am the next morning a network of family & friends made calls to doctors & administrators to ‘keep an eye, give some attention’ to the young man.

It was a police case so we waited the longest 36 hours for paperwork to be completed & then allowed release.

Parents were on a flight to Delhi & arrangements to shift to the Army hospital were underway where eventually my brother stayed in the ICU for 3 weeks.

Before leaving I gave the pillow to the old man whose bed we had taken. But the wardboy snatched it away saying it wasn't 'transferable'!

No doubt the flash of money could turn things around completely. But how many in that ward could do that ?

The old man however, didn't get back his bed despite my repeated requests.
It is only a matter of a few more days for him, said the nurse.

We will give it to someone who stands a chance - to survive.