Worst. Friendship day. EVER. (Alt title: Told you I was going to die of dysentery over here, Nigel)

Today was the Indian holiday ‘friendship day’; which means their were street parades, gift giving, happiness…. And I spent 36 hours in a foreign hospital crying and begging people not to stick things in me.

On Friday night I went out with a very nice Irish girl and we had a really crappy dinner. One day later, she was vomiting violently and I was… doing the other thing. Violently. So violently that I realized I needed to get some antibiotics in me asap if I ever hoped to see another Friendship Day.

Some things I learnt about hospitals in India:

1.          1. There is a woman whose only job seemed to be to wash my face and French braid my hair every 12 hours. It was kind of nice but also kind of awkward.

2.         2. All the staff refer to each other as ‘brother’ and ‘sister’; like some kind of creepy communist nightmare.

3.         3. They are very into enemas and want you to have them all the time. I had to physically fight off several people brandishing pipes while saying “NAHI. NAHI!!” in a loud voice.

4.         4. No one would let me go to the bathroom. They kept giving me dirty (literally, dirty and stinking) metal pots and patiently waiting for me to get on with it. I had to grab my IV bag stand and make a run for the staff toilets.

5.         5. People speak other languages in foreign countries. This is a problem because when you’re trying to say, “I am in a lot of pain”, or “I want to leave. Please take these needles out.” Or “No, I won’t drink that water because I suspect is has fecal contaminants in it” they don’t understand you and just smile and nod then do mean things to you anyway. 

      After a day in the hospital the hand they had put the IV in started burning and throbbing like someone had held it in a pot of boiling water. It went bright red, swelled up, and every time my finger twitched it hurt so much I screamed. Nobody would take it out or give me any painkillers because only the doctor was allowed to and he wasn’t coming until midday; so I decided the best strategy was to scream blue murder* until they couldn’t ignore me anymore.

      Eventually they got the hint and someone took it out and I started trying to escape before they did worse- the whole process was slowed down because someone had stolen my shoes in the night and apparently it’s a rule that you can’t leave the hospital without shoes. So I borrowed hospital shoes to walk to the taxi and once my feet were no longer touching the ground a staff member reclaimed the shoes. Mission accomplished. Now I'm home feeling sick and miserable in the comfort of my own bunk bed. Yay.

*Literally, I screamed and sobbed. For about an hour and a half. It was an impressive performance. My throat still hurts, almost as much as my maimed hand.