The Art of Social Adaptation: Hospital Ward Survival Tips

Ruchira’s humorous narrative, exclusively for Different Truths, explores her hospital stay, highlighting the conflict between privacy and noise from visitors, food, and noise.

We Indians are a gregarious (read, over-friendly) lot. Wherever we may roam, from a few hours to an entire day or more, we forge bonds of friendship. I have even observed some rishtaas (matrimonial alliances) assume concrete shapes out of such chance encounters and off-hand, unscheduled meetings. Numerous fistfuls uphold and spread the antiquated, golden maxims of apnapan and bhaichara.

All this is humane and natural. I have no objection to that. But what about those individuals who like to maintain and enjoy their privacy as opposed to such unceasing cacophony and meaningless cackling?? Being a minority, should they grin and bear it?

Now let me come to the point: We generally assume hospital or nursing home wards to be oases of silence and serenity. Nonetheless, such beliefs received a severe jolt during my recent week-long sojourn in a hospital ward in the metropolis I reside in.

A few weeks ago, I had a nasty fall while coming home after witnessing a musical programme. Since the pain was excruciating, we consulted an orthopaedician. An x-ray revealed a broken femur head on the left. I was forthwith admitted with the surgery scheduled on the morrow. Looking back, I guess it was a Himalayan blunder to pick a general ward, instead of a two- or three-seater. We had our pockets to watch (anyway that’s another story).

The “female ward” I was wheeled into, had ten beds. The occupancy was five including me. I discovered that I was a solitary ‘serious’ patient. Others were there by way of “kept under observation ” for gastrointestinal and other related ailments. Having been administered sedatives and still groaning in pain I dozed off, listening to snatches of conversation, e.g., unworthy bahu bashing, faith or miracle cures vis a vis state-of-the-art medical science…and blah blah.

When I awoke a couple of hours later, the hall had assumed the contour of a mêlée! (Quite like Mela in Hindi if you please.) The other patients had at least two to three visitors, some occupying chairs, others smugly sitting on the beds. Chai pe Adda was in full swing; the visitors had brought in a motley of snacks as varied as samosas, potpourri, matri …not forgetting the extra dudh-chini-wali home-made chai. I was dumbfounded!

Don’t we all know that outside foods are not allowed in hospitals? Add to it the fact that the hospital provided decent enough tea and biscuits on the house. There was also a fully functional canteen on the premises serving healthy snacks at affordable rates. Dinner time approached. The scene changed. Some visitors departed gracefully. Some of those who stayed back were seen gleefully eating the patients’ food, which the former was reluctant to consume (The Tea factor?). 

Bedtime. The garrulous ladies now went online to report the day’s activities to their families back home, the phones in speaker mode and on top of their voices… baby talk, nursery rhymes, recipe exchange, garnished with selfies. Wishing to turn in, I asked the attendant to switch off a few of the aisle lights. Pat came the rejoinder, “Madam abhi nhi bujhegi. Raat 11.30 tak visiting hours hai.”  I almost jumped out of my skin. Hospital ward or discotheque? What was it? I switched off the light over my bed, but minutes later it was switched on again to see ‘my neighbouring patient better with’. The second night passed uneventfully, since post-surgery, I was heavily sedated.

The third night was almost redux. When the nurse came to give me an injection, I noticed the empty beds had male escorts or assistants sleeping on them. So, there was no waiting hall for the patients’ helpers! Males’ sleeping in a so-called female ward was preposterous by any standards!  

The fourth and fifth nights being ‘weekend’ revelry and frolic reached a crescendo. Parents brought in little children who gambolled and jumped around like innocent lambs. The curfew hour was disobeyed with visitors sauntering in even at the stroke of midnight, some reeking of gutkha-paan masala-zarda and a tinge of alcohol.

Phew! After spending so many sleepless nights chock-a-bloc with experiences, I was thrilled to leave the cavernous hospital and wheeled outdoors to a sunlit, humid August morning.

Picture design by Anumita Roy