Braaains...arrg...braaaains!

Monday, 9 May 2005 11:34am

hey everyone

firstly, sorry to those of you who haven’t been getting my group e-mails. I know how you people are relying on them to distract you from the Orwellian nightmare that is your grinding daily existence. I’ll make some changes and hopefully there won’t be to many more problems...even though I’m nearly half way through my trip, I’m sure there'll be plenty more to come.

So this week I saw a guy who'd been in a motorcycle crash and had his head pealed by the pavement. No really, like an orange. His scalp was hanging off like a thick peace of tough stake. It was pretty rough really. He'd been drink-driving and was still trollied (literally...they had no spare beds) when he was brought in. They didn't even sedate him as they began cleaning his skull and forcing the stitching needle through his thick leathery head skin. It was pretty gruesome, but on the plus side (for me anyway) he did end up with a very comedy hair cut...they shaved all his hair to the skin except for his mono-brow...a great look! He was so drunk though that he wasn’t likely to notice. In fact when we first came down and saw him lying in reception on the trolley, Ben and I both thought he was a dead’ne until he started to moan slightly and move about. He stank of booze as well. I’m not sure they could do much more than stich him up, and he was sent to a larger hospital in Madurai for some head scans.

We got back from Tanjour yesterday afternoon, and so concluded the travels of our little group of volunteers, as the girls all left this morning. it wasn't the most activity packed weekend but was still eventful and lots of fun. the new girl Amy arrived on Thursday, into a hail of bitching and complaining about TPA and their handling of the theft of Emma’s money. I think we've all been here long enough and the novelty has sufficiently worn off, so Thursday was spent telling her all about how rubbish a lot of the stuff is, and warning her about the thieving family that she was going to have to stay on her own with. I think it was a bit of a negative introduction to India really, but never mind. she's 23 and she's already been to university and done grown up stuff. If anything, I think she may have been shocked to see 18 year olds and the way we behave. I for one (as most of you probably know) am not the most adult 18 year old, and none of the others are much better. Anyway, so she's a little lame, but she might get more interesting. We will have to wait and see.

On Friday we arrived in Tanjour, which is by all accounts is a bit of a hole, but we had TV and a sit down toilet so it was still nice to be away from the hospital. That night we went to a restaurant in town that was supposedly the only passable eatery in the town. I chose the "Brain Fry" from the menu, not really knowing what it was, but expecting at the very most little bite sized pieces of brain...if brain at all; a lot of the menus out here have hilarious spelling mistakes on them (humus/humans and pita, crab/crap soup etc.) Unfortunately it surpassed even my wildest of expectations, and turned out to be an entire goat brain, stem et al, and it was completely un-adulterated. It was like a biology lesson rolled into a meal. You could see clearly all the different bits (the names of which I don't know, but I did recognise) and you could even make very thin microscope style slides...not that I was playing with my food or anything. In the end I put it out of my head that my meal was capable of complex thought processes and even basic problem solving abilities, and I just ate the brainy bastard. it was very strange and didn't taste like much (not even chicken, which was quite an unsettling realisation) and had one of the most stomach churningly rank textures of anything I’ve ever put in my mouth (*insert innuendo here*). Luckily hardly anyone else finished their meals, so after eating my brain (never thought I'd say that again) I at least had everyone else’s leftovers, which was nice. I think I may have worms though because I seem to be capable of consuming roughly the same quantity as the population of Sudan (actually, that’s not saying much) but I am yet to gain any weight. I do have an incredible urge to eat grass though and a strange goat like…compul…compulsion to…ba…baaaaa…BAAAA!

Anyway, not much else happened this weekend. Temples were visited, Indians stared at us, photos were taken, elephants were seen and copious amounts of very liquidy shit was passed. I think the brain fooled my stomach into not digesting it fully. goats are cleverer than we give them credit for...when we eat their brains. it wasn't too bad though and I’m glad to say I’m back to passing shapes rather than volumes.

On Sunday we had by far the most expensive meal we'd ever had at a really posh hotel (they had ice in the toilets for some unfathomable reason). We had bacon, egg, sausages, tea and coffee, cornflakes, toast fruit juice and oranges, bananas & pineapple. It all came to about the price of a McDonalds breakfast thought I suppose the origin of the meat was more questionable (if that’s possible). It was still nearly as much as our accommodation for the whole weekend though! Sometimes I love this country (well I love how shit poor it is...)

So this morning all the girls left, (except for rubbish Amy) and now Kraikudi is quiet and empty and dull. Boredom has a name, and its name is Amy. Never mind, Ben and I are off to the leprosy clinic on Wednesday for the rest of the week so that'll be cool. it's supposedly really interesting there, with good facilities and cleaner rooms; again though, the competition isn’t exactly stiff. We're going with someone called Henry or Hendrich, we're not sure, but I’m hoping he's not German, because I’m still waking up angry at night thinking about that twat Norman. Also I'm a little bit apprehensive about living in the same building as leopards. what'll happen if they escape!?

So that's about it, I can't be bothered to write anymore anyway and the last week or so has been so boring there isn’t much to say. Only 12 days left in our little hospital, and then we hit the road. I really can't wait as I’m starting to get itchy feet (although it could be fungal).

Dave, good luck with your exams, they must start soon (oh and the rest of you at uni too, if you have any)

Sara, the cesarean was cool, but incredibly messy. I can't imagine why you'd want to be a midwife; do you hate women or something?

Paul it'll clear up if you use the ointment. I know it stings, but you shouldn't have been playing with it so much ;)

Pambam, Placenta and Pachyderm Poverty

Monday, April 11 2005, 10:47am

So, after last week's vomiting all over the hospital and having to learn to suppress my gag reflex(something I hoped I’d never have to do…) my time in India has continued to throw up strange experiences and weird characters. This weekend was, of course, no exception and so we went down to Rameswaram which is a tiny town on the island of Pamban between India and Sri lanker. The island has no cash points. Not one, and I have no idea how this works on day to day basis. They must just use checks or something, right? I don’t know…maybe they just promise to pay later? Gift certificates? Pay-pal? It doesn’t make any sense.

Anyway, Pamban Island is famous as a pilgrimage destination and little else. There’s a temple, a couple of shabby hotels and more goats and cows than I felt was entirely necessary. It’s by no means famous for its beaches though and yet we easily found plentiful white sands, blue oceans, and palm trees. Plus, not a person in sight for miles and miles, which if I’m honest, made a nice change. The island was really beautiful and had a fair bustle (despite the lack of cash machines…seriously…what is with that? ). It was also predictably filthy.

It took us five hours by rickety old bus (a local commute by Indian standards) which cost about 30 Rp. That isn’t even 50p in real money. One of the volunteers Ben arrived on Thursday had some trouble because he's 6ft 4 and his legs don't fit in the seats, plus all the locals think he’s an escaped circus freak and I’m pretty sure I saw some villagers forming a pitchfork wielding mob at one of the towns we stopped in.

Anyway, the busses were "DVD Busses" which means they blast out Tamil films at ear-splitting-hallucination-inducing volumes. Tamil films by the way, are like Bollywood films except they’re lower budget and more annoying. And they play these films everywhere you go. I think I was actually close to death by the time we stopped off at this place called Rhamad about an hour from the island. At Rhamad, we planned to meet up with a German guy called Norman who the girls we were with had met on a TPA organized weekend a couple of weeks before. He wasn't there though so we gave up hope. The three girls with us are all volunteers in local clinics in Karaikudi two called Emma, and one called Natalie. So with two Emma’s, two Bens (as everyone calls me ) there are only three names between the five of us. It’s like being in a bloody Christian pop band.

Any way, we went on to Ramaswaram, and amazingly just happened to bump into Norman in the temple. I soon wished we hadn't though. The girls mainly just wanted to "show" him to us because, as I quickly noted, Norman was a total freak and a bit of a pecker. He was wearing a traditional Indian dhoti (like a sarong...I’m going to get one later today...a silk one costs about 2 pounds) and he had ash on his forehead like the men do down here and was also topless and without shoes. This brought out a very British sense of distaste in me. There was nothing particularly freaky in his attire I suppose, except that he fully thought he was an Indian peasant and was obviously trying to have a “real” experience, or to “find himself” or some other new age bullshit. I was already wondering when would be the best time to tell him that I’d recently wiped my arse on Ghandi’s face.
Norman (The Gorman) was quick to greet the girls but didn't even acknowledge my or Ben’s existence until he said “I didn’t know there were going to be…boys…with you”. Ben and I both agreed that he was more of a ladies’ man than a man’s man…or even a group of people’s man.

He was also full of crap. He regaled us (again, mainly the girls) with tails of the elephant at the palace and how it had killed two people the “other day” (that wonderfully non-specific period of time when all fantastic yarns seam to take place). This worried Norman because he was “in his last reincarnation” and wasn’t going to come back again or some other pseudo-spiritual crap. I was already looking forward to it, and was wondering how one goes about hiring an elephant assassin. He also preyed at all the alters, which I think annoyed some of the locals who must see hundreds of misty eyed foreigners pretending to be Indian every day. He used the Tamil head wobble instead of nodding, but he used it in the wrong way, and too often, and of course when we went swimming he had to be last out the ocean, the only one who didn’t admit that the sand was way too hot to walk on (I actually burnt my feet so that they were painful the rest of the day), the only one who didn’t sit in the shade, bragged about how he ran 17 miles to the next town the other day in 40 degree heat just to see if he could etc. etc. I think you can see the type of guy he was. He also gave this huge profound and moving spiel about the Tsunami in 2004 and how it had emotionally affected the people and how he saw the pain in their eyes. I wanted to ask if this was because he’d been telling them any of his stories. It was all very moving, but one of the Emma’s told me later she’d heard the exact same speech the weekend they met him, almost word for word and she reconed it was rehearsed. Oh…and he was reading Mien Kampf…and he didn’t bring any money and ordered the most expensive things for dinner. God I hated him…fuck.

Anywho, later on the way home we stopped off at the palace that TPA had placed the lucky fucker in. Norm worked as a volunteer at the school of the local “king’s” son (Note: not a real king. Don’t get excited). We were mainly enticed there with promise of seeing the kings elephant, as supposedly every palace has one, and I was excited by the idea of a huge towering beast covered in jewels and maybe golden armor stamping Norman’s face into the dirt whilst I rode on its back (also covered in jewels and golden armour). In the end I wished I hadn’t bothered. The king was incredibly ostentatious, despite the relatively diminished extent of his wealth. He had recently bought 80 rabbits. Why? Well so that he could say “did I mention I have 80 rabbits? No, well I keep them in appaling conditions. Maybe you would like to come poke them with wire one day?”. Maybe large numbers of vermin kept in wire cages is the Indian version of spinning rims and blinged out goblets full of Hennessey…

“Yo yo yo, check it out- I got 50 hunnies and 100 bunnies, I keep those things in
cages. I keep my bitches happy though, by paying living wages”

(I really should be a rapper. My talents are going to waste)

The rabbits were in lines of wire hutches, some 2 to a cage, raised off the ground so they had to walk on the wire and left with no water and little shade. I saw some with mange, others with lumps or bleeding sores. It was awful. There were emaciated dogs tied to trees and exotic birds in filthy overcrowded cages. It was so sad, I almost expected to see a man skinning a unicorn in the corner. When we finally got to the elephant I didn’t know what to expect…they’re supposedly sacred, so I was hoping the elephant would at least be better housed. Well, they’re not that sacred as it turns out and I shouldn’t have got my hopes up. It had a bad skin infection that was causing it to go pink in places, and had both left legs chained to concrete blocks so it just had to stand all day in the same position with nothing to do, except listen to the high-pitched screams of caged bunny rabbits. I regret that that was my first experience of an Indian elephant, and I regret that I thought it was still pretty cool when it tried to hit me with its trunk.

“Did you see!? Did you see!? It tried to lash out in anger and frustration! Awesome!”

So…after the weekend of annoying Krauts and mistreated animals, we’ve returned to Karaikudi and the John Medical Centre. This morning Ben and I were woken at 4:45am to go and see some more operations. First there was a non malignant breast lump, which was fairly interesting because the doctor cut it open and explained the differences between malignant and Benign tumours. Also, tits…so you know…bonus. Then, and probably most amazingly, we were invited to see a caesarian section which was incredible. It was awe inspiring. It was beautiful. It was incredibly gruesome. The mother had already had 4 previous C-Sections, which made me wonder why they didn’t just sow a zip into her, as I’ve never seen as much blood. Dr John removed the placenta and it was as if he’d just gutted her.…it was horrific. Seriously…it splattered out of the gash (no not “her gash”, I mean the actual incision) in her stomach and all over the floor and the doctors feet. I should add that they only wear flip-flops in surgery so I it was pretty sick. There was also a lot of tearing and pulling and all in all it kind of ruined my romantic notions of peaceful childbirth. Apparently they have to be very brutal because as soon as the placenta is broken the baby is in danger of suffocating so they tear it out as fast as they can. I was fine with all the blood today though, and I think the loosing of my breakfast last week was more to do with illness. Ben was next to me and I think he was a little shocked by the amount of fluid and had to hold his head between his legs for a while. What a pussy!

We’ve been seeing a lot of patients with diabetic complications as well recently. It’s mainly the less educated rural people, who do apparently understand that they can’t have sugar but do anyway because they think that if they eat something bitter at the same time it cancels it out. It’s so adorably naive! Add to that the stigma of insulin injections, the difficulty of getting hold of human insulin, and that they only have their blood sugars taken once a week in the clinic and you soon start to see why so many of them have these problems. Huge leg ulcers, neuropathy and retinopathy are apparently very common, and with type two diabetes on the rise it’s becoming a serious problem in India.

The social aspects of medicine in here are incredibly interesting and of course totally different to those in the UK. It’s especially pronounced in cases of infertility and diet related illnesses, where so much social status is attached and the culture can be quite alien from a western view point. There was one woman who was being held prisoner by her in-laws because she hadn’t conceived after two years of marriage. They wouldn’t let her see her family and were blaming her for all their financial problems. As it turned out, the husband has been living in Dubai the last two years and has only been coming back every few months for a couple of weeks at a time. It was so interesting to see the way that this affected both sides of the family, and the couple’s marriage. And that’s just the beginning of that kind of thing. We’ve seen people in clinic who keep trying to have babies because they have to have a boy, and they end up with more children that they can possibly afford. Some have been to see gurus who have told them that if they don’t conceive a son it would be bad luck, so they just keep popping the sprogs. Our doctor jokingly said the other day that the most commonly presented complaint in Southern India is pregnancy. It goes on and on but I think I better cut this short or you won’t bother reading any more.

Oh, I haven’t had a shit in almost a week by the way...thought I’d share that. This really is a land of extremes.