I'd to visit the 'path lab' to give samples for analysis. As I'd said earlier, my veins disappear conveniently on such occasions giving nightmares to the medical attendant at hand. Today was no different, in fact, it was worse than previous times!
I'd made it a point to be a trifle earlier at the sample collection point. The attendant was a young man but appeared, recent in induction and was a thoroughbred 'mallu'. After giving me the initial instructions in Hindi, he was poised to draw blood from my vein but alas, my blood vessels would not budge. He went on an exploratory spree after inserting the needle into my skin and was able to hit dirt on his third attempt. But the trickle of blood was a bit too slow for his liking. He kept muttering something incoherent and so, with an utter bankruptcy of thought, I'd inquired of him as to why it was happening.
His answer surprised me. "Sir, it's because you've less blood" and looked at me seemingly, with accusing eyes. It just couldn't be because many of the people who're familiar with me say that I'm a 'bloody, jolly good fellow'. There must be a terrible mistake and I wanted to shout out, but kept quiet keeping in mind the decorum that had to be maintained. The youngster had started panicking because he'd 'poked' his senior many-a-time and had managed to draw only half the amount that was necessary. He desperately turned to the sister at hand, complementing him in the sample drawing business, for help and advice.
The sister's reaction was unexpected and pathetic. Quite audibly, she says insensitively and I quote, "Keep all the people, with whom you've problems in drawing samples, waiting or ask them to come later. We can't waste our time on a single person". That was the time that I felt that I should intervene and set the wrong, right. Without raising my voice nor losing my composure, I reminded her as to why she happened to be there, as to what she was supposed to do when a junior looked up to her for support and told her that if all these were hassling her, she could put in her papers and go in search of another job. There was no dearth of dedicated nurses who'd do the job better and in an efficient manner while being courteous to the people they serviced, which was the sine qua non of the followers of Florence Nightingale's traditions.
It had the requisite effect and she apologised(?) for not realising as to who I was. I'd to tick her off yet again by saying that the 'rank' or the 'class' of her customers should never come into her reckoning while doing her job as everyone was to be served on an equal footing.
It was getting to be too much for comfort and I just wanted the whole thing to be over at the earliest.
Tailpiece.
1. By that time, the youngster attending me had hit the right vein and was apologetic for his clumsiness. He'd switched over to chaste Malayalam a little while earlier. And this is what I've noticed of the 'mallus' - they speak all other languages when they want to be officious but finally, come down to their mother tongue when their chips are down!
2. And I was looking a junkie after so many visits of the needle on my arm!!
I'd made it a point to be a trifle earlier at the sample collection point. The attendant was a young man but appeared, recent in induction and was a thoroughbred 'mallu'. After giving me the initial instructions in Hindi, he was poised to draw blood from my vein but alas, my blood vessels would not budge. He went on an exploratory spree after inserting the needle into my skin and was able to hit dirt on his third attempt. But the trickle of blood was a bit too slow for his liking. He kept muttering something incoherent and so, with an utter bankruptcy of thought, I'd inquired of him as to why it was happening.
His answer surprised me. "Sir, it's because you've less blood" and looked at me seemingly, with accusing eyes. It just couldn't be because many of the people who're familiar with me say that I'm a 'bloody, jolly good fellow'. There must be a terrible mistake and I wanted to shout out, but kept quiet keeping in mind the decorum that had to be maintained. The youngster had started panicking because he'd 'poked' his senior many-a-time and had managed to draw only half the amount that was necessary. He desperately turned to the sister at hand, complementing him in the sample drawing business, for help and advice.
The sister's reaction was unexpected and pathetic. Quite audibly, she says insensitively and I quote, "Keep all the people, with whom you've problems in drawing samples, waiting or ask them to come later. We can't waste our time on a single person". That was the time that I felt that I should intervene and set the wrong, right. Without raising my voice nor losing my composure, I reminded her as to why she happened to be there, as to what she was supposed to do when a junior looked up to her for support and told her that if all these were hassling her, she could put in her papers and go in search of another job. There was no dearth of dedicated nurses who'd do the job better and in an efficient manner while being courteous to the people they serviced, which was the sine qua non of the followers of Florence Nightingale's traditions.
It had the requisite effect and she apologised(?) for not realising as to who I was. I'd to tick her off yet again by saying that the 'rank' or the 'class' of her customers should never come into her reckoning while doing her job as everyone was to be served on an equal footing.
It was getting to be too much for comfort and I just wanted the whole thing to be over at the earliest.
Tailpiece.
1. By that time, the youngster attending me had hit the right vein and was apologetic for his clumsiness. He'd switched over to chaste Malayalam a little while earlier. And this is what I've noticed of the 'mallus' - they speak all other languages when they want to be officious but finally, come down to their mother tongue when their chips are down!
2. And I was looking a junkie after so many visits of the needle on my arm!!
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