Embryonic Stem Cell Spinal Procedure Set For Monday
“Do you know where you are going now?” I ask with an irritated annunciation to the word now. He shakes his head in half yes, half screw-you manner. “Where is it?” I question. “Straight,” he says as he points over yonder behind a few cows and past a huddle of people doing who knows what. This seems promising until about the fourth time our tuk-tuk driver pulls over to ask someone where block K is. I’m already late for my repeat brain scan, which I missed on the 7th because I was stuck in the hospital for two days vomiting uncontrollably. Now, we have been circling the A block of South Extension in Delhi for what seems like forever.
The air pollution finally got the best of me (and my ever so healthy lungs) so much that I broke down and took some cough medicine to sleep the night of the 6th. I wanted to be ready for my scan, able to stay still as required for an accurate reading. I am allergic to decongestants and this particular cough medicine contained one, unbeknownst to me. Three hours after my fateful sip out of the cap started the hell of being sick in a foreign land where there is no carpet to kneel on while you hang over the toilet, and three nurses stand over you all debating what to do. “She look so sick,” they chatter to each other in their small, kind voices. “Ohhh, I no see make up,” one quickly points out to the rest. They soon become less worried that I’m dying once they recognize for the first time this entire trip, this is what I really look like -- stripped of mascara, and seemingly, any eyelashes. Still, it is a carousel of nurses and doctors and anti-vomiting medication until things calm down. It seems like endless torture, and far beyond the harm that one little capful of cough medicine could do, allergies or not. I slept sitting up to ensure decent jumping time off the bed and into the bathroom if need be.
Dr. Geeta Shroff thinks I had Deli Belly -- the dreaded curse caused by eating contaminated food. I survived eight weeks with the haunting smell of street vendors and didn't cave in to taste a single thing. I peel, boil or bake everything I put in my mouth. I wash my hands obsessively. But, no one is safe. If that is really what Deli Belly is like and everyone knew, it would be the world’s most sought after biological warfare weapon.
I consider the chance that my body had simply said “enough” to IV and oral antibiotics. Or, perhaps I was having some sort of physical detox. I imagine all the Lyme bacteria is dead and my body wants it out, however so violently. Whatever it was, I am happy to report I am alive, well and eating like I’m pregnant with twins again. No harm done.
Finally, we arrive at the scan. Tim, a 19-year-old patient from Australia has kindly been sharing his sweet mother Wendy with me since my own left. She couldn’t fathom me going alone to South Extension, dealing with the challenges of getting anything done in India. When they ask for the previous month’s scan, I don’t argue. I know the doctor who did them at this same facility has them, but I have copies in my backpack and feel prepared, like it is somehow a make-up opportunity for my irresponsibility last time. The doctor is probably still disappointed from then that I didn’t have my reports from the states, and I don’t want any trouble again.
I am escorted back to the little closet-like room they use to inject the dye into my veins -- after I wait 45 minutes for them to boil it. I am used to this painstakingly long process by now: boil, wait, inject, wait, scan. It’s familiar to me, which is actually a bit sad but more so, comical. I sit and pray in my spare time, hoping this will be the last one for awhile. I know next time, I will be back in San Francisco’s fancy digs in a quiet, dark room where I can relax without the sounds of Indian music and the buzz of burnt out fluorescent lights. The dye is injected and I am instructed to “Close eyes and stay still for one hour.” They pull the curtain and I try to follow directions. A half-hour later they come to get me up. It seems they need the room. They take me into a brightly painted orange waiting area lined with chairs, and lights that make it all that much more stimulating. Wendy comes to keep me company. I don’t question if being awake, eyes open and stimulated will affect the test. I have been in India long enough to know the answer -- “no problem.” I trust my brain will behave accordingly and all will go well.
Another half-hour passes while a baby screams in the injection room. I try not to let my brain register the piercing cries. Wendy and I reminisce about our times here, as she is leaving the next day and I have been cleared to leave on Valentine’s Day. Before we know it, it’s my turn in the testing room. I’m strapped to the table, the scan is taken and I’m deemed free to go. The results will come via e-mail later. I'm surprisingly not anxious for them at all and think nothing more of it after my head and arms are unstrapped from the table that I realize my body doesn't fit quite as well on as last time.
When I was sick for the few days, the scan wasn’t important on my get-done list, or Dr. Geeta Shroff’s. But the night I finally felt back to normal, I had a dream that I got the scan and it came back improved from January's scan. So, I decide to go for it, regardless of what most literature says about how long it takes for these test to show improvements after the patient notices a difference in their symptoms.
Wendy and I leave the scanning building after dark and find there isn’t a tuk-tuk on the road that wants to take us. It’s an entertaining city experience, trying to get a ride here. Drivers seem to either, a) not want to take you, or b) have a list of reasons why it’ll cost more than they know you know it should. I laugh out loud every time I walk up to a driver and say “Green Park Extension,” which is where the hospital is located. Nine times out of ten they stare at me in disgust, shake their heads with a condescending “NO” and drive off. I don’t understand it and no one can explain it. I have come to accept no one ever wants to take me there. Life goes on. The ones who do want to take me always have a reason why they have to add extra rupees to my fare. They look around after I ask (while they think of a price for a white person), and then disappointingly say (as if they feel bad), “Ohhh maaaaaaam…you seeeeeee…..dark out.” Or, “Noooooooo, this U-turnnnn” as they point somewhere I can’t see and make a gesture like they have to turn around. “Today weeeeekend” is another one that is on the frequent to-use list, and once I even heard it on a Tuesday.
Finally we catch a tuk-tuk, willing to drive after dark, make a U-turn and take us to Green Park Extension on a Saturday night. We jump in like children who have just won a trip to Disneyland. We don’t even get ripped off and end up home safe and sound. I tip the driver handsomely. He deserves if for driving two foreigners without charging whatever he wants; which he has no idea, we would have gladly paid.
I barely get in the room when Dr. Geeta Shroff calls. “I just got back,” I said, assuming she was just checking. “I know,” she replied. “I just talked to the doctor and there has been an improvement in the left side of your brain.” I’m ecstatic even though I have to wait until Monday to find out details. Even a tiny, itsy bitsy noticeable change on a scan is more than I could have expected. I know things are changing because I feel them, but to see proof is a sweetness hard to explain. The repeat scan was basically just to have two from the same lab before I left, according to what Dr. Geeta Shroff tells me. But I know how she works and there was definitely a “what if…” in the back of her mind. Great pioneering minds always think ahead of what science believes.
Tomorrow morning after physio, I leave to go to the old hospital in Gautam Nagar. I’ll be getting my first and only spinal procedure before I leave on Thursday. Two syringes full of stem cells will be injected into my tail bone area which will help boost power in my lower body. I have to lie down with bricks under the bottom of my bed for 6-8 hours and then I’ll be taken back to my regular room at Green Park.
My iPod will be my best friend tomorrow. Thank goodness for the tiny device that will allow me to keep my Bruce Springsteen and Michael Jackson craze of late to myself. My baby stem cells will forgive me, but I'm not sure the other patients at the hospital would.
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Amy
So many good things are happening for you since your arrival in India. It's almost as though that special angel is up above you fluttering around and sprinkling fairy dust. How exciting.
You must be soooooooo excited to be going home to share your stories and experiences with those you love. And, I bet everyone in California is so thrilled about your arrival. What a nice Valentine's Day gift.
Oh. my dear new cyberspace friend, Amy!
So you are off to the "old" clinic for your first spinal. I would give anything to be your guide through that, but of course here I am back on the other side of the world.
I imagine how you will feel on the skinny operating table with your face down waiting for the "procedure". How brave you are. How brave I was! I can't believe I did it three times. The doctor is competent and reassuring.
I must tell you that it is over soon and before you know it you will be back in your bed at the "new" clinic and the whole thing will be long forgotten.
See you on the other side!, Love, C.A.
Dear Amy,
I laugh at your always amusing descriptions of your auto rickshaw (tuk tuk) and taxi drivers. I know exactly what you're going through.
While westerners nod to silently say "yes," Indians wag their heads from side to side. Like us, when they silently say "no," they twist their heads. But when they're driving by braille, finding their way, and asking every other person on the street as they get closer, they'll sort of twist and wag at the same time which means, "I think so." :)
There's a couple of other tricks I can give you when riding in rickshaws. Firstly, if the driver says something about a U-turn, then cross the street and find a rickshaw going that direction. It can save you quite a bit of money too. If that doesn't work, when you see a rickshaw and you're tired of getting "no's," just bail in as quickly as you can and say in perfect English, "straight, U-turn, right or left" and they will eventually take you. As they protest, just listen politely, shrug your shoulders and repeat again, "straight," or whatever. Be sure to smile. :)
One very powerful trick is to actually write down the number of his vehicle. They all have one, and if he won't take you, simply sit still and point out that you have the number of his vehicle -- his license number -- and firmly mention the word, "Police." You'll usually get very prompt delivery after that.
When *they* stop to inquire where you want to go, it's recognized as a courtesy to let them say "no" if they're not going or don't know where you want to go. But because they stopped, when it comes right down to having to get where you need to go, they're required by law to take you. That's what that license is all about. I have gotten out of more than a few whow wouldn't take me exactly where I told them to go. In such cases I mention the word "Police," and refuse to give them a plug nickle.
Further, it is nice to tip them, but please don't go overboard, because when they expect it, then you get the hammering that you're not paying them enough. Two rupees is way more than enough. The amount on the meter is NOT going to tell you the price. It has to be figured with a yellow card the government provides. Pay off of the card, not the meter.
Unfortunately, having a white face here in India is bad enough without exacerbating the problem for our future fellow white face travelers with the huge tips. (Actually, I'm pretty sure you knew this last part as you're a traveler, but I say it for your reader's attentions).
Tipping in restaurants is 5% across the board except for air conditioning, and then 10%. Please don't leave 15%.
"Whitefaceitas" is a disease every Indian is afflicted with. They all think white people are rich, and whether you are or not, it's almost a sure bet that you're richer than they are. But, they abuse this as often as they can, and future travelers have to be wary of this practice. It needs to stop.
If you really want to get a good deal on goods or services, you're better off to send a TRUSTED Indian face to negotiate the price first. And in all circumstances, never accept the first price you're told. Don't be afraid of acting like you're insulted by a high price and walk off immediately. If they come running you can start at half the price and work something out. But even half the price could be too high. We have to use our common sense.
More or less on the same subject; NEVER give money to beggars -- especially to the children or mothers holding babies. If you want to give them some food, be sure that it is opened (even fruit) and cannot be taken back to the merchant and traded for cents on the dollar. They will actually eat it instead of trying to get money.
If you want to help some children, go get some hot meals in a plastic bag containing rice, dahl and a chapati. About Rs.25 or sixty cents. They will kiss your feet! I will only give food like that to obvious adult cases, otherwise children only. And a lot of those beggars have more money than you would imagine.
It's actually against the law to give money to them, but I've never heard of or seen anyone fined for giving it to them. They need to start enforcing the law if the problem is ever going to go away. The only exceptions to these rules are if you see a genuine widow, leper or someone without limbs. We have a man here who moves from intersection to intersection every few days who hops around on one leg and foot because he is missing his entire left leg and arm. Also, they are not hidden away in clothing! I give five rupees about thirteen cents to him every time I see him, unless it's two days in a row.
Well, the time is narrowing down, and I know you're anxious to get back home. We continue our prayers that you're going home a new woman and that your body will accept the cells and put you back into life with a capital "L."
God bless!
Don Wood
America's Medical Solutions
www.americasmedicalsolutions.com
One thing wasn't too clear, about tipping. IF the bill shows a service charge, no tip at all should be paid. Sometimes the menu will tell you whether the service charge is included, or just ask.
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