You are on your way to the hospital in an ambulance….are you lucky or unlucky?
Now for some context….
On 14 April at 5.50 am we had to catch a Vande Bharat train from Chennai Central to Mysore, and then drive 4 hours to Kannur. This was the first of five short trips we would make in the next 45 days. However, on the 13th at 6 am (exactly 24 hours earlier) my daughter threw a curveball.
“Appa, looks like I have an upset tummy,” she said.
She had just come back from Aurangabad by train, and it looked like the Chicken curry and Parotta combo at Tirupati Railway Station had played its role.
“And I am feeling really tired too,” she added.
My wife’s immediate response: “Shall we cancel our trip to Kerala?”
But somehow life prepares you for what’s to come. I said, “Hold on, Rekha…I think I know exactly what needs to be done.”
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We will come back to my daughter’s condition. But first, my story.
After a stag party of 13 middle-aged men at a beachside resort on 4 April, by the 10th, I was nursing an extreme case of upset tummy. During a meeting with my team, the cramps became unbearable. I bid adieu and decided to just get home and sleep it off.
But as I neared home, I could barely drive. I feared I might black out.
That’s when I stopped at the HMC Clinic right beside my house. I don’t usually prefer them because they usually have student doctors, who lack the experience needed to infuse confidence in a 51-year-old man who thinks he is extremely fit but is temporarily down. Today, I had no choice. I staggered in, barely able to stand.
The doctor was 60+, and he spoke a lot (in a good way). Like how an astrologer predicts future events, this doctor “predicted” everything I may have done since the fateful party. He was bang on.
Finally, he said I was suffering from Acute gastroenteritis. Which, for the love of God, I still can’t pronounce right. I was also severely dehydrated.
As I lay on HMC’s single bed with the IV drip going into my system, one thought kept circling: “Why only me? There were 12 others, and we all ate the same things, drank the same things …well, to be honest, we did have a choice – whiskey, rum, beer, and toddy. But why did it have to be only me?”
But then Arthur Ashe’s story also came to mind.
When the first Black tennis Grand Slam champion was diagnosed with cancer, he said: “When I was holding the cup, I never asked God, ‘Why Me?’ So now that I’m in pain, how can I ask ‘Why Me?'”
I have narrated this story multiple times to my friends, my kids, and my colleagues, but all that bravado flies out of the window when it is your turn.
Two hours later, with the medicines and IV fluid in my system, I felt much better. Took one more day to fully recover.
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This is where my story and my daughter’s story merge.
Because I had experienced exactly what she was experiencing (just two days earlier) I knew exactly what to do. I rushed her to HMC Clinic and asked for the same doctor.
“I can understand you have an upset tummy,” he said, “but why are you so dehydrated?”
My daughter’s answer was so her: “I didn’t want to visit the train’s restroom often, so I drank less water through the whole trip.”
She got the same IV drips. The same medicines. And by 1 pm on 13 April, she was discharged. Being younger, she recovered faster than me.
And now, here we are – on Vande Bharat – excited to celebrate Vishu in Kerala.
Now I understand that my Acute gastroenteritis was just a dress rehearsal. So that when it really mattered, I knew exactly what needed to be done.
And now I am genuinely glad that out of 13 middle-aged men who partied that night, it was me who caught the acute gastroenteritis – with both hands.
Please, drink your water on trains. And if you are in an ambulance, thank your stars.