I have been getting a lot of messages from doctor readers. They say I write well.
To all of them my reply has been, “I wish you could write well too.”
Don’t get me wrong…but have you ever tried to read a doctor’s handwriting?
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There are two kinds of doctor visits in a married man’s life.
One, when he is the patient and second, when his wife is the patient.
Both are scary for completely different reasons. When I am the patient, I am scared of the doctor. When Rekha is the patient, I am scared of Rekha.
Let me elaborate.
When I fall sick, I behave like most Indian men. For the first 15 minutes, I act brave…and after that start preparing for my funeral.
Let us not lie. Men are not strong during sickness. We only pretend to be strong till the first sneeze.
Women are different…God (or nature!) has trained them properly.
First, he gave them periods. Then, as if period pains were not enough he gave them childbirth.
After going through all that, a mild fever is nothing for them.
Men, on the other hand, get one blocked nostril and start looking at old family photos.
Rekha will ask, “Are you okay?”
I will say, “Yes, yes. Just a little tired.”
This is a lie. Inside, I am already wondering if my kids are emotionally prepared to lose their father.
By evening, if the fever touches 100, I become philosophical. I look at Rekha and say, “You have been a good wife.”
She says, “Take Crocin and stop acting.”
This is the difference between men and women.
By the second day, when I start making sounds while getting up from the sofa, Rekha will say, “Let’s go to the doctor.”
Initially I try my best to avoid because we Rajans can’t be seen as fragile by the outside world. Finally, after enough drama, Rekha will drag me to the doctor.
At the clinic, I become a different person.
At home, most men are dying because of 100 degree fever, but in the hospital they suddenly improve. The moment we enter the doctor’s room, we don’t want to look weak.
The doctor asks, “What happened?”
Before I can answer, Rekha starts.
“Doctor, he has had fever for three days. He is coughing at night. He is not eating properly. He is sleeping badly. Yesterday he said his chest felt heavy. He also took one tablet from the fridge and had it…not sure what that was.”
I look at her in shock.
“Isn’t that too much information in a single sentence?” I want to ask, but I decide against it.
This is why I would advise you to leave your wife at home while visiting a doctor.
The doctor looks at me.
“Chest felt heavy?”
I say, “Not heavy-heavy.”
This is how men explain our condition to the doctors.
The doctor asks, “Did you take any medicine?”
I say, “Just one.”
The doctor asks, “What tablet?”
I say, “White one.”
Doctors hate this answer but about time these medical professionals understand that we men remember medicines by colour.
White tablet. Yellow tablet. Sometimes we even remember them by size – big tablet, small tablet, big tablet with a line in the middle, etc.
The doctor asks, “What was the tablet’s name?”
I say, “Something starting with C.”
Rekha opens her handbag and shows her the strip.
At that moment, I realise that it is very difficult to keep count of how many times in a day my wife makes me go, “Wow.”
Of course, I don’t say it aloud.
The doctor comes closer to check me. If it’s a lady doctor, there is an additional step in the process – I look at Rekha and morse code her this message, “She is going to touch me now…is that ok?”
Rekha nods back that its ok. The doctor oblivious of this communication inches closer to me, to check my temperature, throat, chest, breathing, etc.
By this time, I am already planning my farewell speech.
Then the doctor says, “Nothing to worry. It is just a viral.”
At this moment I need to pause and ask you readers a question – is it called a viral because it is caused by a virus or because it has gone viral and everybody is getting it?
When a doctor says “Nothing to worry” that’s the first medicine.
The tablets come later in the treatment process because first, the doctor has to save you from your post-googling imagination.
Because before visiting the doctor, I would have already Googled my symptoms.
I know this is a mistake, but I can’t stop. As I am growing old, there are more reasons to Google health conditions.
At 25, you Google “fever and cough.”
At 50, you Google “fever, cough, fatigue, slight headache, left shoulder tightness, right knee sound while climbing stairs, and why am I scared of dying after eating too much salad.”
Google is dangerous because it starts innocently.
When type “fever and cough” Google says it is just common cold. You tend to relax, till you see the related links below and notice these:
– “If fever and cough are accompanied by fatigue, it could be XX disease, for which a cure is yet to be found.”
– “If fever and cough are accompanied by headache, it could be YY disease, for which a researcher won the Nobel Prize this year after spending 27 years in a lab.”
– “If fever and cough are accompanied by pain on the left side of your butt, it could be the rare ZZ disease, found only in three people in Finland.”
Anyway, the doctor gives medicines and says, “Take rest.”
I thank him and am about to get up when Rekha gets all active. She asks, “Can he have curd?”
“Can he have tea?”
“Should he avoid cold water?”
“What about office…should be take leave?”
“What if fever comes back?”
“Shouldn’t we do blood test?”
“When should we come again and meet you?”
The doctor looks at her and answers patiently. And I have huge respect for doctors because of this – they don’t just treat patients…they also treat the patient’s wife’s concern.
Sometimes I feel doctors should charge separately – Rs 700 for consultation and Rs 1000 for wife’s follow up questions.
As soon as I step inside the house, I am almost air-lifted to the bedroom and asked to lie down. And Rekha becomes the hospital.
She gives medicines, knows the timings, checks the temperature, she asks if I passed urine, what colour it was, how much it was…etc.
But I must admit, when I am sick, Rekha takes care of me well.
She may scold and tell me that I got sick because I don’t listen to her. She may bring up the time I drank cold water right out of the fridge in 2022, but she does take care.
That is the wife version of love – first scolding, then the medicines.
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Now let us come to the second type of doctor visit – when Rekha is the patient.
This is far more stressful for me because when Rekha falls sick, I want to be useful. The only problem is, like all husbands I don’t know how to be useful.
When I am sick, Rekha knows exactly what to do. When Rekha is sick, I stand near the bed like a security guard outside an ATM that has stopped dispensing cash three days back.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says.
Now, when men say nothing, it usually means there really is nothing.
When women say nothing, it means there is something, but you are expected to know without being told.
I ask, “Should we go to the doctor?”
“No need.”
When a wife says no need, it means she has already diagnosed herself, planned the treatment, ensured the kitchen work is done, adjusted the maid’s work accordingly, and also informed her mother that she is not feeling alright.
Like the husband that wants to do good, I hover around her.
“Do you want water?”
“No.”
“Tea?”
“No.”
“Medicine?”
“No.”
“Shall I switch on the fan?”
“No.”
“What should I do?”
“Just sit.”
This is the hardest instruction for a husband because sitting near your sick wife makes you feel useless.
You say, “Maybe we should see a doctor.”
She says, “I told you I am fine.”
As I have maintained many times before ‘fine’ is one of the most dangerous words in marriage.
If Rekha says she is fine while lying down with a blanket, closed eyes, and zero interest in correcting me, she is not fine. She is just too tired to explain.
Finally, I insist: “Let’s go to the doctor….Rekha. We need you back in shape.”
Finally she buckles under pressure and says, “Okay.”
Once we are at the clinic, our roles reverse. When I am the patient, I minimise everything and when Rekha is the patient, I maximise everything.
Doctor asks her, “What happened?”
She says, “Slight fever.”
I jump in: “Doctor, she was looking dull from morning.”
Rekha looks at me. But for some strange reason now I am not scared of her…probably because I think the doctor will save me.
“Also doctor, she didn’t finish her morning tea.”
Rekha closes her eyes.
“She also didn’t shout at me properly.”
The doctor looks confused.
I say, “That is not normal.”
Rekha says, “Rajan, let me talk.”
This is what we Rajans don’t like about marriage. When the husband is sick, he is not allowed to hide facts…and when the wife is sick, he is not allowed to present the facts. As they say in Hindi, “Naa-insaafi!”
The doctor asks, “Any body pain?”
Rekha says, “Little.”
I say, “She has been walking slowly all through the day.”
Rekha says, “Because you were standing in the way…waiting to hold me if I fall.”
The doctor smiled…and why not. After all she was getting patient fee and entertainment in the same consultation.
Then the doctor asks, “Are you eating properly?”
Rekha says, “Yes.”
I know she had eaten only half an idli in the morning but I don’t say anything.
The doctor prescribes medicines and says, “Nothing to worry.”
I don’t believe her immediately. When I am the patient, I believe “nothing to worry” instantly but for some strange reason when Rekha is the patient, I don’t.
I ask, “Should we do blood test?”
Rekha almost shouts, “Rajan!”
I ask, “Just to be safe.”
The doctor says, “Not needed now.”
I ask, “What if fever increases?”
The doctor says, “Then come back.”
I ask, “What if it increases at night?”
The doctor says, “Then message me….”
I ask, “What if….”
Rekha says, “Enough.”
There are two people in this world who can stop a husband – God and wife. Mostly wife, because it has been a while since I saw, heard or felt God.
This reminds of a friend of mine who split with his wife for religious reasons. I remember asking him, “A divorce for religious reasons? That’s strange.”
He had replied: ‘She thought she was God!”
Anyway, on the way back, I drive carefully…as if Rekha is a glass item bought from Pondicherry.
“Should I drive slower?” I ask but the answer I get is “We are already slower than a cow.”
Once we reach our home, I try to take charge.
“Don’t worry Rekha…you go and lie down. I’ll manage everything.”
This sentence sounds heroic and I am proud of myself, but within 8 minutes I am shitting bricks.
Because I don’t know where the medicines are kept, which vessel to use to make porridge (kanji), how much salt is ‘little salt,’ and most importantly I can’t find the hot water bag.
Rekha is sick, is under a comforter but still gives instructions.
“Medicines are in the second drawer.”
“No, not that second drawer. The other second drawer.”
“Use the small kadai….not the really small kadai. The black one.”
Even when sick, wives can run the house from their bed.
I think God (or whoever it was that started boiling the primordial soup) had to make one of two genders stronger….and he prepared them for tough times from their early teenage years itself.
Thanks to the doctor’s medicines by evening, Rekha starts feeling better.
The next day she is fully fine…and the best part is when your wife gets better, the house also recovers. The children recover from having me in charge and everybody’s life goes back to normal.
Every doctor visit teaches me something. When I am the patient, I realise how much Rekha knows about me. And when Rekha is the patient, I realise how much I depend on her.