A story of futile medical tests

This blog hasn’t seen any posts in a while. That’s because I was in Bangalore, doing nothing. It was like Sabbath, only longer… so no writing could have happened.

I left Bangalore by a Saturday night train. Obviously, Friday night constituted of drinking and passing out. Next morning I woke up with a swelling in the ankle. Dismissing it as one of those things that happen when you roll and tumble, I let it be. A week later, it was still hurting. I went to the office physiotherapist; he suggested I get a uric acid test done. For a second opinion, went to an ortho. Got an xray done, normal. He added to the uric test, a rheumatoid factor test and some more. Put me on some medicine.

So I ran the tests, and ran to the doctor with the reports. Reports were all clean, he finally concluded it was either a sprain or a muscle pull (a diagnosis my mother had also submitted, minus the tests and the jargon). So now, poorer by 1600 rupees, I am in office with an anklet on my right foot and some painkillers in my tummy.

I am not challenging the doctors’ competence, what had to be done had to be done. I am just wondering, in our country, if a poor woman sprains her foot or hurts her back, how does she handle it? Sure we have government hospitals, but their efficacy and competence is a topic I will save for another day.