This was something that happened around May-June this year. I had to be hospitalized for a day or two, to get some routine intra-venous injections. As the hospital protocols required me to be accompanied by an “attendant”, my younger sister, Lini, agreed to accompany me.
As it was noon by the time I finally got admitted to St. Johns, Lini had to go home to get lunch for me. Tired already of lying in the hospital bed, twiddling my thumbs, I decided to escort her till the entrance.
We were climbing down the stairs from my room on the 3rd floor ( I hate waiting for the elevator), when the sole of Lini’s sandal on her left foot came out. Poor thing, she dragged her foot along and tried to walk in what was left of her sandals as best as she could. She practically took 15 mins to climb down the remaining 2 floors, lifting her left foot with the torn footwear hanging limply from it, in an elaborate manner, before placing it carefully onto the next step. As you may have experienced, walking in such a fashion is not only physically excrutiating, it looks ridiculous, inviting the disconcerting stares of passers-by.
As we proceeded laboriously (and with unusual patience in my case), with our descent, a nurse suggested that we could purchase footwear in the hospital. I was aware of items, such as soap, mosquitoe repellant, combs and other bric-a-brac of our humdrum lives, being sold in the hospital premises but footwear being part of this list was news to me.
On being told that it was sold somewhere near the Trauma Ward in the ground floor, I promptly started off in search of this place, with Lini limping behind me, struggling to keep up with my pace.
I wandered dreamily into the corridor to which the board proclaiming “Trauma Care” pointed, and was immediately dragged down to reality. The distressing sight of accident victims lying sprawled on the beds, with their limbs severed and heavily bandaged/ plastered took the wind out of me. The heavy sadness that hung in the air hit me like a bolt from the blue. I was least expecting scenes of handicapped patients with their morose relatives, trying to come to terms with a life that involved one or more, less limbs. The atmosphere was physically recoiling. I’m sure Lini was also shocked at the sight that greeted her.
I was directed to the fag-end of the ward on enquiring for footwear, by a lady in a white coat- perhaps a doctor or a senior resident. This reassured me that I was not in the wrong place but the ward seemed to end in a locked door. Just as I was feeling disheartened, a lady walked past me towards the door. I stopped her and asked her if they sold footwear there.
She looked at me from head to toe, a little strangely with a weird sort of expression, almost like she was sizing me up. She also had a good look at Lini who was still limping behind me.
Then she asked, “Who is the patient?”.
I was a little taken aback at this question and wondered what relevance it could hold to the sale of a pair of slippers. However, thinking that the hospital may have a policy of selling footwear only to patients, I said, “I am”. Lini and I have same-sized feet.
The lady again looked at me and Lini with a quizzical look. I should have realized what was going on atleast by then, but the dimwit that I had turned into that afternoon, I failed to understand the relevance of her question.
She nodded her head, as if asking me to wait there, and proceeded to unlock the door.
As I was standing a few feet away, and the door blocked my view, I couldn’t figure out what was behind the door. Just then a man carrying a toolbox, who looked like some sort of a workman, went into the room. The lady asked me to enter and the moment I did, another unexpected sight took my breath away.
The room was filled with prosthetic limbs- finished and unfinished (and let me tell you, it looks a little weird looking at rows of legs and arms, stacked one upon the other, especially if you walk into them for the first time in your life, like I had). The man had a measuring tape in his hand, ready to take the measurements for the kind of “footwear” I required. Needless to say, I was totally embarrassed and quickly explained to the kind lady that I was looking out for “normal” footwear and was mistakenly directed to that place.
After apologizing sheepishly, I turned back with a very wide stupid grin on my face, just in time to stop Lini from entering the room. When I told her it was “special” kind of footwear that was available there, both of us broke into laughter. We looked like a bunch of idiots and may have even appeared insensitive and uncouth to be giggling away in a ward filled with accident victims.
The moment I come out, trying hard to control my laughter, who should I run into but my doctor! He was obviously surprised to see me coming out of the Trauma Care ward, and confused as well to see me laughing my head off, like I had just attended a comedy show in there! I’m sure he was left as confused even after I explained to him, amidst wide grins and suppressed laughter, what I had just done in search of footwear.
