Hospital stories

As I’m still lying around in the hospital, people try to… well… cheer me up with hospital stories. Unfortunately most of them don’t help.

When I, for example, asked the attending physician about the last time he treated someone with an amoebic liver abscess, he said: five to six years ago. And then he remembered the fate of the wife of the doctor of the German Embassy. She once had the same disease, but was only given different pills. These she took for some days, but then she stopped doing so and flew to Goa for some holidays. There the abscess ruptured – and soon thereafter she died.

A couchsurfer who stayed with me some weeks ago, met an Israeli and told me his story. The guy is a medical student in Israel, but far from finishing his studies soon, and he never even assisted at an operation. During his internship in a hospital in Mumbai, he was responsible for operations on people’s organs.

My colleague furthermore told me the story of her father in law. He walked upright into the Max Hospital in Delhi, but soon he was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit and died. When they got the bill, they saw that all kind of fluids and medications were pumped into his body – and most of them didn’t seem to make sense.

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