One of my favourite lines from a Jewel song: “There’s a big man wearing a white suit and patent leather shoes.. he wants to take his monkeys to see the kids at the zoo..”
Reversal of roles – monkeys, entertained by human foibles.
In this case, we felt like monkeys, watching a crazy scene unfold.
Today is Day 13 of treatment, we’re at the tail-end – 2 days left – with surgery slated for Saturday (10 days behind schedule.. but who’s counting..?)
For the past few days, our daily ass-jabs have been paired with a complementary tummy poke… we’re now onto two needles a day.. culminating in today’s delightful hat trick of three teeth-gnashing injections. Tomorrow at 7am, la pièce de résistance: the paramount “Trigger Shot”. It’s the final one – woohoo! – meant to cease this hormonal madness coursing through my raging system and prepare my body for Saturday’s “egg extraction”. They expect 15 or so eggs.. an inflated bakers dozen. Can you say battery chicken?
But I digress, back to the monkey-business.
We arrived at Adiva (the clinic) for our normal evening appointment. As usual, the place was utter mayhem. Masses of bodies.. standing, sitting and squatting in every conceivable spot. Fluttering saris, flowing robes and tightly-wound turbans mingled harmoniously with designer jeans and Gucci bags.
Reception was overrun by loud speaking, attention-seeking patients wishing to check in, collect medicine or pay bills in cash – he who spoke the loudest, was heard. Large wads of rupees deftly changed hands. Plenty of smartly dressed pink-uniformed staff stood idling about in the aforementioned (Blog #6) door frames, chatting companionably, occasionally dipping into the recently-filled sweetie bowl, surely intended for customers.. ?! It was a feast for the eyes!
Then came the drama.
Patient X – a large woman, possibly 300 pounds – was wheeled into reception.
Dressed in the requisite puke-green hospital-issued gown, escaping strands of hair haphazardly tucked under her ill-fitting green-mesh cap, Patient X was confused and dazed. Recent anesthesia was slow to subside. CRACK!! The guerney groaned and buckled under her sizeable weight.
Oh My! Having little or no contact with amphibious creatures, I’m afraid this poor specimen of a green-clad women reminded me of the pickled toad I dissected in Grade 12 Biology…
Accompanied by 4 or 5 able-bodied hospital staff, they stopped in the middle of Reception. Confounded by the over-flowing Recovery Room nearby – where she was meant to be wheeled – they weren’t sure how to proceed. They stopped, scratched their collective noggins – and frankly, some, their crotch.. it’s done here, who am I to say?! – and stood there.. thinking, searching for inspiration.
Curious reception onlookers watched. Nobody moved.
How many Indian staff does it take to transfer a post-op patient? Apparently, five aren’t enough. Perhaps they should try screwing in a light bulb, might have more success…
Seconds morphed into minutes; Patient X realized her predicament. Haze began to fade. She started yelling at her baffled Boys in Green: WHAT AM I DOING IN RECEPTION..? GET ME OUT OF HERE!!… then burst into tears. Oh my. I sat there watching in disbelief – thinking ‘Poor soul’… closely followed by a reality-check idea … ‘This had better not happen to me!’
What does Mark do? Of course, he pulls out his iPhone to record the unhappy incident… Nice!!
Eventually they realize the trauma they have on their hands. In care-giving concert, they move towards the recovery room, then back to the lift, then back to the recuperation room – like a bad version of an ER/Old Spice ad – then opt for the escape lift. Whisked skyward, we could hear her croaking, plaintive wail..
Ok, this is where I provide the disclaimer.
Medically-speaking, both Dr. B and the clinic are excellent! Administratively, it’s a different story. One senses that internal operations closely resemble the chaotic nature of the world lurking beyond this up-market, highly polished clinic’s neatly-stenciled sliding glass doors.
India: diverse, rich, varied, vibrant, colourful and complex. Efficiency, an occasional yet reluctant by-product of the infernal disarray. The country is disorganized and fragmented, but somehow it works.
Speaking of administrative mayhem and clerical mishaps, I think we’ll know if the Embryologist confuses my bits with those from the woman’s on the stretcher…
Ribbit … ribbit ..
The baby will come out singing Kermit’s Muppet Movie theme song: “Why are there so many songs about rainbows, and what’s on the other side…” Have a listen 🙂
On a completely unrelated non-fertile note, we’ve had an amazing time in Delhi – thanks in no small part to Percy’s unbridled hospitality! We’ve been wined and dined at one of Delhi’s most recent “it” spots, Shiro:
Invited to a chi-chi launch party – and entertained by colourful stories of infidelity by one of Europe’s foremost ambassador’s to India:
Adopted a damaged, but beautiful abandoned dog from one of Delhi’s many Animal Rescue Shelters:
Escaped to one of India’s oldest heritage resorts – built in 1464 – surrounded by a picturesque Rajasthani village full of colourfully-clad sari-wearing women:
We’ve also dealt with a shoddy lawyer who insisted on knowing English better than Mark…. and more infuriatingly, after Mark spent hours reading, reviewing and redrafting said lawyer’s grammatically inept agreement to a basic, acceptable standard… asked us to cover fees for his pompous, shabby effort. You’ve got to be kidding? He even insisted we sign the contracts with a thumb print, a process usually reserved for the illiterate – WTF? From under which rock did this man crawl? Perhaps his turban was on too tight, causing restrictive reasoning and impaired judgment…?
If nothing else, it adds to our idiosyncratic, multi-layered, multi-coloured and often-wacky experience called India.
So, with four days remaining in India, our treatment is nearly done. Surrogate Leena’s ready to roll – she’ll be removing the shingle from her rental womb in a week’s time.
The pregnancy test: December 21st…. Here’s to hoping we receive happy news and an early Christmas present from St.Nick!
If all goes according to plan, we’ll have further zoo trips in our future. Next time, however, we’ll be out to see Lions and Tigers and Bears, not prostrate gurgling bullfrogs.
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