Indian Friday: Sri Balaji Hospital, Chennai

My diary, revived from my trip to India back in 2007. Only this bit isn’t my diary. It’s the notes I wrote back home: because diary writing, even if I’d been well enough, would never have been permitted during my hospital stay. Lie back and get better!

Sri Balaji Hospital, Chennai

3rd – 8th December

What picture have you got of an Indian Hospital? I bet it’s wrong. My ward at Sri Balaji Hospital resembled pretty much any hospital ward in an older-style British hospital that you may have come across – only cleaner. It sparkled with clean paint, fresh blue and white candy-striped sheets and general good order. 4 beds in my ward, with 2 nurses by night and 6 by day, all in a smart white jacket and trousers uniform. The nurses, being Tamil, are of quite astonishing physical beauty: I really couldn’t take my eyes of ‘my’ night nurse, Jhoti, whose loveliness extended to her personality. They appeared equally taken with me, and would pat and stroke me, or chuck me under the chin at the least provocation. As I started to get better, they amused themselves teaching me Tamil. With one exception, they didn’t speak much English, but what they did know, they’d learnt at Nursing School. Phrases like ‘Go to the toilet’/’Use the bathroom’ etc. were not understood, until light dawned. ‘Ah! You want pass urine?’

Besides nurses there were:
– nice ladies in saris who appeared to fulfil some kind of auxiliary role.
– doctors – lots.
– men in blue jackets and trousers who seemed to be gophers, called Ward Boys.
– men in brown ditto- porters.

Dili and friends, the Ward Boys at Sri Balaji Hospital

The night nurses did 12 hour shifts and before you feel too sorry for them, they told me that when doing night shift, they work just 10 nights a month.

Medication and tests of all kinds flowed freely – they make the French look amateurs.

No TV, no radio, no nice ladies from the WRVS dispensing sweets, newspapers and library books. No getting up either. You lie in bed until you’re good and better, and meanwhile you do nothing. I was caught attempting to wash on my last day, and was chivvied back to bed and given a bed bath.

The biggest surprise to me was that the wards were mixed-sex. In a country where (at that time at least) it would have been a monumental faux pas for me to have sat down next to a man on a bus, that seemed to me astonishing.

At visiting time, those of us without visitors did not go without attention. Dozens of noses were pressed against the glass wall of the ward as curious onlookers gave us all the once-over. I felt a bit like an inmate of Bedlam in the 18th century.

After 5 days, I was deemed well enough to go home, though I was still feeling pretty ropey. I knew insurance would pay up eventually, but I was terrified at what the bill might be for my stay in hospital, and they woudn’t let me go till I paid up. Would there be enough money in our account? It turned out to be … just a little over £30.00…

Incidentally, the insurance company DID cut up rough. Why hadn’t I rung them to tell them of my indisposition? Well, lots of reasons actually. I was far too ill for such a thing to have entered my head. And on my first day in hospital, because the only phone available was that used by all the doctors and nurses on the ward, I was permitted to make just one call. So I didn’t even ring Malcolm, who was in transit from France to England. It was my son in London whom I called, and he had to contact anyone who needed to know (no, he didn’t ring the insurance company either). I have no idea who took it upon themselves to change my flights, but it wasn’t me. Instead of a direct flight, I had an internal flight to Bangalore, and then a dreadful wait from about midnight to 4.00 a.m. with nowhere to wait but a gloomy hall with no seating, clinging on to my luggage before my connecting journey to London.

And then it was over. We were back in England for a short while before we returned to France. I was by no means the full shilling for a while. Malcolm said I hardly uttered a word for days and days …

My featured photo shows the view from my hospital bed.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is it. My Indian diary. Next week we’ll go to Bradford, where, to ease us gently back to the UK, my post will have at least some Indian connections.

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Author: margaret21

I'm retired and live in North Yorkshire, where I walk , write, volunteer and travel as often as I can.

53 thoughts on “Indian Friday: Sri Balaji Hospital, Chennai”

      1. We had a ‘threat’ of rain but as inevitably happens here, it’s scurried along to next Thursday, trailing a few clouds behind it. I know you didn’t want to know that so instead I’ll tell you that we’re having a chilled day here today. There’s only so much manoeuvring furniture and mopping floors you can do. And actually I no longer mind the bare walls. They’re clean xx

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  3. A beautiful memory which on contemplation you could’ve done without. But I’m glad you saw the good in your experience. And insurance companies – aren’t they the worst? I would have a few tales to tell as well.

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  5. You’re right, that’s now how I imagined an Indian hospital experience would be. If only British hospital staff would look as clean – bring back the days of white coats and proper uniforms rather than scrubs

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  9. I am really happy for this blissful turnout, Margaret. I would never have thought that you were able to have such a ‘good’ time in an Indian hospital. ‘Comme toujours’, I missed at least half the story of before, but it turns out that it’s a great story to hear and I’m thankful to learn that you were treated in such a kind way.
    I had a great experience while living in France. My mil visited and naturally would want to accompany me to EVERYWHERE at any time. So, she insisted to push our huge shopping trolley from the ‘trolley shed’ to the shop, then knocked her leg against the porte-bouteilles and hence slipped and fell. She damaged her nose and bled quite profusely. I calmly gave her my rescue drops and Arnica, packed her with a box of tissues in my car and drove her to the hospital. I jump now the 4hr wait and what we experienced there but she got a tetanus shot, was treated, got pills and a cream – and when we passed to the pay-desk, it was something like 80€…. She had this receipt put in a frame and brought it to her Swiss doctor, who put it on his wall – it was quite a (positive) shock for all of us. Help can be had in most places but I cannot even call my doctor for a phone-consultation of 5’ for less than 120 CHF!
    You really have a talent, not only with photos but with spinning a great yarn. So glad it all went well in the end.

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    1. Thank you. I can’t quite get my head round paying for medical care. 80 euros sounds horrendous to me! But your m-i-l’s experience sounds pretty typical of the excellent care we too had in France.

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  10. You’re right about how I might imagine an Indian hospital. It seems that if you had to end up in one at least you were well cared for there. The number of staff is impressive. But I bet you were bored silly towards the end of your recovery, with nothing to do all day even though you were starting to feel better?

    This has been a great series, I’m going to miss your regular Friday instalments!

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  11. Such a pity that your wonderful trip ended in illness but it sounds like you got good care in the hospital. And it certainly made for riveting reading. Glad all was well in the end.

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  12. I had read about this before, but it’s a good tale to repeat. Did you ever find out what was wrong with you?

    As for travel insurance companies, dealing with Alex’s was a nightmare. Because it was in his name the claim had to be made by him. Can you believe that!!

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    1. No, I don’t know what it was. I suspect, at bottom, it was sheer exhaustion. I barely slept, even in the good times. What a nightmare for you, dealing with insurance companies in the midst of grief.

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  16. Well I never thought Indian hospitals could be so good and clean. I would’ve shuddered, and probably refused to go to hospital thinking it would be just the opposite to what you experienced, and £30! Amazing. I’ve really enjoyed following your Indian adventures

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    1. You would have gone anywhere where you could just lie down, trust me! I’m sure there are ramshackle clinics still in under-populated areas, but I’m sure most hospitals were as good as mine. Thank you!

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  17. yeah I always wonder about that you must notify us statement by the insurers – I understand why but at the same time . . . . . .

    Shame whoever rebooked your flight didn’t come up with some luxurious options for you!

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    1. Actually, my internal flight was lovely, with delicious food (which I forced myself to eat. I wasn’t really up to it), spacious and civilised. AirIndia I think. The BA one back to the UK was as uncivilised and crowded as usual.

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  19. It is interesting to read about your hospital experience now, but at the time it must have been overwhelming – at least when you were well enough to notice. The orderliness, cleanliness and kindness must have been a huge relief. The journey home and waiting for the connecting flight must have been been deeply challenging. Thank goodness it all ended well and you got safely home and recovered.

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