Of Doctors, Loose Bowels and Françoise Hardy

She howled at me. I wasn’t particularly scared of a howling female. Of course, she was not my wife. A female in the shape of my howling wife never fails to loosen by bowels. But as I said, she was not my wife.

“I want you to get that hole sealed up by tomorrow,” howled she, who, as you will recall, was not my wife. She could be someone else’s wife of course. My wife was sitting right next to me and somebody else’s wife was facing me from the opposite side of the table. “Early signs of cataract may be, but cataract can go to hell. You have a hole in your right retina. Get it fixed by tomorrow.” The somebody else’s wife howled once more. She is popularly known as Dr. R, one of the best eye surgeons in Kolkata. “Just take a look at this,” the somebody else’s wife told the not somebody else’s wife. She pointed out something on the computer screen to the latter, who in turn vigorously nodded her head several times and told me later that she had seen nothing but a multi-coloured computer screen “signifying nothing”. She is a computer hater. She believes in fact that humanity is on the verge of extinction on account of computers. And holds me responsible for early signs of the cataclysm.

“How do I fix the hole in the retina?” I asked her, not feeling particularly confident at this juncture. “They never taught me the art of fixing retina holes. Can you fix it for me please?” I pleaded finally.

“No, I can’t fix retina holes,” the howler howled. “You have to see a retina surgeon.” She proceeded to write down a name on her prescription pad. “Call up F Hospital and seek an appointment with him right away. Get going, on your march. Left, right, left, right …” I don’t think she actually issued those marching orders, but the expression on her face could be interpreted that way.

I was back home soon enough and called up the recommended hospital. The gentleman who answered the phone heard me out and then said, “But Dr. B will not be available for at least a week. He was here only this morning and left instruction for his patients. He is out of town by now.”

Now, that was a scary message. Somebody else’s wife had asked me to get the hole sealed up within twenty four hours. I conveyed the message to the man, who refused to budge a centimetre. “Dr. B,” he said “won’t be back before 7×24 hours.” I tried to calculate how many hours they add up to, but being bad in arithmetic amongst every other useful thing, failed miserably. My bowels put my brain on alert. They was about to loosen up.

“What do I do then,” I wailed. “Dr. Somebody else’s wife has told me that I have no choice.” I remembered at this point of time that she had howled a solid question at me. “Don’t you see flashes of light in the middle of a dark night?” I had to admit that I did. I think she issued the marching orders that I thought she did but may actually not have, after hearing out my admission.

“Why don’t you see Dr. S instead,” said the man who refused to budge a centimetre. “He will be visiting day after tomorrow and he is one of the best retina specialists in the country.”

“Day after tomorrow! But that is way beyond tomorrow! Besides Dr. Somebody else’s wife had asked me to see Dr. B and Dr. B alone.”

“Why don’t you call her up and ask her then?” said the man who didn’t budge a centimetre.

“She howls,” I replied.

“What?” said TMWDBAC.

“She howled at me when she said I had to see Dr. B, who you say has gone into hiding.”

“Call her nonetheless and ask, if you wish to seek her permission. Then let me know. I am fixing a provisional appointment for you,” said TMWDBAC and disconnected.

You see folks, though I am not particularly scared of howling SEWs, my fingers trembled in no uncertain manner when I tried to call this particular Dr. SEW. As I had expected, the phone remained unanswered for the first ninety nine times or so that I called. But then she obliged.

“You see,” I explained, “I am the one you asked to see Dr. B to get that hole in my eye fixed. I saw you yesterday. My name is X, the one who sees flashes of light in the middle of the night.”

“Yes, I remember,” she answered in a howl-less tone this time. “What about it?”

“Dr. B will be away from the city for the next 7×24 hours. You told me to get the repair done within 24 hours. Though I don’t know what 7×24 hours is equal to, I have a gut feeling that it exceeds 24 hours. ”

“Oh, is that so? OK, I am giving you another name. Go see …”

“Can I see Dr. S instead at F Hospital?” I interrupted her with supreme bravery.

She immediately shifted gear and began to howl. “Dr. S? How on earth will you get to see him? He visits the hospital only once a month and that too from distant Chennai. His next visit falls due exactly a month from today.”

“But Doctor,” said I, “somebody at F Hospital said that he is due here day after tomorrow and that I can even get an appointment with him.”

She was silent for a long while. I began to wonder if she had hung up. But then her voice floated back. “He did, did he?” she was totally un-howling now. “Well, if you can get an appointment with Dr. S, then nothing could be better. He is one of the best in the country.” She repeated exactly what TMWDBAC had told me. It doesn’t matter that you cannot see him within 24 hours.” She seemed to be suggesting that it was worth the longer wait, whether or not I lost my ability to see at all in consequence.

Mr TMWDBAC’s views were confirmed and an elated I called him up and fixed the appointment.

“I told you so, didn’t I,” purred Mr. TMWDBAC.

I waited for the hour to arrive and went and saw Dr. S. In the meantime, I held on to my eyesight with all the strength of mind I possessed. I waited at the end of a long queue, but did get to see him. He examined me and said, “You don’t know how lucky you are that you saw Dr R. She is a great eye surgeon, though not a retina specialist. She specialises in cataracts. Few cataract specialists could have detected what you are suffering from. You are lucky, most lucky, that you saw her.”

Dr. SEW had brought me luck in the shape of Dr. S from Chennai.

“But she had said that I was unlucky, with a hole in my retina and all,” I mumbled.

“Oh, we will fix that, don’t worry,” assured the surgeon. “Your other eye too has a problem, but I will not touch it unless it looks really serious. Surgery is the only solution to the problem, but right now it’s not all that threatening. We can wait. You see me from time to time for check ups. I will tell you if extreme steps are necessary. Also, you can always hop into a plane and see me in Chennai, if …” he left the sentence hanging in the air. It had a sword of Damocles flavour.

“And the hole?” I lamented.

“I will cure that right away. They will put drops into your eyes and when you are ready, I will solder the hole.”

That was around four or five years ago. And I have been seeing him ever since, at least twice a year and so far things have remained stable. We have turned into buddies sort of and he even revealed to me that he was a vinyl record fan and suggested that, given my interest in music, I too should shift to vinyl. I have a fairly large collection of those records. I told him about it and he immediately wrote down the name of the best brand of players to go for. On the prescription pad! “It’s around 25K,” he informed me, looking somewhat unsure if I could afford it. I sat poker faced in response. In any case, my books I knew had taken up all the space allotted to me at home.

To make the point clear, I chose one of my favourite records from the collection and presented it to the doctor next time I saw him. He was most reluctant to accept the gift, but I managed to persuade him. It was an old favourite, Françoise Hardy. The cover of the disc was slightly damaged given its vintage. I noticed that I had written the date and place of purchase in a corner of the cover. Rochester, 1972.

I have no idea if the doctor enjoyed listening to it, but he told me on the following occasion that he had to spend a good part of his valuable time cleaning up the grooves of the record and getting the cover back in shape. He even gave me his phone number and asked me to visit his home when I went to Chennai next and share a drink. Who knows? One of these days I may need to hop into a plane and visit him in Chennai, as he had asked me to on the very first day I had seen him. The circumstances under which he had asked me to hop into a plane were unlikely to land me at his home for a drink though.

Fortunately, however, the good doctor has been giving me a clean chit for a long time now, except for the last time I visited him a month or so ago, when he sounded a warning.

“You know what? I am surprised that neither you nor the inside of your eye ball look as old as the age you have declared to the hospital. What bothers me most is not your retina right now, but the fact that I don’t see any major sign of cataract yet. The way you are going, you may not need a cataract surgery for the next ten years at least. And no cataract surgeon will ever agree to treat a 97 year old! It is too risky. But the good news is that right now you are eye-wise in perfect shape despite your age.”

Which sounded like a warning you know. I mean there could be eye unrelated parts of me that are in imperfect shape. My bowels are sending me that unmistakable loosening message once again.

To appease them, therefore, I decided to listen to Hardy once again. I know you are all familiar with the number, but no harm listening to it one more time.

Or just ignore it.

 

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