The Pod Dar Experience

[[Boring Abridged Version: For those who want the short version of the story here it goes- my ass problem turned into a larger problem both figuratively and literally. I ended up in a hospital for what was diagnosed as an abscess. I had surgery to remove the abscess. I got tonsillitis in the hospital from unsanitary conditions. I was in the hospital for a week, and then on home rest subsequently. I receive regular “dressings” (thousand island, as my dad said) of the wound site but my ass is doing much better thank you. The tonsillitis is taking its sweet time to remove itself from my body. The short story is boring, uneventful, and misses the hilarity entirely, but if you don’t want to read the rest of the blog- there you have it.]]

The Pod Dar Experience

Sometimes you have to start a story from the end because the punch line is so hilarious that it must be immediately shouted from the rooftops, and then the rest of the mundane story can proceed from the vantage point of a ridiculous universe. To be entirely accurate, what I am calling the end is just the middle of a longer story, which I may or may not choose to blog about, depending on my energy level and the interest-carrying factor of the story. Anyway, this non fiction piece is entitled “The Pod Dar Experience.” I am not usually one to pump up a story without explaining what I am talking about but I begin with a brief sms (txt) conversation I had with a friend last night on the matter of the hilarity of the punchline, which I will shortly reveal:

[sms messages are always grammatically incorrect for purposes of speed and ease of typing by phone]

KC: “Ive nearly pissed myself, hope u don’t mind me telling everyone about this,it’s the most exciting thng that’s happened to me. U realize this given birth to myriad jokes on u. I luv it!”

ME: “Please blast it to the world emgrave it onto the side of a satellite- I don’t care cause its so fukin the most hilarious thing to come out of Norwalk or brklyn or cal or my ass evr!!! Evr evr!”

Ok, so I’ll stop being obnoxious and reveal the hilarious punchline now. During the car ride home from the hospital I was still feeling kind of shitty, have been told to be on “voice rest” by the Doctor to allow my throat to heal, and am lounging on my side in order to avoid ass irritation. During the ride, my friend told me that he had been talking to his Bengali family about the less than stellar care I received at Poddar Hospital. Their response was uproarious laughter. Apparently Poddar Hospital was named after a Mr. B.P. Poddar. However, pronounced oh so slightly differently, in Bengali, the words pod dar mean ass and gate. . . as in Ass Gate Hospital. . . As in reflective not only of the care received but also the crux of my medical problem. . .You might also notice the joke potential/possibilities for references to Watergate, etc. The uproarious laughter in the car has continued to present- and I have been smsing it to friends who have been in contact during the whole ass-y hospital affair. Hehehe. The universe works in ridiculous ways sometimes. And the fact that this double/triple entendre came to my attention at what is hopefully the conclusion of my stay at Poddar, exceeds all expectations for a good ending to a story. Heretofore, this story will be called Ass Gate 2007.

And now onto the in between portion. . .

Ass Gate 2007 (if only the u.s. prez would get caught in some sort of ass gate situation, and then finally get impeached. . .the world would be a better place.)

My earlier ass-related blog explained the initial search for a cure to my ass blues. I naively hoped that pill popping would be the cure all. It was not. After two days of popping antibiotics, the ass problem grew in size and depth of pain. By the time I went to the hospital I could barely walk without squealing, I definitely could not sit, and there appeared to be no stance or posture that alleviated the pain. A friend recommended a Dr. at Poddar hospital. I thought he was a little too interested in where I was from, what I did, and whether I would be in NYC in October when he would be visiting the city. However, he concurrently seemed like a good Dr. and I thought that if he wanted to meet up in October that gave him even more impetus to provide me with good care. This Dr. suggested I check in to the hospital that evening at 9pm and potentially have the operation the next day, so that the infection did not have time to spread or cause “anal damage”- or as he told my mom “damage to the rear opening.” I was relieved to know that I would be getting this thing taken care of so quickly but I was a bit apprehensive about checking in to the hospital so immediately. Other people recommended that I get a second opinion both because it’s the smart thing to do and because it is common practice in the hospitals to milk people with money for all sorts of unnecessary tests, extra long stays, etc. So, the following day two colleagues took me to a local clinic to see another recommended Dr. The Dr. was the pompous head of the clinic- which smelled like poop, was dirty, and not somewhere I would have felt comfortable spending any period of time for medical reasons. Of course, this clinic still probably provides better care than that which is received by the majority of Indians. The Dr. pulled a curtain between me and my colleagues, had me lie on the table, had his female assistant pull my pants and underwear down, barely said hello to me, and then anally probed me with some metal device (this was unexpected but not painful), followed by his rupturing and squeezing of what I called at that time the ass “cyst,” which was a horrendously painful experience, during which I screamed in pain and begged him to stop multiple times. He did not stop, told me I was not good with pain or some similar bullshit which I was to hear again, and then said that I would now feel much better. Actually, I felt a bit violated afterwards but he was right that the pain above my ass had lessened. Unfortunately, I later found out that this foolish Dr. also ended up spreading the infection. But anyway, the story hasn’t come to that moment yet. I was angry at the Dr. and barely uttered a word to him post-encounter. One of my colleagues was visibly upset by the experience on the other side of the curtain, and the other said something stupid in a joking manner about my feeling culture shock about the different way Drs do their work here. I was not amused and I was certainly not going to be a patient of Dr. masochism and his poop smelling clinic.

At this point, after having received three different courses of treatment from 3 different doctors I decided to go back to Poddar hospital and get checked in with Mr. See You in October Dr. At this point other people were calling with their favorite doctors who I must see and they assured me were much better than those I had seen previously. At this point, however, I did not want any more poking and prodding and running around the city. I also knew that since the “cyst” was now open I needed to start on IV antibiotics ASAP. So, I returned to Poddar hospital and was checked in.

The next installment of the story will have to wait until a later date, as I must bugger off now. Thanks for reading. This may be more interesting for me to write than for you to read, but it is indeed providing me with hours of entertainment and brain fodder. So, thanks blog readers. The thrilling middle gets even better!