For anyone over the age of 30, health care has to be near the top of the list when relocating to a new place. While there are plenty of things to be concerned about related to moving logistics, finances, food, etc., staying healthy—and having a healthy child—is really what captains the day-to-day work of parenting into friendly waters. It would certainly be possible to organize life into two headings—healthy Kaia and sick Kaia—for life in each respective world is radically different. Unfortunately, this week, the winds of fate blew in the latter direction, mixing together an unwanted recipe:
Anxious Papa
· a heaping scoop of uncertainty—flavors are more rich when in a whole new living environment;
· a pinch of change from shifting weather conditions from hotter to hottest;
· a dash of anxiety from the background drumbeat of a cornucopia of infectious diseases;
· one sick child with runny nose, inflamed throat and high fever.
Add ingredients and stir vigorously throughout night and early morning, waking every 15-30 minutes to check on concoction.
Serves 1 to 2 parents and all those in close contact. Yield and anxiety can be ramped up by simply increasing the number of sick children or the number of days left untreated.
Now even though Kaia is only 21 months, he has had four pediatricians. This is not because we have not liked them (although some like ‘Dr. Scoldsmamaalot’ were not our favorite), but because of all the moving around we have been doing. As a new parent of a young infant, there is a great deal of anxiety that accompanies any illness that your child has, but it is compounded significantly when you don’t feel like there is a medical professional whom you already know and trust, ready to treat your child. You would think that, after having to do this three times now, twice in the US and once in Japan, that I would be better at untying the knots in my stomach that came from the realization that we needed to see a doctor right away. If you did, you would be wrong. There was a rat’s nest inside my gut. I actually had been sitting on the name of a pediatrician for about 2 weeks--Dr. Sanjon John—and it was time that Kaia and I paid him a visit.
Madras is actually considered by many people to be the medical capital of India. There is a plethora of medical clinics where you can get everything from heart surgery to liposuction (which has the distinction of being one of the most subtly dramatic sights of inequality I have seen in the city, what with an encampment of squatters rummaging through garbage bins nearby the clinic’s front steps), and many come from all over the country to receive medical care in the local hospitals. In fact, there are some who claim that this area can be considered the medical capital of South and South-East Asia. For this, I am not so sure. My fear instinct had me just wanting to be sure that this doctor washes his hands before seeing Kaia.
Dr. John’s office is on the other side of town, about a 20 minute drive by car. Of course, we can overlook that, statistically, it is much more of a risk to Kaia’s health to drive ANYWHERE in the city than whatever he might be suffering from. Such is life in Madras.
We finally arrive at his place and, like many doctors, Dr. John’s clinic is a humble structure of three rooms (waiting, office, storage) which is attached to his home. Kaia and I make our way across the slity driveway and, per the sign in English and Tamil, ‘kindly remove our shoes’, step into the waiting room and take a seat in the row of attached, molded fiberglass chairs that look like a deluxe model of the kinds you find in bus stations. My posture has always ensured that I slide quickly into ‘slacker pose’ when in these seats, but before I could do so, the door opened and Dr. John asked to come in.
Coming from the US, and most certainly from Japan, I am accustomed to two or three layers of people before the doctor makes his or her grand appearance. In the US, there is of course the administrative check-in, followed by (in the case of Kaia) someone of weigh and measure, and sometimes, a nurse practitioner to give vaccinations, before the knock on the door starts the 5-7 minutes you have with a doctor who, god willing, can remember your name. In Japan, it is similar in terms of layers, but you cannot help but be struck by the amazing ratio of nurse to doctor—in some places like 6 to 1!—and ask yourself what the heck they do all day. In this clinic, however, there were no long medical history forms to fill out, no insurance cards, no co-pays, no scary nurses--Just a middle-aged Indian man with a comforting smile and gentle manner.
After a few minutes of explaining Kaia’s symptoms, Dr. John did a simple check up of basic indicators (including the use of a camping flashlight to look inside his throat and ears!) and found that Kaia’s throat was inflamed and that all of his signs pointed 99% to a common affliction known affectionately as “Madras Throat”, or in more western parlance, strep throat. Immediately, the doctor recommended, we would start Kaia on some antibiotics and within a few days he would feel much better. No need for throat cultures or other procedures that might be common in other parts of the world. I was comfortable with his diagnosis and treatment plan. I just hoped that Kaia would be too after a few days.
In the end, I can say that I am very relieved to have finally secured a pediatrician for Kaia. What Dr. John’s clinic might lack in subscriptions to Highlights magazine and digital scales, it is very clean and, most importantly, Dr. John is excellent with children, knowledgeable and accessible around the clock. Also, as the doctor of choice of the American Consulate in Chennai, he is familiar with dealing with expat children and their manic parents.
He even washes his hands.
Why I Love this Time: How he lets me cut his hair and, even with all of the big chunks and uneven bang lines, he doesn’t care one bit about these flaws nor how anyone will look at him.
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