Maya Update

Most importantly, Amaan is doing well, though amputation is still a possibility.

This is his leg after the stitches were removed.
This photo was taken about 2 days later.
This is a photo of his leg 48 hours after surgery.

Things started to go downhill a few days after the accident when my friend with a motorbike stopped accompanying me to the hospital. He has a business and a large family to attend to, so I am grateful for the time he did come with me and translate when needed. It was during these first few days that I think my presence meant the most for Amaan's treatment. The next week or so was alright, I often saw Amaan's "brother" (turns out he is just a family friend) who would sometimes treat me to a meal after a visit and even with the language barrier he was nice company and let me know he appreciated me. Amaan's mother came from Bihar to visit a couple days before the "brother" left.

I had been buying Amaan small gifts- a watch, a small FM radio and clothes to replace what was ruined in the accident. I also often bring cookies, crackers, other food and drinks, and of course pay for some of the treatment. The other day Amaan's mother specifically asked me to buy a powdered mix supplement, which I agreed was a good idea since the already thin boy has lost a lot of weight. She has since asked me to buy him some of the common undershirts men wear in India so Amaan can have extra at the hospital. Seemed reasonable. Then she asked me for shoes and a sari, and some clothes for her 5 year-old back in Bihar...

Since that moment I have begun to shrink back. I won't lie, it has never been easy being here, but somehow I got involved, and I started to help. There have definitely been times that I wished I had never seen the accident or even that I had walked away like so many others.

I am alone most of everyday, I go back to my guest house and spend my evenings alone, I walk to and from the hospital alone... Normally, I enjoy the solitude of travel, but the stress of the accident and the aftermath- the wound, the possibility of amputation, knowing he is lonely in the hospital, the heat of an Indian summer, my own loneliness... At the moment it is not easy to treasure this purdah, this isolation. The pleasing but intermittent conversations I have with people on the street or in restaurants aren't enough to sustain me. I have found myself crying in the street, or with tears like geysers as I lean into the shoulder of a woman I met at the hospital. Such public displays of emotion are out of the ordinary here, and I do try and keep it together. I feel really helpless, I have to say I feel also unappreciated.

My motives were never egoistic, but I could never claim total altruism. I do want some acknowledgment, but only from Amaan and his family, especially at this stage when everyone seems to want something from me. I have made two dozen trips to the hospital and I am feeling frustration with still being in Calcutta when I should have left two weeks ago. I'm not sure what the best course is at the moment. I'll start by limiting my visits to once a day instead of two, and I will not buy any more things for him or his family (aside from treatment, medicine or food). I believe his mother to be a good woman who has just found herself in a situation where she may be able to make things a little better for her family. Unfortunately this has led to me feeling taken advantage of. I just have to remember my initial goal- to do anything I could to help the treatment be a success. I can not save the world.

Yes, I can not save the world. But I very much want to believe though I am only one, and that there is strength in numbers, one is also a number... I'm going to keep trying.

Amaan Update

He has been in good spirits- fantastic considering the "stress" I appear to be under. It is shameful to say the least. His strength is inspiring. I still visit twice a day, but only one long visit yesterday, August 14. He had surgery to remove dead tissue and skin around the wound. We were very lucky that a heavy monsoon rain stopped as the surgery began because the streets were briefly impassable and flooded- three times throughout an assistant poked his head out with a pharmacological order meant to be immediately filled. When I peeked at him through an open door right after they were done he gave me a sneaky smile and he doesn't seem to be in any pain.

The 72 hours following the procedure are critical- time which will show whether his leg will recover or need to be amputated at the knee. Please keep him in your thoughts. Thank you.

Accident

[SATURDAY UPDATE BELOW]

I arrived in India on Sunday afternoon. On Monday evening I used the internet from 7:07 until 8:05 or 8:06. When I was finished I paid my 15 rupees (about US $0.35) and walked out a dirty enclave with children playing, men butchering chickens and peeling potatoes, rank puddles, and the odd motorbike. I stepped out into the street and looked to my right, following my ear to a large red firetruck making obscenely loud and annoying beeping noises heading down the street. I made a face of annoyance to a deaf boy I know in the neighborhood, covering my ears. He looked on, uninterested. The street is narrow to begin with, barely fit for two way traffic when empty, but there is parking "allowed" (because policemen are slipped cash) on one side and taxis keep the lane mostly occupied, making it difficult for the constant flow of cyclists, coolies, pedestrians, motorbikes, rickshaws, cars, trucks, taxis, goats, mobile merchants, etc. On the side where parking was never allowed a large sari/saree shop's small truck was parked. The firetruck had difficulty squeezing through.

Soon after it passed a few people started to gather to look at a boy who I will call Amaan, 14 years old, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, who was leaning against a metal cage that housed some city electrical or plumbing equipment. He looked like he might be about to vomit, maybe he was drunk. Those were the first things that I thought. But then I saw his leg. His right leg had been pinned between the small truck and the fire truck. It was... open. The laceration must have been at least 2 inches deep. I could see muscle, tendons, maybe bone.There were pools of dark blood around his foot. Some people moved him to the sidewalk and he appeared conscious, but drifting. It seemed like time stood still and no one was doing anything. Someone tied some pieces of fabric around his upper leg. I remained close, did what I could.

Several taxis sped away when we asked for help. Even more taxi drivers pretended not to notice, skulking away. When one driver was willing to help, Amaan was brought into the taxi and I sat on the edge of the back seat between his torso and the front seat. His head lie in the lap of another boy, who I did not see again after the hospital. I held Amaan's hand and stroked his face, looked for the gushing blood that never returned, and tried to make sure he stayed alert and conscious.

I didn't know where we were going. We went to a "government" run free hospital. He was moved haphazardly to a dirty metal gurney, specks of dried blood on the sides and bed. There was no one around, no one that seemed alarmed or concerned. The hospital was dank and dirty, beaten and soiled. He was moved a few times, from gurney to table and back, to an x-ray table in an old room with no shields or vests and equipment out of a Roswell alien investigation photo circa 1947. The two x-rays were paid for when they should have been free.There were not orderlies to push the gurney or rolling racks to hold the saline solution. I helped with these things.

In good time, two of the Amaan's older brothers came. We were told that medicine was unavailable, even though it was supposed to be be free of charge. Behind a closed door someone slipped a doctor money and suddenly the medicine was there. In a room with bloody scraps of cotton littering the floor and walls dirtier than a back alley, a doctor (I hope, I presume) made approximately 25 big black rough stitches on the boy's leg. Seeing the wound before this, I had assumed the flesh had been torn off.

There are no words for the place, for the sadness and desperation, the filth and hopeless hope. The woman who looked drugged, sick, nearly unconscious and in desperate pain, told to leave and carried out because she was not critical. The rows of people lying in filth by the non-emergency admittance door. The crying babies, the sleeping skeletons, the numb and zombie-like staff.

Amaan and several of his family members are here in Calcutta for work, to help those who remain at home. They are from Bihar, one of the poorest and most populous Indian states. He has been in Calcutta less than one year.

It was decided that Amaan would be moved to another hospital where he could be cared for. No hospital vehicle was available so we maneuvered him back into the taxi and he was transported. The new hospital was still atrocious by Western standards but gleams far above the first one. The linens are fairly clean, there is one doctor on duty each day in his unit, 24 hour shifts, once a week. There are a few orderlies and assistants and a nurse.

That night I was relieved Amaan could have a chance at recovery. That people helped him, that he has family here, that I could do something. When I returned to my guesthouse, however, I was numb and shaky. Seeing the conditions of the first hospital made me feel weak and lost, concerned for those there and all that would never even be lucky to be cared for in such a forlorn place of "healing". In a million ways Amaan is lucky. In this country of over a billion, in this crowded metropolis of millions, there must be countless stories of injuries and medical injustices that make his story sound a dream. How many rickshaw pullers, sleeping on the street at night, sending pennies far away home when they can, or sleeping in literal garbage dumps with their families, are injured with no chance? How many car accidents at night leave the poor bloody and dying in the road? Amaan is in school. His leg was not severed. He has family able to borrow the money for the medical bills. The sari shop offered a small sum, but it was refused since one of the family members does some work with them and feared that taking the money would mean he would forever lose their business. Amaan was hurt in a tourist-quarter with many people looking on, determined to help, to be accountable. He is extraordinarily lucky.

Tuesday, day after the accident I visited Amaan in the hospital in the morning and evening and stayed 2 hours each time. This was only possible because the guard in front of the unit was bribed. Normally, family is allowed a few minutes during lunch and one hour in the evenings. That morning, I did the same things I had been doing- holding his hands, massaging his arms, stroking his hair and face, muttering platitudes he couldn't understand. He had not said anything to me. Only responding with nods and shakes of his head when I tried to make sure he was alert, asking if he wanted water, etc. When I was getting ready to leave, after the guard told me for the third time that I really did have to go, Amaan looked up at me, and said so sweetly, his voice cracking, "Thank you." He speaks A Bihari language and Hindi, maybe Urdu. I speak English.

When I returned Tuesday evening I meant to say goodbye, I had a ticket for a train to New Delhi on Wednesday morning, fully intending on going. I had told him this (through a local friend translating). But on Tuesday evening Amaan said to me, "Are you coming tomorrow? Don't go." I was leaving, I had a ticket. But on the ride back to my guest house, I laughed and cried, Why would I go? How could I go? Because a train ticket that cost $10? There was no way I could go, and on Wednesday I canceled my ticket.

Both Wednesday and Thursday I continued the twice daily visitations. When I extend my hand to him he reaches back. He responds robustly to questions he is asked. He was able to speak with his mother and I held his hand as tears fell down his cheek. He told her that it is just a small cut and he will be fine.

Everyday I see his brothers and I feel like his new Auntie or didi (sister). I am very happy providing the doting care and affection even adults secretly want. As the days go on he has become stronger and more comfortable responding to and returning affection. When I probe him to tell me the special foods and drinks and magazines he likes he asks for nothing. But I know he appreciates the fruit, "cold drinks" (soda) and the little FM radio I brought in. I have been invited to visit his village in the future. I was only able to visit on Friday evening, missing the lunch hour, and he was able to say he noticed and was disappointed (in so many words...). When I first saw him tonight (Friday) he smiled at me- just a little. And later I got a full smile. It was like the sun.

I'm looking for help. I realize that medical advice or consultation 10,000 miles away (or more, or less) is inadequate, but so is his current level of care. I have already briefly spoken with a doctor friend via chat, but I would like as much input as possible. You can post anonymously and everything you say will be taken as suggestion alone. I am not a doctor but I was able to say and suggest things at the hospitals that would not have been done otherwise. All advice and information is appreciated. Here is what I know.

First, here is a link to a photo of his leg that I took 2.5 days after the accident. Click here. I was not able to take a photo of the open wound.

Amaan is injured in his lower right leg only. His leg was stitched at the government hospital, under dire conditions. He has no broken bones. He has received an IV saline drip continuously except for the 4th day when he received 2x250ml of blood (about 1 pint). He never lost consciousness and responds to questions. He has no feeling around or below the wound (right calf, extending behind knee). There is obviously nerve damage, but I have no idea how extensive. His right foot seemed cold the first night but blood flow seems to have returned. He told me he can move/extend his right leg but it is extremely painful. He is very thin and his leg is somewhat swollen. Around the wound his skin is warmer.

From his prescriptions:
Emigo
Enzoflam
Noveran
N.S. 100ml Ing (MM)
N.S. 500ml Ing (Baxter)
Oframax
Pantop
Paracetomal (seen but not prescribed)
Rantae
Revotaz
R.L. - IV (Nirlife)
Tetglob
(+ various needles, syringes, gauze, etc)

The conditions are not good, and I worry most about infection. I asked the staff to bandage the leg yesterday. The same bandages were on today, obviously seeping some blood and pus. The room is large and dirty, the air conditioning does not work well and the windows are often open- open to a busy street in a dirty and polluted city. Gloves are not worn very often and I have not been able to look at his chart. I don't know what questions I can ask, I don't know what more I can do. I am only able to visit for around 1.5 hours a day.

Thank you.

Update: Here is a photo after 4.5 days. Click HERE. He has a fever this morning and is in a lot of pain. The leg looks worse to me. He is NOT able to move his foot/toes.

How To: East Coast Malaysia to East India in (About) 24 hours

Pre-Trip:

To prepare properly, get a room with a television- an oddity for the past seven months. Stay up very late (1am) watching an unwatchable "scary" "Lifetime*"-ish sitcom called Ghost Whisperer. (I've lost my ability to recognize decent television, and apparently the ability to lie about it.) Further prepare for the long journey by staying up until 2 am chastising yourself for the regression. Writing "I will not watch original Lifetime* television" 500 times is optional. *Note: this has not been confirmed.

Further, given the ease of sleeping in danger cars, packed commuter subway trains, planes, and airport lounges, don't worry at all sleep. Three hours will be plenty! No matter the unexpected bi-century insect convention in your room and rubbish bin.

The Trip:

1. The day begins! You must walk from the small beach town where you had a lovely time in a lovely chalet (photos available on request, and are to remain confidential) to the nearby highway. Getting started by 9am does not preclude you from solar cauterizations.

2. Still, you're waiting at the side of the road perky and ready TO GO and flag down a bus. But to ensure humility you are somehow too shocked and timid to even raise a hand at the two buses that pass within five minutes of your arrival.

3. Suck it up, and get ready, because this time, you're ready to flail as necessary, to charm the brakes off something. An hour later- still no buses.

4. Just when the worrying sets in, a car stops, takes you in with an offer of a ride for a decent price.

5. The bus station arrival in Town Two is much quicker than expected- the family asks a lot of questions and enjoys barreling down slim roadways with hairpin turns. And the two tiny children in the backseat alternate sleeping with walking around. They are also immune to funny faces. Which may be an unknown effect of Muslim culture on youth. Or you're not funny. It is likely the former.

6. Within 13 minutes of arriving at the bus station, figure out which company has the best bus, buy a ticket, find/order/eat/pay the bill, find a restroom and bus rations, and board the bus.

7. To keep team spirits high, spend the first 45 minutes of the bus ride silently gloating and wondering why no one has commended your ability to VERY QUICKLY walk, find toilets, eat rice, etc. Briefly consider writing some kind of a newsletter, but abandon the idea to avoid the inevitable pressure to "sell out" when USAToday and/or The Economist calls.

8. Finally arrive in Town Three where you will take Flight One. Besides taking a subway train in the wrong direction several stops, you're flawless, back to the old self- impressively changing the last of your Malaysian Ringgits, eating American chain fast food (Subway), finding restrooms, and even finding a post box. A year in Asia? Piece of cake.

9. Flight One: 2 hours. "Layover" in Bangkok: 10 hours (11:20pm-9:40am). Sleep situation: uncomfortable plastic chairs for 2-3 hours. Best part of the night: The airport is like a fancy mall with Cartier and Gucci shops and approximately 30 dozen duty-free cosmetics shops. (I "shoplifted" about $2,450 dollars of high-end creams on my hands.)

10. Flight Two: Jet Airways (NICE!) from Bangkok to Calcutta. Best part: using basic Bengali to greet and thank the boys who were waiting to clean up the plane upon disembarkation. They were over the moon.

As if this is news, so am I.

Headed "Home"

Five minutes talking to me and you'll roll your eyes like I am some hippie in love with a strange dirty land with hordes of people, or you'll learn to love India a little bit too. I can't help the gleam in my eye and the spring in my step. After nearly 4 months away from India (7 out of the US) I am headed back to India for the remaining 5 months of the year.

In this post I described the discrepant feelings India brings up- on one hand, the consummate fascination of an unbelievably new place, the feeling of love so strong, so pervasive, you nearly cry walking down the street and on the other, a disgust (for myself, mostly) and confusion tantamount to a night in an upside-down restaurant run by cats. Or tales of a bench-pressing snowman (that is a This American Life reference). It gives me the opposite of jamais vu (there must be a name for this, a false knowing), because I feel so intensely at home, but I know, of course, I am an utter fool. I have no more closeness to the life and world within those borders than that girl you went to college with has with Buddhism after buying a single book at a garage sale. However, I still can not explain this pull, this dream, this excitement. I love it, but I get to go home.

Maybe the name for it is maya, illusion, or delusion, in some accounts. Maya, in Hinduism and Buddhism, is worldly things- sometimes described as lust, sex, power, money, material possessions. Or as the feelings, screen, attachment, or delusion we have when relating to these things. The illusion shields us from enlightenment and true happiness.

Never mind me, here is some clear evidence of the beauty of India:

Food! I never tired of the endless varieties of curries and daal, breads and fresh juices.




Dancing children. I'll only be the 6,874th silly tourist to say this (today), but you only need to see such sites as this to know the true beauty of the world and put your own "miseries" into perspective.


Cities! What views! Camel carts, no big deal. Monkeys stealing your fruit, so what. Miles of packed whitewashed bungalows, common.




Oh, the colors! I've mentioned this before, but that place is vibrant like none other I've seen. Intense saris and turbans, flowers and spices, bangles and the odd clothed goat...


Mobile merchants! You're always being educated in India. Every moment, whether you're leaving your lunch in the loo for the fourth go, or riding a bumpy road for 7 hours in a bus that would have been discarded in the West 35 years ago... Along the way you'll meet the happy sellers of brillo pads, fried things, hair brushes, plastic buckets, and everything in between. Including scorpions!




Rickshaw drivers are among the hardest working in India. However, hard working people doesn't mean the same thing as the people you or I generally know. You could make a month out of days wandering via rickshaw, and never be disappointed (just agree on your fare before you embark!).


Oh, the markets! Bustling, exciting, sometimes depressing, always a sight.



Brothers. And sisters. And their families and old grandfathers that give you pocket-sized photos as mementos. Uncles that try and set you up with their nephew, and Aunties that want you to eat more. Family is everything in India, and god help a guest, for he is lucky.




Wild Animals! Monkeys and dinosaurs and cows and water buffalos. The smells and laughs- how bizarre to see these animals live their lives so entwined with ours, and not turn heads.


Children, did I mention them? Homeless and begging or clean and so clearly loved, they all shine and wake you from a life of dark cynicism.


Coming very soon: a "How To" guide; the long journey back...