Images from a nature camp

Images from a camp held at Basudebpur, on 29/11/2009. Mostly spiders, insects and occassionally, people too.

Amass in transverse colon

This is what we dissected out from he transeverse colon of a middle aged lady. Entire ascending and transeverse colon was removed, to find only this little pedunculated mass with no features of local involvment or lymph nodes. Did we dissect out too much?

The middle and  ileocolic arteries have to be identified; middle colic artery has to be ligated; the ascending and most of the transverse colon are to be removed

Prepare the ileum for an ileotransverse anastomosis
The dissected specimen with the blackish lump (do you note the appendix poking out at the left?)
The mass within the colon, the walls of which are ...
... cut open
It has a stalk, and the base is surrounded by normal haustrous mucosa of colon
However, the surface is unlike any mucosa

An appendicectomy

This is the proverbial appendicectomy. For those who are not aquainted with the term, enjoy looking inside yourself.
Find the appendix (its that wormlike tube attached to the cecum)

Pull it out
Tie its base and supplying vessels
Cut it out
And there you go

Call them the newborn

Have you delivered anybody out of his mothers womb? Chances are, most of the time they are just cute angels.

They can make strange faces
They may be a little curved at wrong places

Sometimes, though, they are missing some limbs

Sometimes they are missing their skin

Or even their brain

The Obstetrics Departement

This is strange. Where do all these new people come from if, according to Hindu beliefs, people are only recycling through the heavens. You see them dropping from everywhere, little bundles of skin and napkin bumping out of the wombs. (Did you know 'gravitation' derives from a latin word which means 'pregnant'?) Today, my hospital officially surpassed the previous years record of 14 x 10³, i.e. fourteen thousand deliveries a year. That is probably the population of Vanuatu (or even less). But this is Hindusthan meri jaan, and sex is our only leisure (frequent powercuts only make it better).
What intrigues me is that how Indian women bear with all the torments we doctors impinge upon them. A patient with bleeding per vagina in her last month will stand an hour in queue before her turn with the doctor comes. And then we will laugh at her being a P4+2 (i.e. four previous issues and two abortions), knowing fully well that it is her male counterpart whose rear should be stuffed. She will silently bear the pain of labor, the embarrassment of three vaginal exams (each time by a different person). She will lose about half a liter of blood, suffer the excruciating episiotomy (an incision over the genital skin to widen the introitus) and its messy repair. Then she will go feed her baby while sharing the floor of the post partum ward with a hundred others, with a raw wound left to heal by itself. And the very next day of her discharge, her sore womb will be implanted with yet another issue.
Our women are the only assets we have left.

First night at the emergency room

Well there you have it. Just the moment I had thought that I have seen everything, a girl comes with some Vasmol hair dye in her stomach. Now was this deliberate, I mean was she trying to mock the years of our medical education (which failed to mention anything about Vasmol), or was it a prank she played on her sibling? Whatever the case may be, beginning from internists to medical officers, everyone was clueless on what to do with the hapless child, and so her mother was advised to go out and buy another sachet of Vasmol so that we could at least know what kind of molecules has she ingested. Believe it or not, within thirty minutes or so, she began to vomit and purge black, blacker than Sanjay Leela Banshali, and the episode, to everybody's relief, was over.

Or was it? Within fifteen minutes of the Vasmolovorous, comes another who has ingested some silica gel from the safety valve of her pressure cooker, and another, with a mosquito repellant ('All Out').  And before you are aware of it, the night is over. 

My journey to work

Have you seen all the people jostling against each other? Gosh - where do they come from? They are everywhere, fighting for each others necks. This train, which I ride to work, is loaded with thrice its capacity, day after day. People cling on to its roof, window sils, wheelbarrows, dashboards, buffers and still there's no end in sight.

To begin with, you must board the train. Now this is a delicate art of balance, between the footboard and the platform, between ape and human, and the big hurdle to cross. The selection of compartment is important. A lengthier compartment offers more breathing space than the smaller ones. However, the choice is usually settled after the first few days. Once the train does the touchdown on the platform, you must be prepared with all your extensor muscles. The elbow turns into a weapon of mass destruction. Be teh first to get a hold on the door handle, and let your extended arm block everybody else. With a swift thrust of your hips, board the train and stride a few feet forward. Now you must decide which side to go. The lane between two rows of seated passengers is always the preferable legroom for experienced passengers, and you must aim for a somewhat emptier lane.

Once you have entered a lane, make a polite request to your fellow ones to lift your bag over the luggage bunk. Of course, if everybody threw around their bags in such a fashion then the 'lifeters' could make a living of it, but a little 'heh heh' and a petty joke or two saves you the money. Now assess the ones who are seated. People who are due for a long journey will usually be sleepy, or reading a paper, or engaged in a game of cards. Do not bother going anywhere near these people. Instead, find school students, any young man staying up alone, or anybody who seems to be in a little hurry. Stand on his face, make life miserable for him by leaning over him, dropping a few drops of your sweat over him, peeling a pack of nuts and dismissing the pack over him; be creative in the possibilities.

Of course, if you are lucky, you will find a group of daily passengers who will offer a seat to you. On most other days, you will find these daily passengers carving their own reserved niche in the train, a kind of secluded comfort zone where everybody else is barred. They will gossip in nasty language, pick on each other's butts, play cards over their handkerchiefs, occassionally sing out aloud, and leave you standing out. You have to either hate or love them. If you hate them, keep away. If you love them, try to get into the gang and you'll secure yourself a seat for the rest of your stint.

As each new station comes, a trainsome of people will board the train, and come yelling at their group 'I have come'. They will slide past you to get into the cherished lanes. Stop them at any cost, they will eat up the precious seat that is potentially yours. 

Sometimes a really rugged, dirty person with oiled hair and brown teeth is apposed with you. Or a fat lady with a foul breath. Or a really big roller who pushes out everybody with his tummy. These are the truths of life. Bear with them.

If you are really unlucky, you will be left standing the whole journey before a single creepy guy busy reading the economic times, who does not even bother looking at anybody else, and only leaves the seat after the train has halted at the last station.

It's time to land. Get ready with your triceps again. Usually the card players will have blocked half the exit. It's foolish to meddle with them when you have only fifteen to twenty seconds to unboard. Remember that it's now or never. Push out every moving thing out of your way, use your teeth and nails generously. The train will carry away all the bites anyway.