Hospital in Pokhara

I promised the doctor in Kathmandu that I would go to a hospital in Pokhara for my last two doses of antibiotics.
As soon as we arrived, after an eight hour long, bumpy bus ride, I took a taxi to the nearest hospital.

Day 1:

As always I took the emergency entrance, that is the easiest way to approach any new hospital here in Nepal, and I thought it would be a walk in the park.
One prick, waiting for ten minutes for the IV to run through and back in a taxi to the family who was sitting at the hotel restaurant.
But, no no. Nothing is simple when you expect it to be.
The desk person informed me that I needed one person to sign in and monitor that I didn't get an allergy during the IV.
I was tired in to my bones and got a bit angry. I'd had the same medicin for the last five days and there was no sign of allergy.
It didn't matter. Hospital rules!
I called Nicholas and they had just ordered food so they couldn't come right away and I really, really wanted to get it over with.
I went outside, to the line of taxis waiting and tried to explain that I needed someone to come with me, but no one understood what I meant.
I sat down on a bench and felt more tired than ever. Next to me sat a an older woman and I took a shot.
I don't think she understood, but she saw my tired face and came with me the reception. When they wanted her to sign for my health she hesitated and there was a bit of an argument between her and the doctor.
She looked at them and me, back and forth and to my relif she finally signed. Piuh!
Then I had to go to the pharmacy and buy everything from medicine, to syringe and tube.
The lady come running with a ticket that I had to pay at another counter. I paid and thought I finally was ready, but when I came back to the emergency they noticed that the pharmacy had given me the wrong medicin. Back to the pharmacy and the non-exicting queue.
Back to the emergency and I must say they are effective in Nepal. No waiting at all. In Sweden you can waiting at the emergency, in the waiting room, for six-seven-eight hours before you even see a doctor.
First he gave me a very painful shot in the left arm. It was an allergy test and we had to wait another 15 minutes to see that I didn't react, but Hey! Come on! I had the same antibiotics for the last five days!
Hospital rules! Stupid hospital rules.
Finally the doctor started searching for a vein. He looked and looked, squezed and made me flex my hand over and over again.
I had to remove my complicated wrap bracelet, that is put on not to be removed until it's ready to be cut of for the dust bin. Mamma Mia!
He finally got the needle in place and I prepared myself for a bit of rest while the fluids slowly slowly trickled down the tube.
Suddenly a man appeared on the bed next to me. He was either very sick or very drunk because he started vimiting towards me. It felt like as if I was stuck in a horror movie before the staff run up to him and closed the curtain between us.
That didn't keep me hearing he puke for the next 20 minutes. So much for a well deserved rest.
The woman, who had helped me out with her sign, disappeared in the middle of everthing without saying good bye, but I figured I'd run into her again. Which I of course did the next day.

Day 2:

The doctor from the day before told me to come between 1 and 7 pm. Then he'd be working and since he knew I wasn't allergic to the antibiotics he could give it to me without a person signing for me.
First I got the ticket and what to buy for the IV at the emergency. The non-exicting queue at the pharmacy was pretty much the same as before and the same went for the ticket counter. But this time I knew how to tackle it and made my way, just like the others.
The doctor had left the needle in my hand so he could use it again and it had been really painful walking around and sleeping with it.
When he tried to push the antibiotics through it was blocked and it burned like hell in my hand. I screamed from the pain, but it didn't stop him from trying for at least another 10 minutes.
Then he said to me, like I was a 2-year old: "Have you moved your arm?"
Of course I had moved my arm during the 24 hour I was out of hospital. What did he think?
In the middle of everything my phone rang and it was Suresh, my little brother and our freight guy, who was helping me to buy tusk pendants for our customer Sarah in France. He was in the shop and needed answers about different designs.
The doctor removed the needle from my right hand, the needle I had to put up with totally in vain.
He moved to the other side and I tried to keep my focus on Suresh talking about black with dots and blue mosaic.
Since I had silk wrap bracelet on my left arm too, about 2 meters long tangled with some bead bracelets, I let the doctor be busy removing that while I was sorting out the order in the other end of the phone.
My question was: Where the hell were the nurses? On strike? Doctors are not very good at removing braclets or putting needles in ones arms.
Next accusation: "You have such a tiny veins!"
Well, I left my big veins at home just to make your life difficult! Finally he found the vein and I could relax with my sound book, a new experience to me, the true book worm and finally I could relax to the thought of not returning to this hospital for, hopefully, a long time, if ever.
When I took a taxi back to the hotel I saw the woman for yesterday standing next to the road waiting so I stopped the taxi and gave her a ride hom.
"I help you. You help me", she said.
"Yes, you help me. I help you."

The end!