Why did I come? What will keep me busy for the next two months and five days?
Unite For Sight operates in several countries and in several cities in India. I chose Chennai because it was the least expensive of all the cities. For two and a half months abroad, cost needs to be taken into account. Also, Tara, Molly, and Maxwell have all lived in India (the latter two in Chennai!). I am intrigued by this country’s peoples, its long history of cultures, and by its art. Art, of course! In the twenty five days of travel I will do in July, I will use my Indian Art book as a guide, starting in Tanjore, then moving on to Madurai, Cochi, Mumbai, Sanchi, Khajuraho, Varanasi, Agra, and finally Delhi. Tentatively.
Mom, Dad – I bought a train ticket from Chennai to Tanjore on June 30th. It is an overnight train (2AC class) leaving Chennai Egmore at 10:30 pm and arriving in Tanjore around 6:15 am. Just letting you know! The Southern Railway booking office is only two short blocks away from Hotel Aasai, so I can easily walk there to make further arrangements for travel. No need to pay the R180 to go downtown to a legitimate travel agent and book the same tickets. As for hotels, I will call about a week or two in advance to reserve a room. I’m only going to stay at hotels listed in the Loney Planet travel guide because they are probably the most trustworthy.
So everyday I have an option of three things to do: work at an eye camp, watch cataract surgeries at Hande (pronounced Hahn-day) Hospital, or shadow at Uma Eye Clinic. Lately I have been watching a lot of surgeries because only so many people can go to the camps – I’ve been nice and let the volunteers leaving on the 20th go to as many camps as they wish because these people are only here for ten days. I’m here for fifty-two.
At Hande, I walk up to the second floor Operating Theater, take my shoes off, enter, and sit in a small office that doctors congregate in. The room is dirty, poorly lit, and unclimatized. I wait between an hour and two hours before a Tamil-speaking nurse indicates that I can proceed to the next room to change into scrubs. I either don a maternity-ward doctor’s gown or scrubs embroidered with another doctor’s initials, a cap, and a mask. I put on grungy flip-flops that anyone and everyone wears, then enter the operating room (there are two of them). The place is less dirty than the waiting room outside – sterile by Indian standards – but I see traces of uncleanliness. The doctors wear the same gloves for each surgery, only cleaning them off with antibacterial sanitizer. Nurses walk in and out without gowns. Doctors tired of their clothing pull their surgical masks down so that their nose sticks out, but the mask covers their mouth. The surgical instruments are lightly doused with iodine between each surgery. Surgical gowns are thrown on the floor and then a nurse would gently fold it for use in the next surgery. In open-body surgeries, doctors stick laundered rags into the body to sop up blood.
I’m sure our standards of cleanliness are over-the-top, but I still feel uncomfortable with the way things are done at this professional hospital.
I usually watch Dr. Mitra or Dr. Chuckulinga (sp?) do phaco emulsification on cataracts. Sometimes I watch a trainee from Australia (she takes twice as long and makes really really really big mistakes on each surgery). Yesterday I had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Varman for the first time, just back from a vacation in China, who can remove a stone-hard cataract and replace it with an intraocular lens in eleven minutes. He is Chennai’s premier ophthalmologist and the first physician to bring phaco surgery to southern India. He’s a god. He’s about 50 years old and has done over 20,000 cataract surgeries. Imagine that.
Sometimes Dr. Rajiv (a urologist) or Dr. Hande (the chief!) lets me in on other surgeries – just me; I’m the only volunteer who has seen things other than cataract removal. I stood in on a hernia surgery. It was gross because they had to extract a woman’s intestinal sac and I saw some of her stool. Just yesterday I had the privilege of watching liposuction.
“He’s getting married in fifteen days,” Dr. Rajiv laughed. “This vain boy [he’s 29] is loco and wanted to look good for his wife.” He had fat and mammary glands removed. It was really disgusting; I won't go into the details of lipo.
“Fifteen days?! Will his wounds be healed by then.” I asked, surprised.
“Only if Ganesha is nice to him. I doubt it. But people in India, you will learn, are not always sane.” I like the doctors’ Indian humor. Rajiv is the best.
If I go to an eye camp, I meet at the Vision Foundation at 8:30 am. We load a hired van with optometry supplies and drive an average of 45 minutes outside of the city. We either go to corporate organizations that need good eye health to function (software companies, fertilizer plants) or small villages with little access to healthcare. We stay until 3pm treating patients. At corporate camps we refer people for lasik surgery and counsel them on reducing eye strain or injury. In rural camps we screen for cataracts, refer patients for free surgery, give out reading glasses, and preach the importance of eye care.
I have learned a few Tamil words for the rural camps, where few people understand English. “For reading only.” “Read this.” “Is it good?” Patients, seeing that I speak Tamil, start chattering away and then I get confused. Hopefully I will pick up some more of the language, but it is slow-going with English-speaking volunteers around me all the time.
At Uma Eye Clinic I watch Dr. Varman, Dr. Senthil, Dr. C, or Dr. Mitra with their patients. I learned to use an Auto Refractometer, how to diagnose and hone in on colorblindness (i.e. there’s red/green, but of which color is a patient more blind?), test for binocular vision, and test depth perception. I still have a lot more to learn about the eye.
Sometimes I shadow an optometrist. Once, so far. This one was a contact specialist. When she learned that I have never worn contacts, she got out –0.75 prescription contacts, showed them to me (this is where I thought it would stop), and proceeded to try to put them in my eyes. I protested, mainly for fear of eye infection, and because the prescription is opposite of my +0.25/+0.50 spherical power.
I’m learning a lot about eye care, the Tamil people, and just how crazy India is. Today’s only my ninth full day here, so there’s a lot more to go!
The leader of the Tamil Tigers was assassinated yesterday. We’ll see how things turn out in Sri Lanka and here in Tamil Nadu. The national election results came out last Saturday with the Cong (favored party) gaining a majority. Thank goodness, because no rioting ensued. Since the people in this region are so tied up with Sri Lankans, I’m waiting to see what politicians do with this turn of events.
Unite For Sight operates in several countries and in several cities in India. I chose Chennai because it was the least expensive of all the cities. For two and a half months abroad, cost needs to be taken into account. Also, Tara, Molly, and Maxwell have all lived in India (the latter two in Chennai!). I am intrigued by this country’s peoples, its long history of cultures, and by its art. Art, of course! In the twenty five days of travel I will do in July, I will use my Indian Art book as a guide, starting in Tanjore, then moving on to Madurai, Cochi, Mumbai, Sanchi, Khajuraho, Varanasi, Agra, and finally Delhi. Tentatively.
Mom, Dad – I bought a train ticket from Chennai to Tanjore on June 30th. It is an overnight train (2AC class) leaving Chennai Egmore at 10:30 pm and arriving in Tanjore around 6:15 am. Just letting you know! The Southern Railway booking office is only two short blocks away from Hotel Aasai, so I can easily walk there to make further arrangements for travel. No need to pay the R180 to go downtown to a legitimate travel agent and book the same tickets. As for hotels, I will call about a week or two in advance to reserve a room. I’m only going to stay at hotels listed in the Loney Planet travel guide because they are probably the most trustworthy.
So everyday I have an option of three things to do: work at an eye camp, watch cataract surgeries at Hande (pronounced Hahn-day) Hospital, or shadow at Uma Eye Clinic. Lately I have been watching a lot of surgeries because only so many people can go to the camps – I’ve been nice and let the volunteers leaving on the 20th go to as many camps as they wish because these people are only here for ten days. I’m here for fifty-two.
At Hande, I walk up to the second floor Operating Theater, take my shoes off, enter, and sit in a small office that doctors congregate in. The room is dirty, poorly lit, and unclimatized. I wait between an hour and two hours before a Tamil-speaking nurse indicates that I can proceed to the next room to change into scrubs. I either don a maternity-ward doctor’s gown or scrubs embroidered with another doctor’s initials, a cap, and a mask. I put on grungy flip-flops that anyone and everyone wears, then enter the operating room (there are two of them). The place is less dirty than the waiting room outside – sterile by Indian standards – but I see traces of uncleanliness. The doctors wear the same gloves for each surgery, only cleaning them off with antibacterial sanitizer. Nurses walk in and out without gowns. Doctors tired of their clothing pull their surgical masks down so that their nose sticks out, but the mask covers their mouth. The surgical instruments are lightly doused with iodine between each surgery. Surgical gowns are thrown on the floor and then a nurse would gently fold it for use in the next surgery. In open-body surgeries, doctors stick laundered rags into the body to sop up blood.
I’m sure our standards of cleanliness are over-the-top, but I still feel uncomfortable with the way things are done at this professional hospital.
I usually watch Dr. Mitra or Dr. Chuckulinga (sp?) do phaco emulsification on cataracts. Sometimes I watch a trainee from Australia (she takes twice as long and makes really really really big mistakes on each surgery). Yesterday I had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Varman for the first time, just back from a vacation in China, who can remove a stone-hard cataract and replace it with an intraocular lens in eleven minutes. He is Chennai’s premier ophthalmologist and the first physician to bring phaco surgery to southern India. He’s a god. He’s about 50 years old and has done over 20,000 cataract surgeries. Imagine that.
Sometimes Dr. Rajiv (a urologist) or Dr. Hande (the chief!) lets me in on other surgeries – just me; I’m the only volunteer who has seen things other than cataract removal. I stood in on a hernia surgery. It was gross because they had to extract a woman’s intestinal sac and I saw some of her stool. Just yesterday I had the privilege of watching liposuction.
“He’s getting married in fifteen days,” Dr. Rajiv laughed. “This vain boy [he’s 29] is loco and wanted to look good for his wife.” He had fat and mammary glands removed. It was really disgusting; I won't go into the details of lipo.
“Fifteen days?! Will his wounds be healed by then.” I asked, surprised.
“Only if Ganesha is nice to him. I doubt it. But people in India, you will learn, are not always sane.” I like the doctors’ Indian humor. Rajiv is the best.
If I go to an eye camp, I meet at the Vision Foundation at 8:30 am. We load a hired van with optometry supplies and drive an average of 45 minutes outside of the city. We either go to corporate organizations that need good eye health to function (software companies, fertilizer plants) or small villages with little access to healthcare. We stay until 3pm treating patients. At corporate camps we refer people for lasik surgery and counsel them on reducing eye strain or injury. In rural camps we screen for cataracts, refer patients for free surgery, give out reading glasses, and preach the importance of eye care.
I have learned a few Tamil words for the rural camps, where few people understand English. “For reading only.” “Read this.” “Is it good?” Patients, seeing that I speak Tamil, start chattering away and then I get confused. Hopefully I will pick up some more of the language, but it is slow-going with English-speaking volunteers around me all the time.
At Uma Eye Clinic I watch Dr. Varman, Dr. Senthil, Dr. C, or Dr. Mitra with their patients. I learned to use an Auto Refractometer, how to diagnose and hone in on colorblindness (i.e. there’s red/green, but of which color is a patient more blind?), test for binocular vision, and test depth perception. I still have a lot more to learn about the eye.
Sometimes I shadow an optometrist. Once, so far. This one was a contact specialist. When she learned that I have never worn contacts, she got out –0.75 prescription contacts, showed them to me (this is where I thought it would stop), and proceeded to try to put them in my eyes. I protested, mainly for fear of eye infection, and because the prescription is opposite of my +0.25/+0.50 spherical power.
I’m learning a lot about eye care, the Tamil people, and just how crazy India is. Today’s only my ninth full day here, so there’s a lot more to go!
The leader of the Tamil Tigers was assassinated yesterday. We’ll see how things turn out in Sri Lanka and here in Tamil Nadu. The national election results came out last Saturday with the Cong (favored party) gaining a majority. Thank goodness, because no rioting ensued. Since the people in this region are so tied up with Sri Lankans, I’m waiting to see what politicians do with this turn of events.
