The Impenetrably Quagmire Part VII: ‘This ain’t the answer!’

‘I don’t think I’m suffering from upper respiratory tract infection.’ I told the doctor right away this morning when he reviewed my tests report. Forget about all the previous diagnosis. What I’m suffering now was acute headache, fever and trembling. Just concentrate on these three symptoms and do me a re-diagnosis for God’s sake. I explained to the doctor again how the acute headache triggered my nervous system, when’s the fever befall, how badly I suffered from the trembling and how everything ended with mass sweating.

‘Viral infection.’ Then he came out with this general term which I have totally no idea. Again, this isn’t the answer I want. This shouldn’t be the answer! Damn it!

‘Should I continue to take the medicine prescribed preliminarily?’ It seemed like the doctor was pretty convinced by my claim but owing to the so-called ‘doctorship correctness’ and perhaps his dignity and egoism, he didn’t nod or show any sign of agreement but to ask me to finish up the medicine, allegedly for precaution and protection. So it wasn’t the upper respiratory tract infection, was it? Damn it!

I hate to take all kinds of medicine but this time is different. Apart from the medicine he gave me 2 days ago which I’m quite reluctant to take it, let alone to finish it, I begged to the doctor to give me some medicine, some medicine which can alleviate the acute headache and also stop the odd trembling. Those were simply intolerable agony. I never ask for any medicine and I never feel the need for medicine so desperately in my whole life.

I lose the confidence on the doctor again when he asked me if I would like an injection. Oh, come on! You are a doctor and I’m a patient. It should be the doctor to decide if a patient needs an injection. How can an ignorant piteous little patient know if he needs an injection? Oh, God!

And I said yes.

I know all the medication can only serve as a temporary relief. So I asked the doctor to write me a note about his diagnosis and prescription. I can foresee that I need medical assistance again in the days to come. I need to see a real doctor, or perhaps a specialist. 

How many people would have to die before the political dispute get resolved?

The cry of the Tibetan

I’m leaving to New Delhi on a 12-hour overnight ordinary bus this evening. Hope I can survive the journey. Amitabha.