Last Days in Calcutta

The last few days we were in Calcutta felt like the hottest. These are the days when I got my first few "real" medical experiences. Two were during our shopping visit to the New Market. I was wearing my PAs for Latino Health t-shirt which says "Physician Assistant" in English and in Spanish, but I think they recognized "physician" and asked if I was one. Knowing what it takes to explain it to people in the U.S. where PAs are common, I didn't want to drag that out into broken English, so I reluctantly said, "Yes."

The first was one of the vendors who complained of his hands and feet sweating all the time, and more if he drank tea or ate eggs. One of my classmates had something similar and the only treatment that worked for her was surgery to cut the nerves to those sweat glands. So I tried my best to explain that. He said that he also gets a high fever every couple of months, so I asked if he'd had malaria before. He said yes, but they told him it was gone.

The man that carried some of our purchases around with us in the market was the second. I guess he overheard the conversation inside, so while I waited for the girls outside with him, he asked what he could do about his knee hurting occasionally. He looked to be about 60 years old, so I figured it was probably some arthritic-type pain starting to set in. I suggested that he take 2-3 ibuprofen every 6 hours when he has the pain and he asked me to write it on a piece of paper, my first prescription!

On our last morning on the way to the Mother Teresa headquarters for a tour and pictures, I ran into one of the volunteers from the House of the Dying that I had seen the day before. He is British and must have just left his hotel. He recognized me and asked that dangerous question, "Hey, you're a doctor, right?" Hesitantly again, I said that I was. He told me that he had stepped on a rusty nail that morning and the hotel people cleaned it up pretty good and put antibiotic ointment on it, but they suggested that he get a tetanus shot. His question to me was whether he really needed one since he didn't like needles at all. He was disappointed with my answer, so I asked him when his last one was. When he replied that he has never had one, I told him he needed one. Grasping for straws he asked what could happen. When I told him he could become paralyzed, he decided to take my advice.

This will be my last entry for India pictures though I have many more that I'll eventually be posting on my photo-sharing site when I get a chance. Next stop, Nepal!

One of the open-air convertible busses.Joe and the Gibsons at one of our favorite restaurants.

Just outside the New Market. (I know, not very new looking is it?)April checking out some shoes in the market.

Another street shot on the way back to the hotel.Five of us crammed into one of the tiny taxis for our last trip to the House of the Dying.This is Kalighat Temple, one of the holiest sites in Calcutta. It is surrounded by vendor booths and goods related to rituals are sold inside as well.Kalighat temple's next door neighbor is the House of the Dying.

Here's the entrance. When it started raining, the little old lady in the white(ish) wrap on the steps came inside and I swear it was like looking at Yoda waddle around. I would be surprised if she topped 4 feet tall!This is a view from the second floor balcony above the entrance.To the right you can see the gilded dome from the Kalighat temple.At the mother house, Mother Teresa's tomb was a little more ornamented this time. We took our last group photo in India here as we flew to Nepal just a few hours later.In the time to pack up my tripod, our group had filtered out and some of the nuns came in for prayers at the tomb.Me at the front door.Some of the girls catching a ride back to the hotel.
This is the entrance to our hotel "Housez 43". It's interesting how many of the nicer buildings are set in behind the street shops.We found this P.A. Booth at the airport once we got through all the security checkpoints and thought it would be a hoot to have our Physician Assistant students (and graduate) make ourselves available. We did ask permission. Crazy Americans!!!