A Negotiation
“..That’s how it’s done here. You have to pay things separately” he tells me furtively, looking the part of the helpless messenger of the unbelievable news. I ask if I will get a receipt and rather than a response, the young doctor goes off to confer with lord knows who; but not without informing me of the price of the “gun”. I am left baffled. Two days earlier, I had paid what was due and more at the accounts section of this particular sacred confraternity which by all indications is indeed the very heart of the big hospital. I had the receipt in hand as proof and was therefore having a real difficulty, not to mention a practical one, comprehending the request. Someone pulling the puppet’s strings wanted a portion of the money to be collected from the accounts section and handed over to this very same young round stooge of an elite club whose members dissolved and reconstituted depending on the job at hand.
My mind drifts to the “gun” for which I am grateful to the young man. Barely a month ago, I had secured one from a Sister of the fraternity. It had been put out of service in a first procedure undertaken by the very same multi-skilled young med. Right, some enlightenment may be necessary here. The thing is this; the gun is really a special devise for drawing liquids and tissue from parts of the body for examination. It can only be used once just like needles for injections. My good friend here had managed to remove considerable substance with the first gun. This was duly sent off for examination in a place not to be reached without a stamp in a little green book. After 2 weeks of waiting, the results came back “no result” because apparently nothing useful had been offered for the examination; thus the current tussle.
The young doctor’s return rouses me from my reverie. “There will be no receipt” he tells me. I ask again if I could at least get a hand written undertaking that I have parted (doubly if you please) with a certain amount of money for a said contribution to a procedure. This sends him off again to confer with the unseen hand. He returns presently with a man who walks rapidly towards us. He is obviously the linchpin, for in a voice and manner very different from the stooge’s, he announces that he is a very busy man. He has things to do elsewhere and if the money paid to the accounts section is not returned to him the procedure could very well be postponed to another day. He is agitated, almost angry, flinging his arms about and all the time pacing around. My relative and I are beside ourselves. What ensues would be called cajoling, begging, pleading, bidding, all at the same time. In the end, the king of hearts (bless his heart) whose subjects have gone awol descends to our aid. He manages to get the accounts section to release a portion of the money already paid, to the ill-tempered doctor whose protégé botched the first procedure. That does not end it; we get a list of to buys (items that were all covered in the cost of the procedure already paid) including stuff like gauze and others of a special kind only to be procured from our negotiating partners.
All this while, the old man has been lying on the stretcher in the lobby. He made the more than 90km journey to the big hospital in an ambulance; arriving at noon for the procedure that had been scheduled for 2pm. As I turn in his direction I am fiercely fighting the very thought that this may be the final stretch. But at this very moment, as I look at his half paralysed, shrunken body waiting the butchery of an already agitated negotiator, I wish he is not awake to this frightful haggle.
No comments:
Post a Comment