A lack of patience with patients in UAE

I wasn’t feeling very well the other day. It was my back acting up again after many years. But I went to work as usual simply because in my family, illness is not to be given in to.

Please don’t be worried that I’m going to bore you with the excruciating details. I promise not to. It’s just that growing up with fiercely competitive siblings, one could never get away with saying one was not feeling well. If you did mention this, it was often seen as an excuse to escape chores which would then have to be done by others.

Another strange phenomenon was that we rarely fell ill and even if we did, the thermometer refused to register it. If you said you were feeling feverish, clammy hands (of the others who were not going to be taken for a ride) would land on your forehead. Then the prognostication would be delivered. “You’re not sick. Your skin is cool to the touch.”

As if this wasn’t enough, they then swore that their skin was much warmer than the wannabe patient’s. Soon it was all hands on deck as each one felt the other’s forehead. The exercise soon degenerated into a heated argument over whose skin was the hottest.

But rarely did we ask for the ultimate test — of a thermometer, because we knew that it would never prove us right. Sometimes a harried parent passing by would get drawn into the action. But this was a moment fraught with tension. If the adult said he or she could feel the heat, the others would ask to be tested too. Now, if you are a parent and have your mind on getting a meal ready and directing the domestic help, there isn’t much time to lose.

So, the easiest way out was to say that the child did seem to be slightly flushed, but not really ill. Then the person in question was asked whether he or she had been playing out in the sun for too long. Now this was the dodgy bit. If you said you were inside the whole day, your lie would be found out. In our household, there were always very cooperative witnesses. They needed no encouragement to debunk your testimony. They readily testified to seeing you outside for the better part of the day, engaged in a whirl of activities. So, how could such an active person suddenly fall ill, they asked.

If you protested and reminded the others that it was they who asked you to join in the fun and games, you were bluntly told that no one forced you to take part.

There didn’t seem to be any justice in the world. Defeated by the numbers against you, you went about your duties at home wearing a martyred look that didn’t melt any of those hard-hearted individuals you lived with.

Then, in a seemingly fortuitous change of circumstances, you contracted chicken pox. There was no discounting this illness. The eruptions were plain to see. The siblings were silenced for now.

Suddenly the household seemed to revolve around you and your needs. You were segregated from the others (oh what joy), special meals were made for you and you had your parents’ undivided attention. Initially, you were in seventh heaven because you could moan and groan freely due to the discomfort caused by the illness and know if you turned up the volume, a parent would come rushing in to soothe your pain.

However, as you lay there day after day and heard from a distance the noise the others were making, you actually began to feel sorry for yourself. All the attention began to pall after a while. There was no one to tease, argue or fight with.

And all at once your world became a very lonely place.