So, Wednesday is planned as our sightseeing tour of Mumbai. However Kerry’s leg, injured at Amritsar eleven days ago is still causing concern. The bruising largely gone has been replaced by a red swelling lower on the calf. We cancel the tour early in the morning, and seek the hotel doctor. We ring him at 7.30, and by 8.30 he is with us. He conducts the basic tests, flexing the foot, twisting the foot, takes blood pressure and temperature and is confident that there is neither a fracture nor an infection. Nonetheless, he’d like an x-ray to make sure. It seems to me an ultrasound would be a better bet. We have an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon at 5.00pm.
Kerry stays at the hotel, foot elevated, cold pack applied, and sleeping mainly. Ian braves Mumbai streets again. Enquiries are made about some suits at a more reliable looking store, and continues his exploration of Indian attars, basically perfume oils, and purchases extra drinking water. Lunch in the hotel, and later in the afternoon, we take a taxi to the clinic.
We have the hotel doorman flag a taxi for us, we have the address written on a piece of hotel paper. I suspect the taxi driver doesn’t know the way. Even I’ve been here long enough to know to go straight at the roundabout, instead he turns left, and finds someone to ask, who of course tells him to turn right. We go left, do a u-turn, and start heading in the right direction at least.
The most obvious road to the clinic is blocked, and we say he can let us out to walk. The taxi driver opts to go around the block, and delivers us, more or less, outside the front door. The clinic we are looking for is not listed on any directory board. We ask, and are told the 7th floor. Inside at the lobby, our clinic is still not on a directory board. We try the building next door, but it appears residential, not medical. We go back and catch the lift. Our clinic is still not listed on the 7th floor lobby. We must look suitably confused because the old man operating the lift comes out and points us down a corridor and says ‘last door’. Bless him, for although the name of the clinic is still not sighted, the staff inside tell us this is indeed the place.
Kerry has an animated conversation with the medical receptionist and her offsider. An Australian drivers license is passed around the staff for inspection as a curio. Ian’s knowledge of the guru photographed with the practice head seems to illicit more amazement than admiration.
Finally we see the doctor who takes the same medical history, and runs the same checks as the hotel doctor from the morning. He too is confident there is no fracture, nor infection, but that the blood from the bruising is simple pooling under the skin due to gravity. Kerry has her leg x-rayed for confirmation. The doctor advises ice, elevation, compression, and ‘prescribes’ an anti-inflammatory, and an antacid. It isn’t Melbourne Street or Ward Street, but it is under $100 Australian.
We walk back to our part of the city, visit the ATM (Indian doctors deal in cash only), do more stall shopping, head to a pharmacy, have dinner and head for the hotel.
Tomorrow – Bollywood here we come!