Going for any sort of medical, diagnostic procedure in India is an experience by itself. With there being a sea of humanity waiting to be tested, screened, scanned, poked or probed; the staff doesn’t really care about small first-world things such as feelings, discretion, propriety etc.
Now don’t get me wrong, I have no grand illusions about me being a snowflake but at the same time I do get awkward if you are drinking chai or discussing which Shanti Sagar has the best chutney with four other people in the room when you are moving an ultrasound probe inside me.
I was undergoing my follicular study which basically means I was having a transvaginal ultrasound every week. Going to the same diagnostic center each week, establishes a strange relationship with those there. You don’t want to wave and shake hands in greetings of course, but neither can you waltz in with a poker face. So with awkward smiles, you sit and wait your turn.
Since the wait time typically for each of the scans is a minimum of two hours, I carry my Kindle and my laptop. I have been a silent listener to conversations around the modern day evils of technology, women in cities and the rise in infertility because of the use of laptops. I have no idea how laptops cause infertility in women unless one placed a searing hot Macbook on one’s abdomen and singed an ovary.
After about 10 pregnant women have gone in before me, I get called for my scan. Like a pro, I drop my pants and lie down waiting for the diagnostician to do her magic. The staff by now knows that I have been married for seven years and am sexually active therefore doesn’t feel the need to let me know before inserting a cold, lubricated probe inside me.
As I lie there being probed, my mind travels through a zillion places – why are there 4 additional women in the room (apart from the doctor and the lady who types up the report)? What kind of business model allows for it? This is like having that guy in the mall press a button for my parking ticket or like that guy who punches a hole in my receipt as I exit the department store. Oooh…I need to go to the supermarket to buy milk. Suddenly, the diagnostician says I have one follicle on my right ovary that seems to have grown well. I swell in pride as though I personally watered it and raised it to good health.
After a few more pokes and prods, I am sent my way with my follicle report card and me red with hope and pride about my ovary’s superb performance.
The next day I receive a call from a call center associated with the diagnostic clinic asking me to rate the experience of my procedure on a scale of 1 – 5. I incredulously asked the woman on the other side, if she was aware of the procedure I went through. She said, “Yes madam, this is to get feedback on your TVS scan on xyz date.” I thought back about the coldness and vague aches due to the prodding but I also remembered that’s about as much action I was getting that week since husband dearest was busy trekking the Himalayas then.
I replied with utmost seriousness, “Since my husband wasn’t in town this week, I will give you a 3.” The woman completely unflappable made me repeat it and typed the score and my comment. She thanked me for my positive feedback and hoped that I will continue to avail of the services in their clinics.
I still don’t know if this is being aired on some radio channel or some TV network as one of those prank calls. So if you do hear of it on air some place, let me know.
If it is not a prank, I am seriously amazed by the customer centricity of this chain and weird as it is, feel like a valued customer. Maybe they have a Facebook page I can Like.