Air-conditioned special room. Deluxe air-conditioned room. Super deluxe suite... This is not a list from a star hotel’s brochure but one found on a display announcement at a hospital. I had suffered severe breathing difficulty for two days and spent two sleepless nights at home. I had just wanted to stay at a hospital to be cured of what had been diagnosed as acute bronchitis. Doctors had advised a short treatment of two to three days. Finally I chose the air-conditioned special room, which seemed the most economical.
But I was wondering if the words “deluxe”, “suite” and so on had to do at all with the facilities in the room or with the treatment on offer.
A room attendant offered to carry my bags and handed over the keys to me. As soon as I sat down on the bed to ease my breath, a woman from the hospitality department came in with a “welcome kit” that contained bath soaps, a pedicure kit, a shaving set, hair gel, comb and so on, along with a booklet titled “complete guide for a comfortable stay”, which listed the facilities in the room. Then she demonstrated the emergency nurse call device and briefed me about emergency exits, much like a cabin attendant in an aircraft.
I was given a nebuliser for about 15 minutes, after which my breath became quite normal. The cosy bed and the soothing piped music invited me to compensate my two nights of sleeplessness.
What astonished me even more was that after I had my meal, a dietician came and asked if the food was good and took down my preferences for snack and dinner. The menu ranged from soup to palak.
I was given nebuliser a few more times and I became perfectly alright. That night when I was asleep, I suddenly felt something on my face and found an oxygen mask on it. I was petrified. Later I realised it was a routine session of nebulisation; since it was at night the nurse didn’t want to disturb my sleep.
After two days, a doctor came around for a final check-up and certified me as “fit to be discharged”. Then I got a huge, itemised bill.
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