Within seconds of my feeling the dull thud, I had become a fountainhead spewing blood, becoming the cynosure of the eyes of fellow passengers – attention which I least desired. Amidst the commotion that prevailed, some wiser soul managed to find a travelling doctor (a physio with the TFA football team), who with one look at my wound affirmed that it was imperative that I get it stitched. The GRP was also called in, and conveyed that the nearest station at which the train could be stopped was Chakuliya, which had a Railway Hospital. Travelling all by myself, I had to think fast, finally deciding that I would wait till Kharagpur with the open wound.
The thought of going to a Railway hospital and getting stitches was bad enough; I did not want to get it done at some place I had barely heard of. After around 45 minutes, which seemed like ages, the train reached Kharagpur station. I was escorted by the GRP personnel to the office of the station-master, who after noting down the details, promptly called for an ambulance – which however took another half an hour or so. (It is amazing to note here that the station boasting of the longest platform in the world does not have a basic amenity such as an ambulance).
The Railway Hospital was much as I had expected it to be – wailing kids, makeshift rooms separated by old green curtains, et al. I was made to sit on a steel stool beside the emergency bed, as the compounder stitched another patient, whose howls sent a chill down my spine. Finally, it was my turn, and after a painstaking experience (during which I surprised myself by managing to remain silent; possible outcome of social behaviour primed by my upbringing – psychological musings which I shall not delve into in this blog), I was finally sewed up.
All I can hope for is that the conditional probability of being hit by a stone in a moving train having been hit already once being even lower, I do not fall victim yet again …
EXPECTATIONS PRIOR TO SERVICE ENCOUNTER:
I had never been to a Railway Hospital prior to this incident, but experiences of others, TV and newspaper viewings and the like had created an image in my mind, which was vindicated to a large extent. On retrospection, I consider it a prudent decision on my part not to have alighted at Chakuliya station. However, the experience of getting stitched itself was not as bad as I had expected – proper sterilization measures were taken, and the doctor was appeared rather skilful – possibly resulting from the fact that he has been repeatedly doing the same for 10 hours a day for the past 4 years as he put it.
SERVICE CLASSIFICATION
1) This was an intangible service, and I feel that considering the situation at hand and the alternatives available, my zone of tolerance had been expanded considerably for me to perceive the service quality level in this case as decent 2) This is a case of people processing (How I wish someone else could have gone and got stitched on my behalf!).
OUTCOME: I received the first-aid that was so necessary at that point. I later got my wound checked by our family physician, so asserted that the doctor in question had done a good job.
INTERACTION: While the doctor was not really forthcoming, I tried to engage him into a conversation primarily to overcome my fears. The general impression that I got, though, was that performing the same procedures day in and day out has hardened his emotions.
PHYSICAL EVIDENCE QUALITY: Pathetic, to say the least. And yet, I feel I escaped worse by persisting on waiting till Kharagpur. The Railways sure have miles to go with respect to their medical facilities.
SERVICE RATING:
a) Reliability: 2
b) Assurance: 3
c) Tangibles: 1
d) Empathy: 2
e) Responsiveness: 3
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