India's Jaws of Death

My wife Eva, our son Harold, Jr. and I had patiently waited three months for this day to arrive. Government permits, lodging reservations and arrangements for a tour of Kazaringa Wildlife Sanctuary had arrived. We were full of excitement! We had made careful plans for this eventful trip to Northeast India.

The first sixty-five miles would be on a controlled, one-way downhill, rough, winding mountain road. The gate entrance adhered to a strict time schedule. Downhill traffic over the pitted, unpaved, winding narrow road was permitted for thirty minutes, then uphill traffic was allowed a thirty minute period. My wife and son had been in India only a short time and were not knowledgeable of this crude method of travel regulations or the local travel traditions. To make things worse, local automobiles were equipped with right side steering wheels to accommodate left side traffic right of way. It was just the opposite of American cars. We were all happy and delighted to go on our long awaited tour to see huge wild elephants and rare one-horned rhinos along with many other species of wild animals in their natural setting. These wild animals could be seen only in zoos in other countries.

We had gone only a few miles downhill. Suddenly I was struck with severe stomach cramps, nausea, and diarrhea! I was dizzy, weak, and disoriented. I stopped. I wanted to get out of the car. My wife and son were panic stricken! A quick choice had to be made. Eva, my wife, was a good driver at home, but she was now in a strange, far away country. She was in a dilemma. She and I were aware that in my condition I could not drive I remained conscious long enough to advise a turn around at a narrow hillside pull out area. We took a chance that no fast traveling vehicle would be encountered there head on. Eva nervously took command of our near new Mercedes Benz. She was aware that if I got out of the car she and my son would be unable to get me back into the vehicle. They begged me to stay in the car despite my painful seizures and my begging to be let out.

A guardian angel guided my dear wife to the top of the hill. At the guarded gate the gatekeepers scolded her for driving uphill against downhill traffic. The guards become compassionate when they saw my sickened, weak body. They directed Eva to the Welsh Presbyterian hospital. I felt like I had been shot through the windshield one time when the car struck a chuckhole. I felt that the car was traveling on its side. I tried to tell my wife to get the car upright. Can you imagine the frustration? Her nerves were like steel! She remained calm.

My wife begged the doctor at the hospital to take care of me. The doctor said, "We don't have time or space for drunk Americans!" Eva kept pleading. She assured the physician I had not been drinking. She continued to plead for help! Finally the attending doctor came to our car. He was satisfied I was not drunk. He ordered helpers to carry me into the hospital on a canvas hammock. To me, each helpful hand felt like a knock out blow! I yelled, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" The startled Indian attendants shrunk away. My dear wife begged and urged them to get me into the medical ward for treatment. I remembered being enveloped in a black cloud, while I was being carried down the hallway leading to the treatment area. I went into a coma. I was unconscious. The good doctor recognized the symptoms of my illness. He correctly diagnosed my condition as bacillary dysentery. The cause of bacillary dysentery is the ingestion of uncooked vegetables grown in fields fertilized with human excreta. I had eaten chemically treated raw celery and carrots at a modern hotel restaurant in Calcutta four days prior believing them to be safe. Untreated cases of this dreaded disease are highly fatal!

I'm not sure how much time elapsed until I opened my eyes. I viewed a distorted scene. I asked why the doctors and nurses were standing upside down on the ceiling. Gradually I realized my bed was surrounded by the doctor and his staff. Flasks of fluid hung from the support apparatus. A network of tubes carried lifesaving solutions into my weakened body. Intravenous needles pierced both arm and leg veins.

I received hospital treatment for nine days. On the day of my hospital release the good doctor told my wife that if there had been another half hour delay in receiving treatment the "Jaws of Death" would not have released me! From that day to my final day of life on earth I owe to my beloved, courageous wife Eva's actions. I can only reflect upon Eva's feelings and frustrations and deep concern for my recovery. This is an example of womanly strength and intuition.

For a friendly, people-oriented person to be isolated 10,000 miles from home and helpful friends was an extremely stressful situation. To be suddenly thrust into a community with few medical facilities and a strange culture, one with language barriers and unfamiliar traditions, I am sure that many sleepless nights and burdensome days were spent in uncertainty and with undeservedly long lonesome hours of distress. W.O.W. Wonder of Wonders!

© Copyright 1997 Harold Wm. Wood

This page is maintained by Dr. Wood's son, Harold W. Wood, Jr., of Visalia, California.
My E-mail address is: harold@planetaryexploration.net

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