By Nomathemba Pearl Dzinotyiwei

Akriti and Jennifer from the Primus Super-Speciality Hospital.

For me it was India. I always had a secret fantasy about going there. It is after all the land of Gandhi, the Taj Mahal, curry and the Kama Sutra. I’ve travelled to a number of countries for work and on holiday but quite honestly, I have never seen any country like India.

I would probably not have consciously chosen to go, had it not been for my brother needing urgent medical attention. He had Conn’s Disease, a rare condition with a growth on the adrenal gland that causes the loss of potassium in the blood, the secretion of excess aldosterone and results in asymptomatic high blood pressure. With rates as high as 200/120, high blood pressure is a silent killer that destroys organs, particularly the heart and kidneys.

India had many hospitals and specialists with the best state of the art and affordable medical care. The same surgery was going to cost us four times as much in Johannesburg and he’s not on medical aid. He lives in Zimbabwe and with the economic meltdown and lack of expertise, having the surgery done there was not an option. India however, has a booming medical tourism sector with a value chain that includes: medical professionals, hospitals, concierge services, hotels and transport companies. We were looked after from the day we arrived by two lovely young ladies called Akriti and Jennifer, from Primus Super-Speciality Hospital. Both were absolute angels. Akriti picked us up from the airport in a taxi and we went straight to the hospital.

On arrival, Jennifer, also from the International Patients Department took over, escorting us to the various departments for checkups and consultations. I knew my way around the hospital by the time we were done. They need that department because from what I saw to my shock, about 1 in 10 Indians speak English. The British left India a long time ago. There was no way we were going to get around the Hospital on our own. My brother and I saw 4 specialists that day, a urologist, an endocrinologist, a cardiologist all men, over 40 and then the anesthetist. I had to set aside my gender and ageist prejudice as I watched this ‘mere slip of a girl’ rigorously interview my brother and make notes on a massive chart. I was ready to give her a standing ovation when she was done, about 10 minutes later.

My brother was admitted that evening for observation two days before surgery. I left the hospital in the early evening and the driver dropped me off at the hotel. I checked in with minimal fuss. I paid the bill upfront for our stay, changing money at the bank branch on the premises. Exhausted, I just had enough energy to unpack, have a cup of tea and collapse into bed.

Anxiety had me up early the next day. A friend of ours died in India after coming for treatment but in all honesty, they had left it too late. After a light breakfast, the driver took me back to the hospital. There the specialist announced that my brother’s vital signs were good and he was ready for surgery. We prayed together. I waited until they prepped him and took him to the Operating Theatre.

After that I went to get two local prepaid mobile SIM packs. Our driver runs a mobile shop as a side hustle. Lesson learned. 1. Have a side hustle. 2. Indians can sell ice to Eskimoes. He then dropped me off at the mall to pass the time. I walked all four floors of the Ambience Mall on Nelson Mandela Drive in 2 hours, bought a few items then had a great gluten-free pasta with lamb bolognese sauce at Jamie’s Italian with Thuli Nhlapho’s Colour Me Yellow for company. At 4:00 I went back to the hospital.

When I arrived at 4:30, he was recovering in ICU. I had to put on gauzy covers on my shoes and leave my personal effects behind. He was awake, still groggy from the anesthetic, in some discomfort but fine. The surgery was successful. He was back in the ward an hour later. I changed the SIM card so he could watch YouTube Videos, because the local tv channel in the hospital had no English programming. I left in the evening again for the hotel. Still Thuli Nhlapo’s riveting story kept me company.

My brother spent the next day in hospital and was discharged on Thursday. We collected his prescription medication at the pharmacy downstairs. Medicine is ridiculously cheap in India. Then it was back to the hotel for bed rest. By Saturday we were able to visit Agra to see the Taj Mahal, do some shopping and exploring and he had the staples taken out on Wednesday, a full week later. We flew back to SA that evening.

India’s medical and tech expertise are unparalleled. If we can replicate that kind of depth at such a low cost in our own countries, we will have done something amazing. Forget Johannesburg or Singapore. If you need specialist treatment of any kind, cancer, orthopedic or cosmetic surgery, go to India.

Note: I did not receive any incentive, inducement or compensation for this article. If you want to know more, let me know in the comments below.