Each day, I spent eight to nine hours at the hospital and then returned to my hotel room, where I would write down my observations and ideas that might lead to possible solutions. I constantly compared the German hospital to Providence Hospital, trying to use my previous experience to help me understand this huge complex. I could hardly wrap my mind around the separate buildings, and the tunnels, and the heartbeat of the place, the SPD building. All the while, the language barrier made communicating with the hospital staff difficult. Many could speak only German, and the few who knew English had thick German accents that I struggled to understand.
In the evenings, I enjoyed a beer and a nice meal at the hotel, but at night, I could not sleep soundly. Though I felt worn out, my mind was swimming with all the information I tried to take in. Also, I was missing Raj and my two sons, especially the baby Christopher.
Although a challenging experience, in the end it was rewarding to say that Gordon Friesen personally asked me to be a consultant for a large hospital in another country. After I returned to the US, I sifted through all my notes, compiled my recommendations into a report, and sent a typed copy of the report to Gordon Friesen at his Washington, DC, consulting office.
Chapter 18
In November 1974, Raj and I enrolled Subhash at Summit Country Day for preschool, paying an extra $150 for his uniform, a grey jacket with blue slacks and a tie. Raj and I were proud to take Subhash to this private Catholic school directed by nuns. Earlier in August, Raj had taken Subhash to a preschool in a church basement, but when Raj and I went to an open house where Subhash showed us all he learned and everything they did there, Raj remarked, “Gee, Subhash knows everything there. Maybe we need to place him at a better-known private school. If he stays here, he may get bored and run into problems.”
Summit Country Day was a prestigious school recommended to me by the physicians at Providence Hospital. The fee was $3,000 a year, but Raj and I felt that the high cost was worth Subhash having a good educational foundation. In December, Subhash brought us his report card. We were pleased to see he excelled in all areas, even earning the honorary achievement reward.
“He is doing so well,” Raj said. “Do you think it is a good idea to take him out of school for so long when we go to India? I don’t want it to affect his reports poorly.”
“Yes, it may make it more difficult for him when we come back,” I said. “But it is equally important for Subhash to see his grandparents.”
We had planned a trip to India in February, and Raj and I were eager for our parents to meet Subhash and Christopher.
On February 15, 1975, our flight landed in Bombay. While sitting in the lounge to wait for our next flight to New Delhi, Subhash became extremely annoyed with the dozens of flies dashing around our heads. One big fly landed on the tip of his nose, and he swatted it away vigorously, hitting himself in the process. He made it his duty to kill as many of them as he could, at first smashing them with his hands, and then hitting them with a rolled up magazine.
We reached New Delhi at around 10:00 a.m. Before the plane landed, I shaved and put on a suit, while Raj changed into a pantsuit and put the boys into a fresh change of clothes. It was our belief that when you come from a foreign country, you should be dressed up and looking your best.
While we waited for our luggage to pass through customs, our family members were waiting anxiously for us outside. It is always a nuisance when you know your family is out there waiting, and you haven’t seen them in years, but you must wait for those infuriating customs officials to display the contents of your luggage to the world. When we finally burst out of the airport into the blinding sunshine, the hassle was forgotten. All at once, we were surrounded by Raj’s sister and brother, my brother, my cousin-brother Ved Bedi, my maternal uncle, and our parents. With loud cries of delight, they embraced us and draped marigold garlands around our necks until Raj and I were weighed down by at least ten garlands each. Even Subhash was given garlands. He eyed them curiously and flashed a charming grin at whoever patted his head, squeezed his cheek, or bent down to embrace him.
There were tears from Raj and me as we bent to touch our parents’ feet. At first, my eyes only watered, but Raj’s tears streamed down her cheeks. Our mothers wept joyfully, and soon we all were shedding tears of joy and laughter as everyone began speaking at once. Raj embraced her sister who took a closer look at Christopher, held close to Raj’s chest. His eyes were wide, and at eight months, he was getting bigger, more lively,
