tHE mAD mAD wORLD OF mEDICINE

Dedicated To The....

``Mumbai is not the right place to fall sick,” announced my friend while introducing me to the city. It left me confused. I thought to myself, ``is there a right place to fall sick? Why on earth would anyone like to fall sick, anywhere?" When I asked her what she meant by that, she just waved it aside saying that I would understand when I would have my first encounter with a doctor in Mumbai. So far, I had only heard of encounters between Mumbai police and underworld gangsters, but an encounter with a doctor? Sounded strange! When I voiced my thoughts to my friend, she told me that the doctors were as good (rather bad) as gangsters in extorting money from their victims (oops... patients) because their charges were exorbitant and simply unaffordable.

The day was not far when I actually had to see a doctor, after settling down in Mumbai. At the appointed time, I reached the clinic with some apprehension. While in the waiting/reception area, I broke into a conversation with other patients. I was dismayed to learn that the doctor had given the same time-slot to three more patients! ``This doctor must be very competent and busy,” I tried to convince myself and people around me. ``Nothing of that sort,” said one of my co-patients (who shared the appointment time with me). ``Most of the doctors do this to create this impression of being in great demand.”

After waiting for an hour, I was called in. I was impressed by the very clean and hygienic look inside, I must admit. One gets to see such sterile look only in movies. I was asked to sit. Expecting questions about my condition and ailment, I was taken aback when the doctor began with, ``who referred you to me?”

I was startled and before I could gather my senses, pat came the next question, ``Are you working?”

``Yes, of course. I am a housewife. I slog 24/7 hours to look after my family.”

``In that case, where does your husband work?” he asked blatantly, without appreciating or sympathising with me on my work conditions.

I gave a puzzled look, as I wondered what relation my husband’s job had with my condition.

He added quickly, ``I mean whether in a public sector or a private company etc., and whether you get your bills reimbursed.”

I had to tell him, albeit reluctantly, that my husband was a banker. Finally, the `doctor’ somewhere within him woke up and he enquired about my health and condition.

As I started off with my list of problems, I noticed that the doctor was least attentive to me and was vigorously jotting something down. He had prescribed me a long list of medicines and a couple of lab tests before I had finished!

I asked, “Am I to go for the tests first?”

``Hmmm. You can start the medicines right away; go for the tests at your convenience. But you must undergo these tests, just in case....” he left me nervous at the complexity of my disease.

At the reception, the lady had already prepared a receipt-cum-bill for a handsome amount. Having parted with the amount, I left the clinic with a heavy heart and a lighter purse. On my way back home I pondered as to how the receptionist knew that I would ask for a receipt for the payment made, as my husband was enititled to get a part of such medical expenditure reimbursed from his employers. What the doctor was inquiring in his cabin, made sense to me now and presented a perfect picture of telepathy between him and his receptionist.

After a few days, I had to take my younger daughter to a dentist. An old filling had come off and needed to be redone. The dentist examined my daughter’s teeth and uttered something, which sounded quite alarming and compounded my fear and premonition that my daughter was in for a long course of treatment. Although the doctor sounded quite sympathetic towards the patient, the expression on his face didn’t quite reflect that. To me, he appeared quite thrilled and ready for his kill. For a while, I thought that I was becoming too suspicious by nature. But my fears came true as I was explained an elaborate treatment plan. After a treatment covering ten to twelve sittings and stretching over a period of five weeks, I came to know that the doctor had gone to Europe on a holiday tour, leaving my daughter high and dry in the middle of her treatment with a few freshly dug openings and canals, not unlike BMC leaving dug pot holes and roads before the onset of monsoon. Anyway, it was a much needed commercial break for the doctor ((literally). My daughter is a sweet, charming and accommodating person. Though not endowed with a very good set of teeth which can launch a thousand toothbrushes of all shapes and sizes and toothpastes of all hues of a rainbow, she’ll nevertheless have a `million dollar’ smile by the time she leaves the clinic or Mumbai, whichever happens first.

My elder daughter, who is a computer graduate, suffers from recurring bouts of backache. Recently, I took her to one of the city’s leading orthopaedic surgeons. The reception room had a portable TV mounted on a wall just below the ceiling, to entertain waiting patients. It was placed at such a convenient (or strategic?) height that everyone was able to watch the TV, but only by giving a slight twist to one’s neck. By the time my daughter went in for consultation, I had a stiff and sprained neck. I had no option but to take an appointment for myself too. What an idea!(Sir ji). The long list of degrees, the doctor held to his credit, looked like an anagram of the English alphabet to me. I could decipher only two of his degrees. One was MD to `ensnare’ prospective patients! And the last in the list but not the least was an MBA! (That explained the position of TV set). When I narrated this incident to one of my friends, she told me of the innovative ways pursued by some doctors to manage substantial turnover of patients.

Everyone knows how the smallest ailment, which could best be attended by the family physician in good old days, gets referred to a never ending chain of specialists nowadays.

The veterinary doctors are not far behind in the pursuit of this unholy wealth accumulation. A friend of mine had a pet dog. One day, the poor dog just collapsed. My friend took the dog to its regular veterinary doctor to confirm its death. The doctor put the dog on the examination table and went inside for a while. He came out holding a cat in his arms. The vet left the cat on the table and it walked over the dog’s body. The dog did not move. The doctor thereafter proclaimed that the dog was dead and apologised to my friend for his inability to save the poor creature. At this moment of grief, my friend asked the doctor with hesitation whether she had to pay some money.

The doctor said, ``Yes ma’am, you may pay rupees three thousand and five hundred only.

``Rupees three thousand and five hundred?” asked my bewildered friend.

The doctor confirmed, ``Yes, rupees five hundred as my fees and three thousand for the cat-scan!

Note: All characters except the dog and the writer of the article are fictitious and any resemblance in real life to any doctor or patient is purely coincidental!