SUNDAY SENTIMENTS
by Karan Thapar
Doctors with A difference
AND How’s the young Indy this evening? “It was Col. Mukherjee. His cheerful greeting was aimed at Mummy as he entered the ICU at the Army’s Research and Referral Hospital. “Come off it.“ she replied. But she wasn’t being dismissive. She was pleased and bashful. Yet a moment before Mummy had seemed downcast. Twenty-four hours earlier she had fractured her hip and the operation that followed had been tricky. At 88, general anesthesia is not an easy option. Now Col. Mukherjee had made her smile.
“You’re looking twenty years younger than this morning.” He reached out to hold her hand but before he could she raised it to pat his cheek. Mummy adores flattery. Watching from outside I realized how lucky she was to be in the hands of such doctors. A patient-in-need cannot judge the quality of the diagnosis but the care and attention is easy to evaluate. Nothing is so reassuring as a doctor’s manner. It’s almost half the battle.
The R&R has more doctors-who-care than any hospital I’ve been to. Like everywhere else they’re short-staffed and rushed off their feet but they still make time to explain, understand and sympathies.
Mummy passed through the hands of many of them. First there was Brigadier B.K. Singh, the Consultant Orthopedic Surgeon. He had the daunting task of explaining to three anxious daughters and one overbearing son what the option were and the risks associated with them. Each of us had different, often contradictory, questions but he patiently answered all of them and convinced us that his original suggestion was the right one. He even lot us watch the operation on the television in his office. I found it macabre but mesmerizing. Finally, when he wheeled her out of the operating theatre and into the ICU he signaled with his left hand all was well, I know he meant it.
Whilst Mummy was in the ICU I would visit late at night to check on her, I knew it was flagrant violation of the hospital’s rules so on the first night I crept in ready to be repulsed and sent back. Sister Asha confronted me at the door I froze.
“You’re late, “she said. I was flummoxed. What on earth did she mean? “Your mother had a feeling you would come and kept awake for you. Quickly see her so we can get her to sleep.”
I felt certain this had been said to reassure me and it gave me the excuse I needed to return each night.
At first it might seem odd that Army doctors should be so sensitive and thoughtful. After all, those aren’t qualities one associate with solders. But I soon discovered how wrong those perceptions are. The toughness of a solder’s execrator is not false or skin deep yet there’s more to him than that. Solders are tough because they understand human weak nose. It’s an oxymoron that conveys the truth.
There’s also a second explanation – the R&R is not a commercial hospital. It doesn’t exist to make money. And whilst I know private hospitals do more than realize profits, the fact that profit comes into their calculations seems to affect the relationship with their patients. That simply isn’t the case here, So when an Army doctor spends hours explaining little things- or you accost him and take up his tine – the one thing that never occurs to you is that could end up paying for it.
It make all the difference.
by Karan Thapar
Doctors with A difference
AND How’s the young Indy this evening? “It was Col. Mukherjee. His cheerful greeting was aimed at Mummy as he entered the ICU at the Army’s Research and Referral Hospital. “Come off it.“ she replied. But she wasn’t being dismissive. She was pleased and bashful. Yet a moment before Mummy had seemed downcast. Twenty-four hours earlier she had fractured her hip and the operation that followed had been tricky. At 88, general anesthesia is not an easy option. Now Col. Mukherjee had made her smile.
“You’re looking twenty years younger than this morning.” He reached out to hold her hand but before he could she raised it to pat his cheek. Mummy adores flattery. Watching from outside I realized how lucky she was to be in the hands of such doctors. A patient-in-need cannot judge the quality of the diagnosis but the care and attention is easy to evaluate. Nothing is so reassuring as a doctor’s manner. It’s almost half the battle.
The R&R has more doctors-who-care than any hospital I’ve been to. Like everywhere else they’re short-staffed and rushed off their feet but they still make time to explain, understand and sympathies.
Mummy passed through the hands of many of them. First there was Brigadier B.K. Singh, the Consultant Orthopedic Surgeon. He had the daunting task of explaining to three anxious daughters and one overbearing son what the option were and the risks associated with them. Each of us had different, often contradictory, questions but he patiently answered all of them and convinced us that his original suggestion was the right one. He even lot us watch the operation on the television in his office. I found it macabre but mesmerizing. Finally, when he wheeled her out of the operating theatre and into the ICU he signaled with his left hand all was well, I know he meant it.
Whilst Mummy was in the ICU I would visit late at night to check on her, I knew it was flagrant violation of the hospital’s rules so on the first night I crept in ready to be repulsed and sent back. Sister Asha confronted me at the door I froze.
“You’re late, “she said. I was flummoxed. What on earth did she mean? “Your mother had a feeling you would come and kept awake for you. Quickly see her so we can get her to sleep.”
I felt certain this had been said to reassure me and it gave me the excuse I needed to return each night.
At first it might seem odd that Army doctors should be so sensitive and thoughtful. After all, those aren’t qualities one associate with solders. But I soon discovered how wrong those perceptions are. The toughness of a solder’s execrator is not false or skin deep yet there’s more to him than that. Solders are tough because they understand human weak nose. It’s an oxymoron that conveys the truth.
There’s also a second explanation – the R&R is not a commercial hospital. It doesn’t exist to make money. And whilst I know private hospitals do more than realize profits, the fact that profit comes into their calculations seems to affect the relationship with their patients. That simply isn’t the case here, So when an Army doctor spends hours explaining little things- or you accost him and take up his tine – the one thing that never occurs to you is that could end up paying for it.
It make all the difference.
