Specialization name of the game:

Mad medical moments

Gaston de Rosayro

Once upon a time in Sri Lanka people became doctors because they wanted to help people.

But today all this appears to have changed. It seems that a good many of them simply want to help themselves. Medicine is different today. Time was when your General Practitioner (GP) recommended you to a medical specialist only when he thought it was absolutely necessary. But now many Sri Lankans often become their own GPs. They make a mad dash to consult a specialist at the drop of a sneeze and are prepared to cough up the ‘moolah.’

Whatever happened to personable old family doctors of the past, those extraordinarily gifted physicians who attended to your medical needs with a captivating bedside manner? Many of them have been replaced with the new clinical specialist who knows more about organic chemistry than human interaction. They approach their patients with the cold objectivity of a scientist watching an experiment.

Today it seems that almost every other doctor is a specialist. Each one has his own disease. But the very mention of their specialities could often cause confusion. For instance, my cousin Virginia, we called her Virgin for short, but not for long, always had a fascination for medical men. Virginia had a penchant for wearing her saree at hip level, exposing a vast expanse of midriff.

Family legend has it that during her youth when introduced to a dashing young doctor she inquired about his work.

Unable to take his eyes off her alluring half-way point he replied: “I’m a Naval surgeon.” Virginia blushed beet red before answering: “Myee!… How you doctors specialise these days!” The story had a happy ending, because they were married soon after.

He is a retired Commander now, but has never lived down the reputation of being the officer who fell in love with a navel base and made the mistake of marrying the whole girl.

I suspect that some of these doctors invent exotic diseases so that they can go into practice as specialists. Finding the right specialist is not easy. Actually recommendations would be a good start. So talk to your friends, preferably the ones who are still alive. It takes time and patience. Patience is really the catchword because when you do, you are given an appointed time. But you are often subjected to an interminable wait of sometimes an hour or more.

I have a sneaking suspicion that the exasperating wait is a deliberate ploy devised by certain members of the medical mafia to create instant new symptoms in perfectly healthy bodies. Anyone running such a gauntlet finally enters the specialist’s chamber with an aggravated ruddy complexion. The doctor then checks you out and coolly explains that your blood pressure has taken off in an extremely stratospheric direction.

Naturally, he recommends treating you and advises another appointment. Yes, I have had my share of mad medical moments.

I was admitted to a private hospital with symptoms of hypertension. My blood pressure was soon entirely normal but the visiting specialist was decidedly a night owl.

His visits coincided with my perfectly civilized sleeping time which was around ten at night. I was woken rudely by a nurse to be informed that my specialist had arrived.

His check-up took no more than ten seconds. It was confined to: “Put your tongue out and say ahhh. That’s good.” Then he was out of my room like a bolt of lightning.

To nightcap it all, ten minutes later I was awoken by a nurse with a pill and a glass of water. On inquiry I was told that it was a sleeping tablet. I now realise that a hospital is the only place where you are woken up to be given a pill to go to sleep again.