Reeling touch of the healing hand

RS Dalal

The whole country was recently so upset by the violence against some frontline corona health workers, especially doctors, that the government had to bring in an ordinance to deal with such incidents. I have always hated violence, even in the form of harsh words. I am nearly three scores and 10 years, but I haven’t forgotten a beating my father gave me when I was an adolescent. My penance for my father was that I never raised my hand, nay, not even my voice on my children, whatever the provocation.

And perhaps due to my sensitive nature, when I was growing up, I formed an impression of doctors as grim-faced fellows sans mercy.

That’s why I went pale in the face as my daughter asked me to accompany her to hospital for the inoculation of her daughter. ‘What’s wrong with you, papa? Nothing is going to happen to you,’ she said peevishly. ‘Just that I’m getting old and weak-hearted,’ I muttered, as my childhood encounters with doctors flashed across my mind.

I was about seven and suffered from painful tonsillitis. My brother took me to a government dispensary nearby. The doctor picked out a long broken portion of a broomstick from a holder, rolled a cotton swab on one end, dipped it in red liquid (popularly called lal dawai) and asked me to open my mouth. As he came near me, I dodged him instinctively. He got irritated, asked my brother to hold my hands, opened my mouth and shoved it down my throat to touch the inflamed tonsils with the medicine. I stiffened in pain. ‘Bring him tomorrow again at the same time,’ he told my brother. I was terrified. I couldn’t sleep and suffered occasional convulsions.

When in high school, I attempted to learn swimming and developed a painful ear infection. The ENT doctor in the Civil Hospital was known for his foul temperament. As he moved closer, I winced away. He signalled to his attendant to come and hold me. He caught hold of my ear, pulled it hard towards him and poked the machine into the ear to examine, as the assistant held me tight. I shrieked in pain.

Even more dreadful was the experience with another doctor who performed ‘proof puncture’ procedure on me to treat acute sinusitis when I was in college. ‘You’ll have to withstand pain like a brave boy (local anesthesia then unheard of). I’ll wash out the infection,’ he explained. I nodded apprehensively. But the procedure turned out to be as if I was transported back to the medieval days of savage surgery.

However, the present visit to the private hospital with my daughter left me wide-eyed in wonder. The paediatric section was child-friendly, with balloons and toys thrown in. The doctor was cheerful. The inoculation was without any fuss. My granddaughter was all smiles after a little while. How one wished the public hospitals were as friendly and cheery, and the private hospitals less expensive!

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