Make another start, straight from the heart

This was going to be a third heart surgery in less than five years. The previous two had been botched up by a popular private hospital. I had fallen prey to the greed and avarice of an incompetent doctor.

Hindsight lessons learnt painfully were: Medicine today is a business and if you place trust blindly, you do so at your own risk. There is sense in taking a second and a third opinion. The chrome and glitz of a hospital is fine only if the doctor treating you is fine. Going to a private hospital is a matter of choice. One might not mind the high cost of procedures because you get comforts that infection-laden and poorly administered government hospitals are unable to provide.

Gorakhpur is a recent example. Unfortunately, behind the attractive façade of private hospitals lies the ugly truth – you could possibly land up in the hands of a target-chasing unscrupulous doctor.

The modus operandi is simple: First scare the daylights out of a patient and his family, then pickpocket him systematically; a slew of unnecessary tests followed by a surgery. Most of the times, insurance companies pick up the bill but it’s your life and wellbeing that gets messed up. The Hippocratic Oath or sleight of hand of the hypocrite?

All three cardiologists consulted this time were unanimous in their opinion that I needed to undergo ‘Bentall procedure’, a complex open-heart surgery.

All of them advised that the best person to perform this surgery was Dr Anil Bhan at Medanta Medicity, Gurgaon, the hospital which is the brainchild of the celebrated cardiologist Dr Naresh Trehan. Dr Trehan, I am told, has got the best and the brightest doctors of every specialty into his fold.

But Mr Google spares none. There was enough on the net to discourage me from going to Medanta, but my experience was different. The 2000-beded 15-level multispecialty behemoth functions like a well-oiled machine. The doctors are brilliant and courteous and the medical protocols first rate.

While being wheeled to the operation theatre for the surgery, the two chaps pushing the bed stopped midway. I inquired why? The answer was so typically Indian. “Apne ghar waalon se ek baar mil lijiye” (meet your near and dear ones). Good, he did not say “aakhri baar” (for the last time). I told the chaps to keep moving. As a veteran of heart surgery, I had every intention of coming back. Inside the operation theatre, there were four-five doctors wearing masks and gowns. One was reading a file while the rest sharpened knives. A murmur went around and then one of them spoke: “Col Sahib, we feel honoured to operate upon an armyman today.” Four gloved hands rose to salute. Humour can be macabre, was I seeing the “final salute”?

Now, more than two months later, as the heart beats strongly and cheerfully, I await September 13 when the 90-day period of restrictions advised by the cardiologist ends. I no longer feel the need to act my age. Dr Bhan has set the clock back.

INSIDE THE OPERATION THEATRE, A DOCTOR SAID: ‘COL SAHIB, WE FEEL HONOURED TO OPERATE UPON AN ARMYMAN TODAY.’ FOUR GLOVED HANDS ROSE TO SALUTE. HUMOUR CAN BE MACABRE, WAS I SEEING THE ‘FINAL SALUTE’?