All my resident doctors are of about my son’s age. I suppose the age difference and our positions at opposite ends of the organizational chart of the department prevents them from talking to me about any issues that concern us.
She was one such resident doctor. She had worked with two other specialists before she came to work in our unit. I liked her. She was quietly efficient. I had always wanted a daughter, and I would have loved to have a daughter like her.
Then one day I found that some resident doctor had been doing something that was against scientific principles and departmental policies. I asked them who had done it, and they would not answer that question. Finally I had to request my Associate Professor to interview the patient who had been the subject of that particular form of therapeutic misadventure. I made all resident doctors sit in my office so that they would not interfere with the process of truth finding. When that was being done, this young doctor got up and owned up. I was stunned, because I had not thought she would have done it. Then it turned out that all the residents were doing that, and some Assistant Professors were asking them to do it. I advised them to improve their practices and left it at that.
A couple of months passed. This young doctor had a couple of bad obstetric experiences in a single day. There was no apparent evidence that she had been negligent in any way. Perhaps it was what they called a bad hair day for her. But it was also true that she did not inform me of the mishaps, and I came to know about them after a couple of days during ward rounds. I could not talk to her for two more days because she had been busy with emergency duty and postemergency duty. Finally on the third day, I called her. She entered my office looking all tense.
“Please sit down” I said. She sat down.
“What is wrong?” I asked her. “You had two complications in one day.”
“Sir, I did everything correctly. It was not my fault in the first case.”
“I believe you. It could have happened to me too. But what about the other case? How could you do such a thing?”
“Sir, I was actually not there when it happened.”
“But you told me yourself during ward round two days after the episode that you did it” I said.
“That was because I was the doctor on duty. I had gone to get a bottle of saline when that happened.”
“But you did not tell me the truth” I said. “Why do you not tell me the truth right in the beginning?”
“Sir, it takes a lot of courage to talk to you” she said.
“Huh?” I said. “At my age and with my physique, I cannot imagine anyone would be afraid of me. I cannot beat up anybody, even if I want to.” I knew they were afraid of me as a head of the department, not because of the physical threat I could pose.
“Sir, can I talk to you?” she asked with a tense face.
“Of course” I said. “That is the purpose for which I called you.”
“Sir, I am quite upset and tense. Whenever I go to the labor ward, all of them look at me in a funny way and talk about me, as if I have done something terrible.”
“But you yourself said you did it. You asked for it. Now tell them the truth.”
She shook her head. It did not seem possible.
“I just don’t know what to do. I feel all alone and terrible. I have not spoken to my mother for three days.”
“Why? A mother is the best person to talk to in such a situation. She helps one relieve the stress. Talk to your mother.”
“I have no courage to tell her what happened. She will think I am a fool.”
She seemed to be misguided about mothers. “A mother and a father know exactly how foolish and useless their child is. They just love and support the child even if it is a fool. Your mother knows you inside out. She won’t think differently because of what you tell her. Talk to her.”
“Sir, I am afraid I will burst out crying if I talk to her” she said. A couple of tears rolled out of her eyes, which she wiped absently.
“Crying is essential in your current condition” I advised. “It will reduce your pent up stress. Have you seen the movie ‘Three Idiots’?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“If you don’t wind down, you may end up doing what the young guy did. If he had spoken to his mom or dad, he would not have killed himself” I said. I was genuinely afraid she would end up doing such a thing. But I could not comfort her like her mother could. She probably did not believe in father figures. She had not mentioned her father even once.
“I won’t do that” she said firmly. The tears had stopped. Perhaps I had assured her in some way. She went away from my office looking free of tension.
