This story is pretty old. It has remained in my mind, in a plane of uncomfortable turbulence, if you can understand what I mean. It surfaced time and again, and I suppressed it every time, knowing full well it would surface again sometime and trouble me.
I had been suffering from resistant malaria. I had had four episodes in three months, and my energy level was almost zero. The therapy was not as advanced as it is today. Finally I could stand it no more, and decided to take leave to help the new experimental medications work and to let my energy level build up. This story happened on my last working day before the leave. There was a pregnant young woman with a solid ovarian tumor. She needed an emergency cesarean section. We decided to perform a it along with removal of the tumor and check it for malignancy by frozen section. Unfortunately the Associate Professor suddenly pulled a back muscle and said was unable to operate. The Lecturer said he had a cut on the hand and could not operate. There was no one else qualified to wash up and operate. I washed up and performed the cesarean section and unilateral oophorectomy, though I could not even stand straight. I would sit down on an OT stool every five minutes, and get up to operate again. The others watched. I was about to close the abdomen, when the frozen section report arrived. It was 'adenocarcinoma of the ovary'. I looked at the others, who looked back at me. I knew I had to go alone on this one. I got the Resident Doctors to take the relative's consent. Then I performed total hysterectomy and removal of the other ovary and both the fallopian tubes. I sat down every five minutes during the ordeal. Perhaps it was more frequent than every five minutes, because I was doing two major surgeries in a row, without a break in between. The others watched. No one said anything sympathetic, though I am not sure if that would have helped.
I refused to think of this story all these years, because I was afraid it would hurt. Finally I decided to sort it out in my head, so that it would not bother me again and again. Why did they not help me, despite knowing I always gave my 100% to everything I did, and this was one time when I needed some help? Were they not my friends? I have been afraid of the answer to this question being 'no'. Were they getting back at me for something I had done, though I could not think of anything like that? I have been afraid of the answer to this question being 'yes'. Well, today I thought that perhaps they felt more handicapped than I was and wanted me to help them out. Perhaps they trusted me to do it, like children trust their father to help them out of any trouble. Then the other question that had been bothering me popped up. Why did I do it? Could I not have ordered one of them to do it? Today I knew why. I did it because I was the head of my unit, and the final call was mine. Giving the patient the right treatment was my responsibility, and I had to do what the others could or would not do. It had nothing to do with friendship with junior colleagues. It had nothing to do with their expectations from me. If I had not done it, I would not have been comfortable with myself. I was not being grand. I was just doing my job.
I had been suffering from resistant malaria. I had had four episodes in three months, and my energy level was almost zero. The therapy was not as advanced as it is today. Finally I could stand it no more, and decided to take leave to help the new experimental medications work and to let my energy level build up. This story happened on my last working day before the leave. There was a pregnant young woman with a solid ovarian tumor. She needed an emergency cesarean section. We decided to perform a it along with removal of the tumor and check it for malignancy by frozen section. Unfortunately the Associate Professor suddenly pulled a back muscle and said was unable to operate. The Lecturer said he had a cut on the hand and could not operate. There was no one else qualified to wash up and operate. I washed up and performed the cesarean section and unilateral oophorectomy, though I could not even stand straight. I would sit down on an OT stool every five minutes, and get up to operate again. The others watched. I was about to close the abdomen, when the frozen section report arrived. It was 'adenocarcinoma of the ovary'. I looked at the others, who looked back at me. I knew I had to go alone on this one. I got the Resident Doctors to take the relative's consent. Then I performed total hysterectomy and removal of the other ovary and both the fallopian tubes. I sat down every five minutes during the ordeal. Perhaps it was more frequent than every five minutes, because I was doing two major surgeries in a row, without a break in between. The others watched. No one said anything sympathetic, though I am not sure if that would have helped.
I refused to think of this story all these years, because I was afraid it would hurt. Finally I decided to sort it out in my head, so that it would not bother me again and again. Why did they not help me, despite knowing I always gave my 100% to everything I did, and this was one time when I needed some help? Were they not my friends? I have been afraid of the answer to this question being 'no'. Were they getting back at me for something I had done, though I could not think of anything like that? I have been afraid of the answer to this question being 'yes'. Well, today I thought that perhaps they felt more handicapped than I was and wanted me to help them out. Perhaps they trusted me to do it, like children trust their father to help them out of any trouble. Then the other question that had been bothering me popped up. Why did I do it? Could I not have ordered one of them to do it? Today I knew why. I did it because I was the head of my unit, and the final call was mine. Giving the patient the right treatment was my responsibility, and I had to do what the others could or would not do. It had nothing to do with friendship with junior colleagues. It had nothing to do with their expectations from me. If I had not done it, I would not have been comfortable with myself. I was not being grand. I was just doing my job.
