How would you know that I have done my schooling from a convent school? Well, for one I’ve asked a rhetorical question, so that is hint enough(Samazdaar ko ishaara kaafi hai). Two, you can search me on facebook and see my about info and melody khaao aur khud jaan jao. But high chances are that you are reading this article by clicking the link that I’ve posted on FB, so, that’s that. Three, you’re enchanted by my neat cursive handwriting (a close friend with whom I’ll be catching up in the very near future, prefers to call it curly-curly handwriting instead. She also calls food nom-nom). My professor was. And he immediately figured out that I had a convent education, but also supplemented his observation with the wisdom, that public opinion of me being a qualified professional of the modern medicine system (i.e. an Allopathic doctor) would be averse as patients would be able to easily decipher my prescriptions. So, now-a-days I have restricted myself to only give prescriptions in numericals. (Go figure out what a plus 10 Dioptre sphere over minus 5.5 Dioptre cylinder at 135 degrees means)
Anyway, going back to school time memories (which right now stand exactly half a lifetime ago for me). School days are formative years and I developed my well-rounded personality with an equally well-rounded snowman-like bodyform in school and have maintained it over the years by actively adopting a lifestyle of sedentary work and physical inactivity coupled with a specially curated high carbohydrate and fat diet.
A part of English Composition curriculum in school was letter writing. ‘Write a letter to a friend describing your holidays’. (Well, technically at that age, all the friends that I had were living within a couple of buildings’ radius. They knew what I had done in my vacation. Why would I write them a letter?) Then the teacher would dictate a letter describing some lovely vacation I had in Manali.( The description made me envious, because I didn’t go for that lovely vacation in Manali and if I had to actually send that letter, it would make me friend envious even more). I guess, recent trend in schools may have shifted to “write a FB post to make the world envious of the picture perfect holiday you had and also upload a thousand photos with it.” But, I have also come to the understanding that the world has long moved past FB to Insta, so I guess the exercise now would be #describe #your #instaholidays in #hastags.
Then there used to be the exercise of write a lie leave
letter to Principal (that’s one proforma that one really needs to master from a
tender age) and other such formal letters. So, the usual letter writing books
we had, started letters with ‘Respected Principal Mr. XYZ’. But, the letter
dictated to convent kids start with ‘Reverend Father XYZ’. (That usually caused
confusion during the earlier school years with us thinking “that’s not my
father”, “my father is not the Principal”, “Yay! My father is the Principal”,
“Shit! My father is the PRINCIPAL” variable from case to case.)
Fast forward to my days as a solo fellow in a heavy retina department, younglings wanting to rid themselves of Ben Franklin’s invention kept me busy (especially on Saturday evenings) as I searched every nook and crany of their Ora serratae right upto the insertion of the second cranial nerve to the location where it pierced the sclera of their eyes and became one with the inner lining of the eye, for all the 360 degrees and for both eyes, with the zeal of Indiana Jones searching for lost treasures. Ophthalmology is a subject very few doctors know much about. “What do you do?” A MBBS batchmate recently asked me. “I shine bright light into peoples’ eyes and scold them if they blink”, I replied. As per a recent international survey, less than 1% of all qualified doctors globally know how to use an Indirect Ophthalmoscope. (Well, why do I quote this statistic? Because it gives me the chance to brag that I’ve tamed this monster to high level of expertise).
So, these insta-hastager younglings (I earlier used to call people over 30 as uncle and aunties, but ever since I’ve transitioned onto the toddler side of 30 last year, I’ve stopped using that terminology. I now despise those not yet 30 and derogate them as younglings), don’t read any hardcopies of any books anymore. Whichever fancy school/college they attend, the smartphone with all its apps is their constant companion.
So, this one Saturday, yet another youngling walked into the consultation chamber wanting to utilise the services of Indiana Jayesh. True to my nature, I took my archeological excavation tools and began digging deep to unearth the secrets that lie within the confines of his eyes. Lo and behold! What a discovery! I detected a segment of his retina detaching. Timely discovery indeed! Advised him to undergo a prophylactic laser procedure to halt the detachment from progressing further.
As has been the bane of every doctor in my generation, no one takes our word of advice anymore.
“I want to talk to my father first” he said. I would’ve been happier if he had said that he would like to consult another eye doctor (unless his father was an eye doctor that I was unaware of).
“OK!” I said.”But the condition is an emergency.”
“Here or anywhere else, you better get the laser done ASAP” I added. (Everyone takes second opinions. He was just being thoughtful and not hurting my feelings by telling me that he wanted to leave me to go to another, but I was just breaking ice and addressing the elephant in the room.)
About 15 minutes later, he came back willing to undergo the procedure. His father had consented, I thought. The procedure lasted about 20 minutes after which I explained him the precautions and danger signs and the follow-up routine.
“Actually doctor” he said hesitantly, “I had not gone to call to my father that time. I Googled. And I read all that came up. It also said that it is an emergency.”
15 years of my painstaking training being held hostage to a Google search!
But for whatever it was worth, an eye had been saved at the end of the day. Earlier people trusted doctors in good faith. In my career people will trust me only in Google faith! Having come to this realisation, I decided to pen down a letter in neat cursive expressing my heartfelt gratitude to Google.
But being the convent educated kid I ended up addressing the letter to Reverend Father Google.
