When her white coat was hammered red: Autobiography of a deaf stethoscope.

Autobiography of a deaf stethoscope

No later than she competed her sentence: I am sorry, but we could not save the little girl; a loud thump on her left ear deafened the dainty stethoscope to the howlings that followed. Before she could regain her lost balance, one hand gripped her shining white-collar and pushed her head into the glass on a nearby door. Soon, she lost the count of bone-shattering blows and stopped resisting being dragged on the floor by hastily switching hands of the violent mob. The reluctant soul hung on the tired body, refusing to let go of its earthly possession. Nonetheless, it could not stop the pride that slipped away following the stream of her all-over oozing blood.

Lucky she was that some bystanders gathered the courage to snatch her soon-to-be lifeless body from the snarls of almost certain death and rushed her to the emergency room. The physical trauma of that sudden onslaught did heal in due course of time, but the emotional pain lingered forever. And, despite her best efforts,

The deafened stethscope could never don the bloodied white coat again.

With a heavy heart and shattered pride, the stethoscope narrates the story of her life, from earning the white coat to never wanting to wear it again.

As I, the stethoscope, close my eyes and relive that beautiful breezy afternoon somewhere back in 1998, I still get the goosebumps that I felt on the stairs of the coveted medical college I went to see my elder sister (already a 4th-year MBBS student). The feeling was celestial, and the desire to don that white coat was superfluous; being the people’s saviour; being someone looked upon as GOD. Oh, I so wished to clear my MBBS examination and walk in that white coat with a high-held head and chest full of pride!

YES, I wished to be a doctor, and all of my soul melted in that prayer.

I sat down for hours and hours with my books, drank flasks of tea and coffee day and night, burnt my night oil as much as I could, missed on all worldly pleasures and for obvious reasons, became the antisocial cousin none wants to have. My prayer was soon answered when my name was declared as the topper in the MBBS entrance examination. That day, my joy had no limits, and an ear-to-ear smile refused to let go of me even in my sleep (Only if I could sleep!).

Little did I know that it was just the start of the never-ending list of books to be read, clinical rotations to be attended, an ever-increasing black-hole of antisocialism with a forever shrinking list of friends and family. To be true, the hardship appeared nothing against the fulfilment of an overhyped and glamourized dream: becoming a real hero, DOCTOR STETHOSCOPE!!!!!!!

Wait, that was not enough? Not anymore!

MBBS doctors did not attract good job offers, and the bare minimum requirement was zeroed down on being a specialist in some filed. What now? The tired me sat down behind my tired desk again, reading one book after another; missing one worldly experience after another; I had no time to cry over that just-had breakup; there was no time to dance in my best friend’s wedding; there was no time to say sorry to my bereaved relatives; there was just no time.

(Still) Happily, I spent another 3 years specialising in my field. Frankly, this time, when my name was suffixed with another (so-called) glorifying title, maybe even I wasn’t there celebrating for myself. At 28 years of age, I was still to lay hands on my first job and the possibility of a stable income. Before I could take a break and enjoy the pleasures this life had to offer, I found myself lost in the sea of never-ending duty-hours of a resident; day calls, night shifts, and 24 hours.

Life was a monochrome now, me and my patients and a pile of research papers and more books. The only saving thing was the pride of being helpful to someone beyond the capacity of normal human beings. Being someone’s hope in their worst times and helping them heal still gave me goosebumps. This kick kept me motivated and filled my (almost hollow) life with more and more pride each day!

One usual day of my excitingly mundane life in the hospital, few people rushed into the emergency room supporting a lifeless body in their hopeless arms. The room echoed with just one sound: please, save our daughter; she seems to have drunk the poison someone forgot on the shelf. You are our God; please do something; you can save her; we believe in you. Please, help us!

Driven by the spirit of my duty and adrenaline-pumped by the faith of the onlookers, I put in my bestest of best effort into helping the girl survive the deathly gnarls. Sadly, somedays fate has a stronger grip on the soul, and even the best of us, the doctors, are as human as the patient on the hospital bed. Having said that, getting to terms with and accepting the loss of young life is a big ordeal, even for the strongest of all.

Embracing my teary eyes and a trembling voice with all my strength, I set out to deliver the unwelcome (and probably saddest) news to the anxious relatives. Although physically and emotionally drained, I was determined to offer my tired and sad shoulder to anyone in need.

And, the rest is just too painful to repeat again!!

Sadly, it isn’t a story many of us haven’t heard before. The media is flooded with news of doctors being beaten ruthlessly by the angry and frustrated bunch of relatives. With each act of such ignominious violence against a doctor, one more stethoscope somewhere is deafened perpetually; some give up the profession while others lose their empathy forever.

Slogans like: Save the saviour, Zero tolerance for violence against doctors, Don’t harm your life saviour, have become commonplace today. Violence against health professionals is becoming a norm these days, bolstered by media and politicians who keep on defending these heinous acts by quoting the pain and emotions of a grieving family.

After years of hardship, the payout and working conditions of most of the Indian doctors are not so promising, rather dismal. Our colleagues from the school days, who once cried about not getting an MBBS seat, are now rejoicing in the failure. Most doctors discourage the youth from going down this lane, and most of us do not want our kids to suffer this ordeal anymore. The day isn’t far when the intellectual best will start ditching the overhyped MBBS platform for far more attractive career options.

“Do not be deceived. You will reap what you sow.”

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