As God Wills by Aeman Muneeb (guest writer)
Ophthalmology
has been one of my favorite fields so far but considering how dark the clinics
are, with little to do except follow the consultant around, I think we can be
forgiven for spending around three-quarters of the time asleep. While standing
upright. Try it!
My
group of three is assigned to one consultant and we follow him around aimlessly.
Any rotation would have something to do but ophthalmology. My one partner
brandishes the fundoscope that he has been asked to carry from room to room.
The instrument can weigh you down if you have to carry it for a few hours, so
the person such assigned plays with it, swinging it around. The other fellow is
already enquiring if we want him to sneak in an ‘aloo samosa’ for us too, because we would be too scared to ask for
a break.
We're
mostly bored, jumping on the opportunity if the consultant says that we may
torture this particular patient with our skillful ophthalmoscopy. But that is
rare and we mostly stand in a corner, using eye movements to indicate that yes,
a samosa would be welcome.
When
this army of doctor, residents, and three whole medical students walked into a
room with a newborn on his mother’s lap, the lazy optimist in me had done its
work. Within ten seconds, maybe even less, I had determined the probable cause
of their visit down to one or two things: a new glasses’ prescription for mum
or a congenital cataract in the kid. Or maybe a retina evaluation for the
child.
Whatever it is, we'll be able to fix with surgery or laser. I went back
to my corner and semi-awake state.
The
gentleman accompanying the patient handed a file to the physician.
The
consultant looked through the file, and then took a moment longer than usual.
"It's spread to the other eye", he said, his usually cheerful tone
laced with a hint of foreboding.
I woke up. The clinic suddenly seemed much
darker than usual. And quiet.
The
three attendants looked as he spewed out the horror.
"I
have to remove the other eye too; the cancer has spread".
It
was then that I noticed that one of the child’s eyes appeared unnatural.
The
mother wiped a tear; the man to my amazement exclaimed "Jo khuda ki marzi". (As God wills)
As
the doctor explained that blind individuals still accomplished a lot in life,
the man listened intently. After arranging the surgery date and getting details
on financial resources, he turned to comfort the mother too.
This
man’s acceptance of the situation horrified me; he was ready all along. To him,
his son was going to be a great man, eyes or not.
About the Author: Aeman Muneeb, is a Final Year medical student at AKU.
CREDITS:
About the Author: Aeman Muneeb, is a Final Year medical student at AKU.
Editorial Note: This is from a 'phase II' continuation of Narrative Medicine at AKU - what started as a Workshop-based initiative on January 20th, 2016. The editorial work was performed by the Writers’ Guild, an interest group at AKU, with the purpose to promote love of reflective reading and writing, within and outside of AKU.
DISCLAIMER: Copyright belongs to the author. This blog cannot be held responsible for events bearing overt resemblance to any actual occurrences.
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