I am very angry right now, so this post might be a bit of a rant, but what the heck! Yesterday, I called up my grandparents, part of my usual sunday routine. Now, ever since my grandfather had his heart attack, our conversations somehow, have changed from a grandfather-graddaughter conversation to a patient-doctor conversation. That bothers me somewhat, but I guess its to be expected during this phase in his life. But thats not what makes me angry. What makes me angry is that every time I talk to them, I realise how their doctor’s top priority is to make as much money off my grandparents as he can, so he can fund his overseas vacations. To hell with actually doing what’s best for the patient.

When he was admitted to hospital with his heart attack, he needed an angiogram. The doctor who did the angiogram found two blockages. And he decides to treat the one that is NOT causing the heart attack. And leaves the nasty blockage that is causing the heart attack. Maybe he didnt feel competent to treat the left main stem blockage. Fine. But then why bother with the right coronary blockage, is beyond me. Just for the money. Just for the money. And then he sends my grandfather home and says, “Come back if the left main stem causes you problems”. Of course it gonna cause him problems!!

So then my grandfather develops the problems. As you do. He is now in heart failure. And what does his GP do? Gives him a shot of theophylline!!! Far out!! What moron gives theophylline for heart failure?! Not one, but three shots! Oh, and he also prescribes him glutathione tablets. Completely useless pieces of shit. No evidence to suggest they make an iota of difference.

I guess the reason it makes me angry is that everyday, I see people who are much older and much sicker than my grandfather who get much better medical care than he is getting. And there he is, languishing on the other side of the world, being nothing more than a cash cow for greedy doctors. It makes me feel like what good am I, if after all these years, I cant help my own grandfather when he is sick.

It was his dream for me to be a doctor. It was he who stood by me, and behind me, when no one else was ready to do that. It was he, who taught me how to spell, and he who bought me my first fountain pen. And it was he who has loved me unconditionally my whole life. The day I actually graduated as a doctor, he stood 10 feet tall, his face puffed with pride and joy. And now, when I see him being mistreated by people who are only in this for the money, it makes me incredibly sad. It brings a certain sense of futility to our combined dream, that one day, if and when he needed looking after, I would be the one to do that. I cant do that. And yet, here I am, looking after complete strangers. And the person who is entrusted with the job of looking after my grandfather is more concerned with his monthly paycheck than anything else.

This is the dilemna. People get older, and get to a point when they cant cope on their own. But they cant cope with losing their independence either. My parents and I think, life would be so much easier if my grandparents just moved here. Well, our life would be. Theirs would probably just get worse. And so I think, if Mohammed wont come to the mountain, the mountain just has to go to Mohammed. It is something that I have been thinking about more and more in recent times. And the more I think about it, the more compelling the reasons become to go to Mohammed. If only it was that simple. In the meanwhile, I continue to get angry at these doctors who do it just for the money. Makes my blood boil.