The old doctor lay dying. The hospital room was empty except for them both. His daughter, also a doctor, sat next to him, teardrops stained on her young arms as she clasped his scarred, weather-beaten hands. They sat in a gentle silence. Not the awkward one felt by strangers but the soft yet sad silence felt by people about to separated eternally. Whatever that needed to be said had been said. His voice decapitated the silence. She was surprised at the strength of his voice even now. " how about a story before bed, Tabby?" She chuckled helplessly, rubbing her nose. When she was a little girl, she always hated it when he wasn't home because of work in the hospital. When he returned after work late at night, he usually found her awake waiting for him. He then told her a story about something or the other, putting her to a peaceful sleep. This however, would be his last story, so she nodded tearfully and put her stethoscope on her lap and leaned closer. He was an excellent story teller, and his voices began its magic.
"There was once a family of doctors who owned a large private hospital. This hospital catered only to the rich and powerful. Their main agenda was money and money alone They were the kind of people who saw patients as money waiting to be cut loose with a scalpel. The rebel in the family was the youngest doctor. He was the son of the founder and he hated the way the hospital worked from the bottom of his heart. He joined the profession with the idea of being a hero to the helpless and poor, not live a lifestyle of lords. His father berated him and mocked him, trying to shake the ' immature dreams ' out of him. But this only strengthened tensions. Until finally one day, they argued and the son lost his temper. He threw his stethoscope in the garbage bin in front of his father and the patients staring at him. He then left the hospital without turning back.
After volunteering in a few medical missions, He decided to travel the world a bit, to do some soul searching. When he reached Cambodia, he realised he had been reckless with his money and was now almost bankrupt.
Pennyless and stoned, he roamed aimlessly in the wilderness and fields, until he reached a monastery in the middle of the village. Hungry and tired, he decided to spend the night there.
He soon discovered that this monastery doubled as a hospital, with the monks treating the villagers with their ailments ranging from snake bites to childbirths, the villagers relied on the monks as their saviours and helped the monks survive in whatever way they could. The monks were delighted in the young doctor's presence and welcomed them into their family. He was amazed to find the monastery equipped with the facilities of a decent hospital, with antibiotics, sterile dressings, good range of instruments and many other features that modern medicine flounced. When he asked how this came to be, he found out that these 'monks' were actually once doctors from the city who left trying to find a deeper meaning in their profession. The drugs and equipment were readily sponsored by the government who were only the more glad to have competent doctors working for free. This doctor then made his home there, learning the language and serving the villagers, finally content with his life.
The Doctor joined the monks in their evening ganja and tea where they discussed matters about their work. It was in one of these discussions that the Golden Stethoscope was spoken of. It began when the monks discussed how it seemed that modern medicine was slowly failing. Microorganisms spitting on the face of the the most powerful antibiotics. Cancers which failed the most powerful therapy. Mental disease and depression slowly rising and corrupting the minds of youth. The oldest monk one day sighed and said " If only the golden stethoscope would reveal itself. Maybe then we could tide through this undesirable time. " when asked what he had meant, the monks looked uncomfortable and avoided each other gaze. But the oldest monk looked at the doctor and said " The Golden Stethoscope was a gift from the angels to the first doctor of the world, Rowan Crowe . It was a contract between God and Doctors, that the trade of medicine was done under his name and his name alone. It has mysterious powers, which cannot exactly be explained. It makes it occurrence at crucial times in history, choosing it's owner carefully. Joseph Lister, the father of aseptic surgery was rumoured to own it. John hunter too and some say Virchow and Pasteur as well. But it's appearance and disappearance in history cannot be predicted, But some say it only appears in the last place it owner died.". The old man smiled. "Its just a legend of course, a story of little value." The doctor nodded, and took a drag from his pipe and excused himself for bed.
The next few years passed in a blur. By now, he had gained the respect of his fellow monks who now treated him like he was a brother. The doctor finally told them all about his life story and they all listened patiently. Then the oldest monk looked at him and said " you must now meet your father. It is of vital importance, my son." The doctor felt uneasy and said " But great one, he is an old part of my life, and nothing else. I am happier here and wish to live the rest of my life and die here as well." The old man smiled sadly and said softly " A man who rejects his own family, rejects his own blood, his own heart and his own mind. You must return to him, and let whatever path you decide take you home. May the Golden Stethoscope guide you. " all the monks decided to help pay for his return home and so it seemed he was ready to go home. However , the day before he left, he noticed a new weight in his bag and Lo! It was a Stethoscope pure in Gold, its perfection and beauty enough to convert a sinner to a saint. He clutched it in wonder. Could this be the mysterious stethoscope throughout the ages? Or did the monks gift me this as an allegory? He did not mention it to any of the monks and left his home with grief and apprehension.
When he stood in front of his father, he had expected to see his rage or his scorn, or even him acting like he did not know his son. But this did not cross him mind. His father hugged him and wept, like the father met the prodigal son. He asked him how he had been and what he had been doing, and when the son told him the entire story, the father told the son seriously, " Son, when you were gone I did some serious thinking. Your words, whether they were said in anger or truth, stirred something in me. I have changed the set up of our family hospital, would you like to see? The son eagerly said he would. And what he saw amazed him. The hospital was much larger that before now catered to both the rich and the poor. The poor, the father explained need not pay anything, the salary of all the doctors working came from the rich clients. The father himself , gave away his exuberant lifestyle and adopting a simple one, ensuring that his staff were well paid to stay and carry on the work. The father then looked at his son with eye that burned with pain " the only thing missing here is you, my son. Will you join us now?" The son smiled and of course agreed.
The stethoscope spoke to him subtly. It guided him in his work gently. It made him catch things the others would have easily missed. A murmur of the heartbeat, an abnormal breath sounds others would have ignored. Soon he learnt to trust it's voice. It guided his thoughts and assumptions until he never missed a diagnosis. It guided his hands till every surgery was perfection. The most complicated childbirth was rendered a cakewalk for him. Soon all the doctors around him recognised his power and proudly worked to their fullest, eager to gain his approval. People from far heard about this mysterious yet talented doctor who could cure anything and flocked to him. He was the King of all Doctors and he enjoyed it.
Many years later, something tragic happened. The stethoscope disappeared. His fear was like a palpable tumour and he searched everywhere but it could not be found. Finally a week later, it was found. A nurse had opened the nursery of the hospital to be greeted by a peculiar sight. An abandoned infant, clutching the golden stethoscope tightly, still asleep. The doctor took the stethoscope with trembling hands, but found it silent and dumb, like it was any other stethoscope. It dawned upon him. The stethoscope had chosen a new master."
The dying man looked at his daughter. "The rest of the story is unclear. Some say he took the stethoscope and hid it, others say he destroyed it. Some say he took the child as his own and raised it, others say he killed it, trying to gain its powers one again. But the moral of the story is the same. The golden stethoscope represents the ultimate duty of the doctor. To serve humanity and not riches and power. To be the saviour to everyone, with a mind untainted with greed and avarice. This is what I ask for you, my daughter. That is all." Saying so, the old man closed his eyes and smiled. After a while, he died peacefully.
The young woman sat by him for a while, her mind lost in a whirlpool of emotion. She felt the pain leave her and be replaced by determination to live by her father's last words. And as she stood up, her stethoscope on her lap fell on to the floor. And it was not iron and plastic, but pure holy Gold. She looked at her father, he looked content, like a man who had finally finished a hard task.
The End.
No comments:
Post a Comment