Doctors' Den (standard:non fiction, 2479 words)
Author: Juggernaut	Added: Nov 11 2010	Views/Reads: 2808/2031	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Expereinces coming from Doctors' family

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altogether. When I got married to a doctor little did I know what to 
expect as a spouse of female doctor in comparison to a son of a doctor. 
As a son of a doctor, I enjoyed the attention, and benefits that came 
with it. As a non-medical spouse of a doctor, some experiences were not 
worth remembering. At social gatherings, when my wife introduced me to 
her doctor colleagues, they inquired about my field of medical 
specialty. On realizing I am not a M.D. but a Ph.D, some left me alone 
with my drink in my hand. In the company of medical doctors, a Ph.D. 
was not considered as a real doctor. 

Personally I preferred to be addressed with my first name or Mr.
depending on the situation, and never as a doctor, particularly among 
medical doctors when my wife was around since she is an M.D, and I am 
just a Ph.D. 

Dr. Singh was a kind, and gentler doctor I came across. He was
originally from South America. One day at his house, we had a chat 
about gardening since he has a large backyard with several orange 
trees, and other bushes. 

“The oranges from my yard were sour you know, can you recommend some
special fertilizer,” he asked me, since he knew I specialized in soil 
science. 

“Perhaps a fertilizer with high potash is needed.  I have to analyze the
soil samples first before recommending anything specific,” I said. 

“I think these soils need more nitrogen than potash,” he said. 

“Well, nitrogen is more for plant growth than improving juice quality.”
I wanted to make my recommendations more generalized than specific. 

Dr. Singh kept insisting the need for more nitrogen than potash, so I
left him with his decision to add more nitrogen, puzzled why he asked 
for my advice in the first place. 

While Dr. Singh was a darn good medical doctor, but the problem was that
he also wants to play the role of know it all in every other field like 
mining, agriculture, and fisheries etc. At his clinic as a medical 
doctor, he examine his patients to diagnose, and treat the diseases. In 
every day life, outside the clinic, he carried himself in the same 
fashion in dealing with other issues as well. 

While I was a student in Trinidad, I went to see a doctor, an East
Indian. I purposely went to him hoping I will get preferential 
treatment since I was from India. 

After I filled in required insurance forms, his nurse said the doctor
was ready to see me in the examination room. 

The doctor was an older gentleman in late sixties, looked very graceful,
and as he went through the information I filled in he looked at me with 
a glee on his face. 

“Oh, you are from India, what part?” he asked enthusiastically. 

“South,” 

“Very hot out there, nah,” 

“In the summer, it is,” I was hoping he would ask me about my own body
temperature. 

“I visited India three times, you know. I saw the Taj Mahal, Banaras,
and lots of other places.” 

“Oh,” I hoped he would check my body parts as well for my symptoms. 

“Lot of poverty in your country.” He kept his impressions of India in a
philosophical way. 

“True, lots of beggars,” I added. If I can't beat him, I would as well
join his discourse on India. 

“Lots of cows and goats roam the street, not like down here.” The doctor
was in no mood to examine me, medically. 

“So, how long are you in this Island,” he asked. 

I replied politely. 

“Be careful about the girls down here, it is not like India, you know,”
said the doctor with sheepish smile. 

I smiled and I thought he was joking. 

“Do you have lot of girl friends?” 

I replied negatively. 

“You have to be truthful, now.” The doctor was making serious inquires
now. 

That was the last time I visited him. 

The elderly doctor, almost at the end of his career while friendly, was
no use to me medically, he advised me to take “over-the-counter” 
medications for my symptoms. While walking pass his clinic near the 
University campus, I used to speed up looking straight down hoping he 
won't catch me again for a chat on his trips to India or the number of 
girl friends I have. 

Immediately after migrating to the United States I lived in my sister's
home for a while before finding employment to move on with my life. 
Since my brother-in-law is a surgeon, I was found myself again in 
Doctors' Den, of a different sort. These doctors were originally from 
India, now settled in the United States, and considered very wealthy by 
India standards. 

At that time, my brother-in-law had a hobby of transferring old Indian
movie videos borrowed from his physician friends onto blank videotapes 
for his own collection. Dr. Mohan was one of the doctors that lend 
tapes and VCR to my brother-in-law.  Dr. Mohan divorced three or four 
time (nobody knew the exact number, since he stayed one or two years at 
any one location), after each divorce to his Indian born wife, he would 
travel to India to get marry again. A pilgrimage to motherland to find 
a wife or series of wives. 

One day, Dr. Mohan visited my sister's home unexpectedly when no one was
at home except me. He knew who I was, and asked for his videotapes and 
VCR my brother-in-law had borrowed from him a while back. While 
returning his stuff, he was so impatient and rude that he almost pulled 
me down with the VCR. Somehow I managed to untangle myself from the 
dangling VCR cables without falling to the ground. That evening, when 
my brother-in-law returned from his clinic I told him about the 
incident.  Apparently, Dr. Mohan was not happy with his recently 
married wife from India and I was a victim of his unexpected bad 
temper. I understood then why his wives left him one after the other.  
After a few months, Dr. Mohan left the town. It was rumored that his 
newly married wife left him.  Dr. Mohan may have to make an another 
pilgrimage to get married and bring her to live in the Doctor's den, 
even for a short period. 

My brother-in-law once threw a party at his residence that was attended
by several doctors.  After exchanging few social formalities, the 
invitees were somehow segregated into groups based on either medical 
specialty like cardiology, urology, oncology etc., or other groups such 
as those interested in investment opportunities, tax shelters, etc. I 
was caught up in a small group of physicians discussing Medicare 
reimbursement for their services. At the end of the chat, one of the 
physicians who took me for a medical doctor asked my opinion. With no 
knowledge in Medicare business, I made a practical joke that every body 
in the group was entitled to earn one credit hour in CME (Continuing 
Medical Education) for the chat. He took that seriously until another 
doctor introduced who I really was. My wife was furious for my 
practical joke. 

Selling timeshare of condominiums and vacation homes at resorts was a
big business in 80's. My sister's doctor friend got into this business 
in a big way, and invited us to a freebee at a resort in Southwest 
United States for a weekend. I went along with my sister's family on 
their insistence. A two-hour boring session of sales pitch was 
scheduled immediately after breakfast on the first day. Within minutes, 
I realized that the entire scheme was a sucker-deal for the 
participants so I left in the middle of the session to take a stroll 
outside.  Apparently, the organizer (a physician) didn't like my abrupt 
departure from the room. He slashed his referrals to my brother-in-law, 
a surgeon as a penalty for not signing any deal on timeshare.  So, 
there were unwritten rules for the members of doctors' den to continue 
their membership. 

My sister's another friend, a medical pathologist invited us to lunch.
While sitting in their back porch I noticed their in-ground Jacuzzi was 
abandoned and out of use. 

Out of curiosity, I asked her if she drained the water out of it or if
something was wrong with the Jacuzzi. 

“Oh, something was wrong, the sand in the city water was plugging the
system, you know.” She said. 

With some background knowledge in water filtration, I recommended
installing a double filtration system comprising of cloth filter to 
filter the city water before its use in the Jacuzzi to prevent future 
blockage problems. 

The Pathologist looked at me as if she was performing a full body scan
to find my credentials to advise her on water filtration.  This doctor 
certainly a specialist in medical pathology but unwilling to accept 
advise in a field which was totally unrelated to her. I wasn't sure 
whether it was her ignorance, arrogance, or simply a misunderstanding. 
After few months, my sister told me that a sales person sold her an 
expensive Jacuzzi rather than installing an inexpensive filter to the 
old Jacuzzi. The doctor could have saved a lot of money had she paid 
little attention to what I was saying before looking down on me as if I 
were unfit to advise her. 

On one occasion, I opened a letter addressed to a local doctor but
delivered to my home by mistake.  The letter read as follows: 

My Dear brother Abdul (alias Sundar), 

After waiting for several months for your monetary contribution to our
mosque, I am writing this letter.  You promised that you would 
contribute money on a quarterly basis but so far after six months, you 
have not sent any money to our mosque.  We gave you a certificate that 
you legally changed your religion to Islam, and gave a legally 
registered Muslim name Abdul Haaq. Contributions from rich doctors like 
you would continue to help people in desperate situations at our 
mosque. I hope you would send your quarterly dues as soon as you 
receive this letter. 

Sincerely, 

Immam Sayed Rasool 

I was shell-shocked to find out that Dr. Sundar with whom I was
acquainted was previously married and changed his religion to marry his 
girl friend without divorcing his wife in India. Dr. Sundar became 
Abdul Haaq after he paid a fee to a local mosque to change his religion 
to Muslim from Hindu.  That allowed him having more than one wife, and 
to marry his long-term girl friend while still married to his first 
wife in India. Being a Hindu, he couldn't marry his girl friend unless 
he divorced his wife. 

Surely all of us have our own follies, since I was born and still live
in Doctors' den, I observed the doctors more closely than others. 


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