A grave-side activist (II)

Continued from last week

‘It’s more like you are obsessed with becoming a grave-side activist Bint. I mean you are still confined to your sick bed but you are organising young doctors towards your agenda?’ He asked.

‘And why not? Isn’t this the best time for it? While I’m still weak from the illness and the memory of that indescribable pain is still fresh?’ I replied.

‘But give yourself a little more time, allow yourself to regain a bit of flesh. Right now your cheeks are sunken, your neck is longer and you are generally a shadow of your old self.’ He observed, with humour.

‘In other words, I look physically closer to the dead than the living?’ I remarked.

‘No, that’s not what I meant Bint.’ He denied.

‘But your earlier words said it all. You called me a grave-side activist. Whoever you associate with the grave-yard, you are saying that he or she is closer to the dead than the living, period.’ I insisted, in mock anger.

‘Believe me, this time you are putting words into my mouth. That’s not what I mean. I was trying to say that you should allow the old Bint to return, get a bit more strength, then you can go back to your old pursuits.’ He said.

‘Well, it’s like I said, the best time to do it is now, while I still feel sufficiently angry about it to seek a remedy for this high level of professional nonchalance. As it is Lauratu is only the first of the young doctors I aim to mobilise. Alhamdulillah, we have no shortage of young doctors in this family. Our three nieces are doctors, your younger sister is a doctor and our own Ummi will soon qualify, in sha Allah. They will

will be my springboard bi izhnillah. With them urging their colleagues to join, we will be able to foster a strong ethical movement in the health sector. It will be so strong that one day we will wake up and have no need to patronise any foreign owned or foreign-based medical facility.’ I declared.

‘Ma sha Allah. What a grand dream. And just how you plan to achieve it? Last time I checked you aren’t wealthy.’ He replied, smiling. 

‘You are right, I’m not rich hubby dearest but we are going to start small, with campaigns for the right doctor-patient relationship. Like I was telling Lauratu when I held her hand, I will prevail on our NGO, The Ladies Parliament, to sponsor the initial posters needed to kick start the campaign.’ I explained.

‘You are embarking on a campaign with posters? Bint are you starting a medical campaign or running for political office?’ He demanded, suddenly standing from where he was seated at the edge of the bed. 

‘Yes, we are starting a medical awareness campaign but we need illustrated posters of patients consulting doctors, so we can get the message across in a more appealing way. I told Lauratu that, as soon as she is able to mobilise like-minded doctors, we will meet and decide how best to prevent people from becoming victims of misdiagnosis. Based on my experience and their knowledge of the field, we will decide what the illustrations will show. Then we will engage a good artist and tell him what to do. Once we are satisfied with the posters and the messages they carry, we will seek permission from the ministry of health to share them to all hopsitals and clinics so that patients  will be enlightened. We also hope to sponsor radio jingles delivering the same message, for the sake of those who can’t read.’ I answered. 

‘And just what will this message be?’ Tahir asked.

‘Well, there will be a number of them. But we will start with telling patients never to accept any diagnosis based strictly on a test result. They must feel or be shown the symtoms of their diseases by their doctor. This, you know was the basis of my problem. I had no symptom of typhoid but based on a faulty test result, I was diagnosed and sentenced to what the doctor himself boasted was the best typhoid drug around. And you know how I ended up paying for this misdiagnosis. With sleepless nights and agonising abdominal pains caused by collapsed intestines and hiatal hernia. You’ve also seen just how I became a shadow of my former self. We wouldn’t want even our enemy to suffer from this, would we?

The second message ‘do not accept diagnosis from a doctor who didnt ask you any questions but just wrote a prescription after you’ve said your complain. Some do not even allow you to finish your description before they prescribe something, no physical exam of patient and therefore no search for symptoms.’ 

On the part of the doctors, we plan to appeal to them to be true to the Hippocratic oath they took and sincerely practice medicine with a view to saving lives and limbs. We will urge them to be so good at what they do that these insincere and possibly quack foreigners will be forced to close shop and go home. Did I tell you that ever since my horrible experience, I’ve come across two more patients of this same hospital who suffered similar bad cases of misdiagnosis?’ We don’t deserve this, we ought to have enough doctors and medical facilities to save ourselves.’ I concluded.

‘Yes Bint, you have a point there. I wish you luck in this away-from-the-grave-side crusade. Count on me if you need extra help.’ He offered, raising up his hand in a mock pledge.