First published in The Checkup Magazine dated 28.09.26
The original article can be accessed at the following site: https://thecheckup.in/doctors-and-gods/
One of the most perennial questions in humanity is regarding the relationship between God and doctors. Do doctors, especially surgeons, believe in God? Are they next to God, as many claim, or are they the gods themselves? Or, are they simply humans, like any other person with some special qualifications? The patient population is decidedly the most unreliable in making this assessment because their reaction varies from doctors being gods, on one end, to Satan, on the other end, with many intermediate positions. Some of the intermediate positions include viewing doctors as sub-humans or even equating them to cockroaches, with only their elimination making sense in this senseless world. Some innocent darlings believe that doctors are universally compassionate individuals devoid of any pet peeves or dislikes.
Most surgeons appear to be believers. There is a very true and important story behind this belief. God made humans first, we all know, and then he made surgeons. The surgeons were unhappy and were struggling to obtain their two square meals. They prayed and meditated to God, who appeared before them. To make them survive, God then endowed an appendix and tonsils to all humans and a foreskin to all males. The surgeons became delighted. They could now provide for their families, but they could not be considered rich by any means. And then they prayed and meditated harder. God was pleased and endowed humans with the gallbladder. Surgeons became rich, and the engineers richer in devising more and more toys to remove the vestigial and near-vestigial organs that exist today solely for the benefit of surgeons.
Gynaecologists frankly believe they are the Gods. The original God might have created the uterus out of necessity to propagate human life, and now it is a source of trouble in all its dimensions. The female population, at every point in their lives, faces problems, whether the uterus is present or even more so when it is absent. With the uterus present, there are problems of infertility, overfertility, more bleeding, less bleeding, and so on. The definition of normal behaviour for the uterus is in a very narrow lane, covering childhood through childbearing age to menopause and beyond; any deviation from this norm sends half of the human population to seek help from obstetricians or gynaecologists.
Paediatric surgeons pride themselves on handling all organ systems, but in terms of returns, a single uterus is worth more than all the organs put together. The heart is the only organ that comes close. But then, many might escape the stent of the cardiologist or the bypass of the cardiac surgeon. For the gynaecologists (damn them), the patient pool is nearly one half of the population (mentioned this before, haven’t I). Hence, people who drive fancy cars, live in fancy houses, use fancy phones, and go on fancy holidays have no need for God. Like I said before, they are the Gods. There is stiff competition between gynaecologists and cardiologists on who is a greater god, but the fact remains for the whole world that we all are born in the hands of one and mostly die in the hands of another. Thus, most human trajectories are from the obstetrician to the cardiologist. And that gives them immense power.
Orthopaedic surgeons, being brutes, are mostly atheists and maybe even Satan worshippers because they only wish for people to break any of the 206 bones that constitute the human body. A normal function of the bones does not suit them. They secretly want bones to be broken, which is why they intensely love the politicians and bureaucrats who ensure that our roads are constantly in disrepair, leading to broken bones and disc prolapses. And then they viciously fight with neurosurgeons for operating on the spine. While these rich spoiled brats, with the Rolex watches and limited-edition cars, fight over turf, poor doctors like us watch with popcorn in hand with intense delight.
Dentists (yes, they are doctors too; wait until you get a toothache or a cavity) love God and his creation, especially the fruits of nature. A guava leaf blossomed from the inter-tooth crevice as an ever-reliable WhatsApp forward informed me. Though I suspect it was a meme, a dentist did inform me long back that their breed loves the guava fruit. Not for its fibre, vitamins, minerals, gum-strengthening, or enamel-protecting properties. Nothing of that nonsense but for the simple reason that the seeds get into the depths of the complex tooth anatomy and drive the owner of the tooth to the dentist’s office. God certainly answers his devotees’ prayers in myriad forms.
Monsoons are a direct gift of God to paediatricians. Long ago, paediatricians, inspired by surgeons, prayed for something that would benefit not only themselves but also all of humanity. Very altruistic people. And also wise people because they send their surgical cases to paediatric surgeons and not to those smart general surgeons and the smarter adult urologists who have no hesitation in gobbling up our cases. Rains benefit agriculture, fill tanks, and provide drinking water, and all of those things we were taught by our geography teacher. But it also means that viruses drop from the clouds and hop madly in schools from one child to another and from one child to everyone in the family at home. The subsequent coughs, colds, and fevers increase the traffic in the paediatrician’s offices in geometric progression.
Monsoons are a general gift to doctors for their excellent work. In a predominantly agrarian economy of India, the patient’s capacity to pay for their surgeries also improves. Additionally, their happiness makes them more forgiving and liberal when treatment fails to reach their expectations, like immortality. Their intention to destroy furniture, catch the doctor’s necks, throw stones, and create a general ruckus to avoid paying the bills also reduces significantly.
The paediatric surgeons (the species of yours truly) have consistently been voted the sweetest, loveliest, humblest, most wonderful, charming, and pleasant specialists for ages. We are all aware of this fact. And yet, they have a problem with God, who, for reasons we cannot fathom, created the fetal medicine specialists. God certainly moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform, as a renowned poet declared long ago. Now, these latest specialists have been singularly responsible for impoverishing paediatric surgeons over time.
Their probes, advances, and innovations seem to explore the remotest depths of the fetus. No region is sacrosanct, and a shadow here and a shadow there, or no shadow here and no shadow there, is squeezing the cases out of the paediatric surgeon’s operating table. When we receive a damn report, in recent times, of a deficient perimuscular sphincteric complex around the anus (Dear God, how can anyone reach there with the probes?), we clutch our hearts. There go our anorectal malformations too. They are denying neonatal surgeons even their dry bread and water. The foetus seems to walk on the thinnest of the razor’s edges for survival.
The human population is divided into three groups today: doctors, patients, and some extremely rare freaks of nature who are neither. The government is frantically converting medical colleges into a cottage industry, and sooner than expected, India is going to achieve the incredible doctor-patient ratio of 1:1. A little more into the future, doctors may even outnumber the non-doctors. I am digressing, but anyway, like in the patient group, doctors may be theists, atheists, agnostics, Avatars, angels, or even gods. Whatever. But the practical message to the world out there is to be kind and humane to all doctors, who I believe are simply instruments of a Higher Power. They are doing their best and achieving results based on the karma of both themselves and their patients. Please try not to beat the pulp out of them or squeeze them dry in the courts when things go a bit south. I am signing off now and going to sleep. This funny-looking and funny-tasting water is making me dizzy.
