The Art of Healing!

Recently, a junior colleague, Prakash complained bitterly about the step motherly attitude meted out to him in a surgical oncology unit where he went to train. As a maxillofacial surgeon he was interested in oral oncology and considered himself competent to be trained in cancer surgery in the maxillofacial region. Prakash was politely reminded by the surgical oncologist that as a dentist he was not equipped to handle the complexities of cancer surgery. The sleight and put down, not withstanding, Prakash proved himself and earned the respect of his trainers. Many medical specialists look down upon other specialties as being less glamourous. Most clinicians tend to look down on colleagues involved in the less sought after para-clinical persuasions of medicine.
Unfortunately I too have ridden the high horse of being a surgeon. Somewhere during training and practice we come to believe that there is superiority in our calling. It perhaps comes from the adrenaline of working directly with blood and danger. The general public too may carry these impressions created by perceptions borne out of dramatization in books and movies. The truth is often understood by an actual patient seeking treatment for his disease. A patient with Psoriasis needs a dermatologist not a neurosurgeon.
My father, a dentist, had practiced his profession for nearly 50 years. He was particularly adept at prosthetics. He made excellent dentures. I never realized how much he was appreciated for this until a month after his recent death. I had operated on a patient with a tumour in her upper jaw a couple of years ago. It required a fairly major surgical procedure involving the removal of part of her upper jaw. After the tumour was successfully removed, I never thought much of it. She was asked to see my father for some kind of prosthesis. In fact I saw her only when she returned for her reviews which included routine inspections of the large defect. She removed her dentures to show me the defect and put it on again. I did not even pay much attention to the prosthesis. She came to visit following my father’s death. She broke down and cried inconsolably. She confessed that she was so desperate after the ablative surgery that she did not even want to live. The anguish of an young woman with a hole in her mouth. My father had apparently comforted her and painstakingly built her an obturator and denture that improved not only her appearance but also her ability to speak and eat. I understood that she felt a greater obligation to my father who restored her function with some good dentistry rather than to the snooty surgeon who removed her tumour. It was a humbling experience which reminded me that every person has a place in the healing profession.