Last Friday, 12 May 2006, was an "anniversary". Anniversary is in quotation marks because it is not a day for celebration. It marked one year since my father was admitted into hospital for what appeared to be a pain in his chest but eventually led to his death about 7 months later.
As I was preparing to go to work that fateful day a year ago, my wife came to tell me that my father was experiencing a chest pains. Although the symptoms did not seem like it was a heart-attack (my mother had two heart-attacks before she passed on so I am quite 'knowledgeable'), we did not want to take any chances. We called the cardiologist that treated my mother some 15 years ago and managed to schedule an appointment that same morning. Basic checks revealed nothing out of the ordinary. So, my father was ordered to be admitted. "A day or two... Just to be sure". Alright, I thought. I could help look after my father's business for a few days despite my busy schedule at my job.
After three days, no apparent reason for the chest pains could be found. Then, a full body MRI was ordered. This revealed that a mass of bacteria (streptococcus) had attached itself onto a disc on his spine and was feeding its way into it, resulting in the nerve endings at his chest to hurt severely. "Antibiotics should work", said a very young orthopedic doctor brought in by the cardiologist. Ok, these guys should know what they're talking about, especially since this was a highly reputable hospital. We went for it. After two days, my father said he was fine and the pain was gone! He even proved that he was fine by getting out of bed and walking around the ward without wincing in pain. I was elated. I was expecting to take him home in a day or two. But anything planned seldom works out the way you expect it to. The next day, I found my dad lying in the hospital bed in pain again. He told me that when a nurse tried to help him on to the bed, she did it in a very rough manner and hurt him. Being unable to walk again, he had to stay on.
"He'll have to undergo a procedure where a needle is stuck into his spine with a computer guiding it and the bacteria will be sucked out through it", said the orthopedic doctor a day later. "Any danger to my father?", I asked immediately. "Yes", came the answer I was dreading to hear. He may suffer from permanent paralysis. "And what if he does not have the surgery?", I probed further. "If the bacteria eats into the spine, he will also suffer permanent paralysis." You're damned if you do and damned if you don't, I thought. This was not an outcome I wanted for my father. After pondering for a few hours outside the hospital, I made a major decision to discharge him from this hospital, against the doctor's advice, and move him to another where I knew the doctors a little better.
On arrival, I was happy to learn that one of Singapore's best spine surgeon was affiliated to that hospital. He was brought in for a consult immediately. Although he suggested a very drastic method of surgery to remove the bacteria, he was confident that it would not lead to any form of paralysis. The only concern was my father's age and if he could withstand such a gruelling procedure. I agreed for him to go ahead and the surgery was scheduled the next day.
I paced outside the operating theatre for over 4 hours before the doors swung open and a team of doctors and nurses rushed out pushing my dad straight into the Intensive Care Unit. The doctor told me that my dad was tough and pulled through the major surgery without incident. I was pleased! My dad was, no doubt, in severe pain but he bore it bravely. In the middle of moans, he would ask if I had eaten, what time it was and if I was working the next day. From this, I knew he would make it. Two weeks later, he was moved to the general ward. His spirits were high and became the nurses favourite patient. His surgery healed very well and after a week, he was sitting up in a chair reading the papers. The nurses loved him. He memorised everyone's name and joked with all. "Your father is a real joker!", they'd tell me when I walked into the ward. All this pointed towards his full recovery. But this was not to be.
A week after, my father was having some difficulty with his bladder. An unknown doctor was called in to see him and without my permission, took him into surgery for what was supposed to be "a simple 10 minute procedure". After the 10 minutes passed, he was immediately rushed back into the Intensive Care Unit again. Apparently, he had suffered a stroke. The doctor in question put it down to my father's age and the fact that he was weak. Why did he do the procedure then? I was furious. My father was not the same after. After returning to the general ward, he was lifeless, quiet, lost strength in his left hand and leg and had to be fed through a tube. My father was very unhappy with the situation he was in and asked to be discharged. Two weeks later, he was discharged and I brought him home in a wheel-chair just in time for his birthday in August.
A small birthday celebration was put together in his honour and that night before my father turned in, he called me to say that he wanted to go to India to complete his treatment as soon as possible. And within two days, we were on a plane bound for Kerala, my father's hometown. Doctors there were very optimistic about his recovery. I was hopeful too.
And after settling him at a good hospital there, I left my father in the hands of relatives to come back to Singapore because of my responsibilities here. I kept in constant touch via phone and found that he was progressing well. After some months, he was moved to a well-known Ayurvedic hospital to help him regain the use of his limbs. Here is where he made the most progress. After a month there, he was able to walk, albeit slowly. I was overjoyed. However, this joy was short-lived again.
My father developed gastric problems while there and he was admitted to a regular hospital for treatment. An inexperienced doctor stopped all his medication, including Cardiprin, a medication used to thin blood for stroke prevention. Three days later, my father suffered a very major stroke. I spoke to the doctor who took my father off these medications via telephone the next day. All I got from him was "I don't know what medication he was taking so I stopped them all". The mixed feeling of helplessness and anger was too much to take. My father died three weeks later.
I thought of these events last week thinking just a year ago, he was alive and well. I also realised the amount of power a doctor has. When we are ill, we turn to them and trust them readily without any doubt. However, one small mistake on their part and a life can be lost. While there are many talented doctors and surgeons out there, only a handful realise the power they command and tread carefully. You read about doctor negligence all the time. You read about families that sue doctors for malpractice. But no amount of money in the entire world can repair the damage done, the anguish caused or resurrect a life lost. For doctors who slip-up, life goes on as usual. For the rest of us who suffer the pain of losing a loved one due to negligence of a doctor, it is a lifelong struggle to find normalcy and peace.
I struggle on....
