From apprehension to deep admiration
IF there is one set of people in the Army who are much revered but are also often kept at an arm’s length, it is the doctors, the Army Medical Corps. Everyone would love to have a doctor with him in war; in peacetime, none would like to go half a kilometre near a hospital! This is primarily because, in a career conscious Army, a visit to a Medical Officer may get you medically downgraded (if your ailment is severe). This can spell the death knell for your career as promotions may stop if medically downgraded. Besides providing medical support to you in peace and war, the medical fraternity is also responsible for healthcare and conducting your Annual Medical Exam (AME), an anathema for some.
In peacetime, a unit RMO (Regimental Medical Officer) is treating the fittest people in the country, so there are no major medical challenges. That apart, he is a very vital cog in a unit. He is part of all unit activities after seeing off the sick bay; whether it’s the firing, camp, exercise, inspection, fauji melas and all sundry activity.
It is in wartime that most commanders would like to have medical officers within easy reach. Given that specialist medical care is some distance away, what the RMO on the spot does is extremely vital for survival. Who can forget that doctor during Operation Vijay who promised the troops going into battle that if they reached him and he touched them, they would survive. And he kept his word. In Northern Glacier, a jawan of my unit developed High Altitude Cerebral Oedema, a medical condition in which the brain swells with fluid due to high altitude. It requires specialist medical care but decreasing altitude makes recovery that much easier. The jawan was at Sonam, 18,000 feet. Weather remained packed and no aerial evacuation was possible. The RMO there suggested we move him to a lower height. A makeshift stretcher-cum-trolley was fabricated out of scrap, the patient fastened onto that, and accompanied by a small party. The RMO pulled the patient down from Sonam to Khanda in three hours through snow and extremely hostile weather. The RMO’s initiative, presence of mind and effort beyond call of duty ensured a life was saved.
Fortunately, I wasn’t ever hospitalised in my early career. But God is a great leveller and about seven-eight years ago, I was admitted to R&R Hospital due to general weakness. One thing led to another, and the much loathed ‘C’ verdict was pronounced. Swiftly operated upon, periodic care followed. I saw firsthand the dedication of the medical fraternity, and the gratitude and love they got from the patients. An oncologist I would consult would be so overwhelmed by patients bringing things from home: lassi, mithai, snacks! Everyone treated him as a family member. And he reciprocated. My lifelong apprehension of the AMC fraternity turned into unadulterated admiration.
Tail piece: All faujis are required to undergo an Annual Medical Exam (AME). The earlier format was different but in the 1990s, it changed to AME by RMO every year (for four years) and Periodic Medical Exam (PME) in the fifth year. Newly implemented, the rule had some grey areas. An officer of my unit, fond of all good things in life, went on a strict diet plus a heavy exercise schedule to lose those extra kilos before his PME because the MH Commandant was strict and would check the weight herself — even half a kilogram overweight was unacceptable. At each party, the officer would sip nimbupani and eat boiled food, cursing the system. On D Day, I kept waiting for his call that he had been pronounced fit. When he didn’t call, I rang up. In a morose voice, he replied, ‘Sir, don’t ask. As I entered the Commandant’s office, she looked at my papers and said why have you come this year? Your PME is due next year!”
