The inescapable phone calls
BEING a doctor, I am expected to be available round the clock on the mobile phone. This expectation, however, runs the risk of being an intrusion into one’s privacy. ‘We will not trouble you, doctor, but just in case…’ is the common refrain while seeking my ‘personal number’. The fact is that I rarely have had a full night’s sleep for most of my professional life because of these desperate pleas. Once, the phone rang around midnight. The caller said: ‘Hope I did not disturb you, sir. You operated on me a few days ago. I wanted to ask you if I may take milk before sleeping since I am used to it.’ Another one told me: ‘There is no bowel movement, doctor. Do you think I should take some laxative before I go to bed?’
Such questions are brusquely asked, and I am supposed to empathetically sort out the problem. I also get such calls at odd hours from the hospital where I work. Responding to a junior doctor or a staffer on night duty requiring guidance or instructions is part of my responsibility. But it is another thing to be woken up out of deep slumber and be forced to listen to an enthusiastic ‘hello’ by a caller who hangs up with ‘Oh aapka lag gaya! Sorry, sir’. Wriggling out of this problem seems an arduous task.
I know of a surgeon who had trained his children to tackle this vexatious issue in case they happened to take a call on his behalf. They would simply ask the caller, once he asked for the doctor: ‘Is it an emergency?’ If the answer was in the affirmative, they would request him to approach the emergency wing. Occasionally, when it was reported as not an emergency, the caller was directed to go to the outpatient department (OPD) the next day. Once, the situation turned quirky when the caller said: “Hmm, I am not sure whether it is an emergency!’ After a thoughtful pause, he was told: ‘In any case, please report to the emergency wing.’
I realised that some callers were misusing the phone facility with impunity. After much thought, I decided to prefix the acronym DNR (do not respond) while saving such patients’ phone numbers. I diligently made a list of the persons who were calling me up at the drop of a hat.
One day, in the middle of a difficult surgery, a nursing officer answered my cellphone, which had been kept in a corner. To my embarrassment, she announced in the operation theatre that so-and-so wanted to talk to me urgently. I had beads of sweat on my brow. I had no clue how to make an honourable escape in such a tricky situation.
