I hadn’t anticipated that my 31st birthday would be spent at home in bed eating lauki ki sabzi for dinner. I am going to blame it all on my family doctor, who could not tell the difference between malaria and heat-induced fever, headache and vomiting.
After making me go through a series of tests for jaundice, malaria, typhoid and dengue - all of which I tested negative on - he decided that I must be given medication for malaria, just in case the parasite was hiding somewhere inside me. Did you say, like Abdul Aziz in Lal Masjid? Well, feel free to use the analogy. I just want to beat my doctor because his incorrect diagnosis almost killed me. I was so sick that I could hardly eat, sleep, read, write, or walk without support.
Eventually, I decided to switch from Allopathy to Ayurveda. The latter is a system of healthcare that does not believe in quick-fix solutions. Unlike the dependable (not any longer) family doctor who said that I could eat anything, the Ayurvedic doctor prescribed a list of food items to consume and avoid in keeping with my body’s condition. The can-eat list is an embarrassingly short one, so I will not dare to share it with you.
Ayurveda respects mind-body connections
The good part, though, is that I am feeling a lot better than before. Earlier, the pain was so intense I was praying for my life to end. Now, I can sense subtle changes every day. And this is largely due to the fact that Ayurveda respects mind-body connections. It believes in tackling the root causes of problems instead of merely suppressing the immediate symptoms. Most problems are eventually tracked down to lifestyle issues, sleep patterns and dietary habits.
People ask me about that one moment when I decided to change the course of treatment. It was the face of a neurologist I met after being disillusioned with the family doctor. I had been advised to meet this neurologist because of my unbearable, almost 24/7 headache. I waited impatiently in the waiting room, twisting and turning in my seat. After an eternity, when I was ushered into his cabin, I rushed to the basin to puke. I had difficulty sitting properly, so I requested him to let me lie down. He flatly refused. He looked into my eyes, checked my blood pressure and body temperature, and immediately drew up a long list of tests to be done and medicines to be bought.
The author finds great merit in Munna Bhai MBBS's approach to medicine
He did not answer any of my questions until I absolutely lost it when he said, “You need to get admitted to the hospital.”
I said, “You need to tell me why. I have been trying to understand what is wrong with me.”
He answered, “We need to check if the fever has gone to your brain.” I wanted to whack him for being the most discouraging doctor I have ever met. I was so angry. But I had no energy to even open the door on my own. So well, he survived. And soon as we exited, I told my family that I wanted to try Ayurveda. I could not trust Allopathy. The medical-industrial complex, which I had only read about, was staring at me right in the face. To that doctor, I was just another body to be stuffed with pills.
At the Ayurvedic centre, the approach was completely different. Instead of instilling fear in my mind, they were confident of my recovery. That made all the difference. If you have seen Munnabhai MBBS, you would be familiar with the idea that a warm, loving environment is as important as medical treatment. Sure, it sounds like something that could be discarded as fuzzy logic but it worked for me.
I don’t think I would have been half as well if it were not for the constant care of my family, a friend who played the didgeridoo on my birthday from another continent miles away thanks to WhatsApp, a teacher who called up to bless me, colleagues who kindly offered to relax deadlines and students who wrote in with good wishes.
There has been unintended humour too, like the time when a nosy neighbour decided to pay me a visit and badger me with inane questions. “Which fruits are you allowed to eat?” “Why do you eat only musk melon and bananas?” “When you have musk melon juice, what colour is it - pink, peach, yellow, or orange?” “Why don’t you ask your mother to add turmeric powder to the rice flakes you eat?” “Why do you eat almonds as they are? Why don’t you soak them overnight, remove the peel in the morning, and then eat them?” In response to the last one, I mentioned that I have tried what she suggested but I didn’t like it. She went on. “Why don’t you like it? That’s how I like it. You must like it too. Try it again. Okay, what exactly do you not like? Tell me.”
When I had had enough, I told her, “Are you here to enquire after my health, or to make it worse?”
She was a bit stunned, and quickly changed her voice. “You are sick. Don’t get irritated.”
It was perhaps a day of really low tolerance, so I ended up saying, “Listen, I’m irritated because you are being irritating. Stop talking to me in that baby voice. I am ill. I am not a child.” She took her cue, and left soon after. Gosh! These people!
Chintan Girish Modi is a Mumbai-based writer. That he shares his last name with a Prime Minister is purely a matter of coincidence. He tweets at @chintan_connect
