If only a second opinion had been taken

By Abid Adil

My mother had never liked hospitals, or doctors. In fact, she felt that they were there to simply scam the patients. She would avoid going to hospitals and even strongly discouraged us from a visit to the doctors.

To most ailments, she would simply say that it would become alright over a period of time. She used home made herbs for cure. As she grew older, her dislike for doctors grew stronger.

My father had to put up with her, all through their four-and-a-half decades of marriage. Things had reached such a pass that even my father avoided visiting hospitals even if he was feeling unwell.

So, a couple of years back my father was unwell and it turned out to be hypertension. He had to go to the hospital as no home made herbs were working on him. At the hospital, a number of tests were conducted, one of which indicated that there was a small patch on his right lung.

The doctors advised him to meet a pulmonologist and to keep track of the patch on his lung. My mother knew about the doctor’s advice, but she didn’t share it with me.

A month back, I received a phone call from my parents’ neighbour that my mother had sought a walker for my father as he was finding it difficult to walk.

I was quite taken aback as I had visited them a week back and they both looked fine to me.

I rushed home to find that my father was lying in the bedroom and he was finding it difficult to move around the house. Even slight movement was leaving him breathless.

I became worried and insisted that he comes along with me to the hospital. My father refused and so did my mother. I failed to convince them.

I walked over to my neighbours and sought their help. I told them that I was willing to take my father to the hospital, but he wasn’t agreeing.

After much cajoling from my neighbours – whom my parents held in high esteem, my father finally agreed to visit the hospital. It seemed that he was not willing to go to the hospital as it might offend my mother who had her own opinion about the health services.

My father was finding it difficult to breathe as he was wheeled into the hospital. The doctors promptly put on an oxygen mask for him and that helped.

Looking at his condition, I was increasingly becoming worried. I didn’t know what to do in these trying conditions.

The pulmonologist was called. He immediately recognised my father and asked about the condition of his lung. I was taken aback. The pulmonologist said that when my father had last met him, he had informed him and my mother about a patch on his right lung that needed to be monitored.

My parents never told me about it. My father didn’t visit the pulmonologist. Things had now come to such a pass that my father was now finding it difficult to breathe.

I asked my father to take a second opinion. He refused. Even my mother showed no interest in taking a second opinion for my father. My father spent two weeks in hospital. The pulmonologist told me that my father’s condition had deteriorated and it would not be possible to shift him back home.

My father was informed and he then asked me if we should take a second opinion. I was shocked. Here I had been insisting that he take a second opinion for such a long time and he had not listened. Now that he was on the deathbed, he was open to the idea of the second opinion.

The next day, the pulmonologist shared the grim news that the disease had spread to both the lungs and he only had a few days to live. He added that if only my father had kept track of the patch on his right lung, immediate medical intervention would have slowed down its spread.

It was all downhill from there. A week later my father died and his words for a second opinion kept on ringing in my ear.

If only my mother had not been against visiting hospitals. If only my father had regularly visited the pulmonologist. If only my father had been open to a second opinion. If only…

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