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The Magazine

January 26, 2003




The silent treatment



By Razia Fasih Ahmad


Once, I asked my previous doctor what she thought about alternate treatments. She just remained silent. I told her that there are quite a few treatments today, like homeopathy, chiropractic, acupuncture (for a long time I thought it a kind of Chinese needlework), herbal medicine, meditation, hypnotism and psychic treatment.

Each of these medical practices has a lot of fans, ready to convince patients that theirs is the best medicine for them. A homeopath goes with the flow of your system, talks to you and cures you very gently while you are not looking. The gurus of herbal medicines know that every cure comes through nature. If you read their literature, they will tell you that a single herb like garlic or a vegetable like turnip can cure all the deadly diseases in the world.

After all this information, she still kept silent. I think she only believes in one treatment and that is “silent treatment”. Let me tell you a little more about my doctor.

I am guessing that my doctor must have started her education at “St Silent School” and must have graduated from “Zip Your Lip Medical School.” I don’t think she was taught more than twenty words that she could speak comfortably. She did not have words like “hi” and “bye” in her vocabulary. I would try a new disease every time I visited her to test her word power, but I failed.

On top of that, she never came to examine me before I started shivering for half an hour. She listened to me, examined the part of my body that she thought necessary to be examined, and wrote something on a piece of paper, all the while keeping her lips sealed. Then, handing over the paper to me, she would say: “Take this medication and have these tests. Make an appointment with the nurse after the tests.” This was all she ever said to me in all those years I remained a patient of hers. After saying these words, she would seal her lips again, but I would somehow know that she was ready for the next patient. I would thank her and leave the little examination room.

I kept hoping that one day she would speak to me as a doctor should speak to a patient who visits her regularly — a patient who should be given the position of preferred customer — but it never happened. I began to create a fantasy about my visit, like when one day I would enter the examination room, she would already be there. She would greet me saying: “How are you feeling, Raz?”

“Awful,” I would say just to make her more concerned. It would work.

She would take my hand, pat it and say: “Now tell me all about it”.

After one hour, during which my doctor would laugh and cry with me, she would ask me whether I would feel any better if I had coffee with her. While having the coffee, we would talk only about weather, Oprah’s Book Club and the latest hit songs. Feeling that I was really cheered up, she would prescribe my medication, explaining the advantages and the side effects. Then she would say goodbye and some encouraging words.

But this remained a dream forever. One day, I suddenly realized that my morbid thoughts, my allergies and stresses were caused by my doctor’s behavior. Her indifference left me helpless. My image of myself was at the lowest ebb. I thought myself to be a complete failure.

I got so frustrated that one day I asked a stranger at a grocery store whether she prefers doctors who talk or who are tightlipped. She eyed me suspiciously and walked away. Once I asked my neighbour so many personal questions about her doctor that she would have thought that after suffering from physical illnesses I was getting mad.

At last, one of my friends suggested that I should change doctors. I did some research and enrolled with a doctor who told me that she really talks.

My present doctor is so talkative that I think she might have been a debater.



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