When I look back at my early days of independent practice, one story always stays with me. A young boy — an entrepreneur — walked into my care one evening with his mother, a strong and determined lady who had clearly been his anchor in life. He had developed sudden, severe abdominal pain radiating to the back, something that immediately raised my concern. After urgent evaluation, I diagnosed him with acute pancreatitis.
Pancreatitis is one of those conditions in medicine that humbles even the most senior doctors. It can be life-threatening, and the truth is, till today, there is no drug or surgery that can stop its progression completely. We support the patient, monitor closely, and hope the disease takes the milder course.
I sat down with him and his mother, explained the illness, the possible outcomes, and the fact that it could go either way. They were very keen to understand, asked me several questions, and I could sense that they trusted me. Over the next few days, he started improving, and I felt reassured that he was on the right track.
But then, as often happens in families, other relatives intervened. They wanted him shifted to a “more senior” doctor at another hospital. I was new in this city, just starting my practice, and I understood their concern — when a serious illness strikes, people often want the most experienced mind, someone they’ve “heard of.” Did I try to stop them? No. I explained that he was improving, but I didn’t insist. I let them go, even though inside, a part of me wondered if I should have fought harder to retain him. A few weeks later, something unexpected happened. The family returned to me. They told me they were not happy with the new place, that they had realized the difference in the way I had explained, guided, and cared for him. They came back with gratitude, and now he continues to follow up with me.
That day, I learned something important: patients are not ours to hold on to. If we are honest, compassionate, and clear, they will come back when they see the difference. My worth is not proven by stopping someone from leaving, but by standing by them with sincerity. Today, the boy is healthy, his mother still meets me with the same firm smile, and I feel thankful. For me, this wasn’t just about treating pancreatitis — it was about building trust, and about growing as a surgeon and as a human being.
