Rambodoc at large

If you remember, I have posted my satirical piece 'New Surgical Species' with hyperlinks, in this blog before.
Well, the General Surgery News article is now available online here. I am not sure if you can get direct access to the article, and you may be asked to fill in the free registration form.

This article I wrote is the front page editorial of this June issue of General Surgery News, though the online version is not yet available.

Scientists, poor sods, say that a new species of animal or insect is discovered only once in every ten years or so. With scientific research booming, along with the explosion of the information technology industry, there is very little that is new. Somewhere in the chaotic interaction of gigabytes and Google, of genetic engineering and gamete storage, new species of human beings have evolved right under our very noses, and yet remained undiscovered. Amazingly, the mutation (for this is a sudden, unplanned change rather than the other, slowish sort of genetic change for which there surely is a name) has happened in a classa humanis that stubbornly resists change, almost like the Indian socialist: I refer to Homo surgicalis, the erstwhile, slowly extinctifying class of barber-ic surgeons.



If you are unaware of the evolution, and yet are part of the revolution, you are probably a laparoscopic surgeon. And if, God save you and your patients, you are unaware of both, you are likely a true-blue general surgeon, whose ancestors were knee-deep in blood and other unspeakably foul-smelling and distasteful body fluids, chopping gangrenous small bowel that looked like mutant, imported (from Italy, of course) tagliatelle, and expertly removing gall bladders that looked like last year’s aubergines bought at the Giants’ special offer!
Anyways, back to the point: what is my point, you ask?
If you consider the nature of the surgeon in the last decade and the coming one, you will understand.
The Laparoscopic Surgeon (LS) is stereotypically a very dynamic, ambitious animal possessed of more skills than wisdom, much like a New York senator wanting to be President. In the midst of a busy, lucrative practice, he has to use his frequent flier points and travel to Honduras or Nicaragua and show the natives how to do a TEP or a fundoplication. He also has to appear annually, sage-like, at the world’s premier endoscopic surgical conference and present his ‘innovation’ in laparoscopy that he noticed in a third world workshop last year. It is a different matter that the audience is more interested in seeing his impressive list of ‘conflicting interests’ than in his video, but men will be men: ‘yours is bigger than mine’ is a syndrome of comparative truth, from childhood to andropause.
An amazing thing about this new class of Homo surgicalis: the lap surgeon uses tiny incisions of around six or eight inches, sometimes, that are only a few nanometers smaller than the huge ones made by his evolutionarily challenged brother, called ‘HALS’ or ‘extraction ports’, that dramatically reduce operating time, hospital stay, and wound infections. The world has woken up to this New Reality: that an incision heals faster and easier if made in laparoscopic surgery, especially ‘mine’, and the old buzzards better, well, buzz off! The chapter of open surgery is now closed!
The LS is like a hypothetical animal that uses its long horns to snare fruits from the top of a tree because it is aware of its long horns. It forgets its jaws, its strong limbs, and its quick jump, just because its long horns are its pride, its quintessential hubris. The LS, likewise, uses his scope-vision to treat all his patients. The results are likely to be, for want of a better word, fruitful.
Homo laparoscopus (HL) has another peculiar feature: the species is taller and more dynamic than the Gandhian ‘internist’ class of physicians, known in informed circles as Homo prescriptus. A sub sect of HL is a sub-specialist working in Hernia Institutes or as a consultant to Ethical and un-Ethical mesh manufacturing companies. This is an example of Homo inguinus, a groinocological surgeon.
A new disease affecting the calcaneum and the plantar ligaments awaits existence, but the treatment is already, um, ready: laparoscopic fasciectomies, tenotomies and other incomprehensible ablations, in the new department prosaically named the Laparoscopically Accessed Sole Surgery (LASS) and to be socked to the customers as ‘Hole-in-the-Sole’. As a new procedure class, it is a shoe-in, experts say. A niche in this would be endoscopically guided surgery for paronychia and hangnail removal that has been estimated to reduce global loss of millions of man-days every year. This class of surgeon should be anointed Homo subunguous. Research on stapling these stubborn hangnails and microvascular sealing systems to control bleeding from incisions should be available once the disease is recognized as a silent killer, much like the obesity pandemic that affects the poorest of countries. In fact, new research states that the poorer you are, the more likely you are to get fat. Says how badly the US economy has been doing for so long, isn’t it?
To come back to the laparoscopic surgeon, he is too self-possessed now to notice that his existence in the near future is jeopardized, much like an MP3 player walloped in the south pole by the iPod. He is focused on refining newer ways of image-guided gymnastics to such an extent that he fails to notice the change in the world around him. The new world is, forget small-incision surgery, all about no-incision (no scar) surgery.
This new class of specialist puts in scopes through all natural body orifices and takes out organs like a magician takes rabbits out of a hat. Only that the magician gets paid a lot less and is a lot more fun to watch. The invader of the hole on either pole of the body belongs to a new class called Pokus neodigestivus. Enter the new digestive surgeon, a hybrid of endoscopist and hard-boiled laparoscopic surgeon. Rarely, if ever, has a chimera extinguished a parent species, but this could well be the case here.
The interested audience to the new, enchanting, global, industry-sponsored circus-dance of the robots, the neo-endoscopists and the increasingly archaical laparoscopic surgeon is, as always, the general surgeon (sub-species skepticus) and the internist (sub-species studious). Seated in the ringside, so to speak, is the friendly media, Slurpus sensationalis.

Up in Heaven, Lord Vishnu wanted to see what his young Indian devotees were growing into. The Great One could not see anything because the exhaust from the buses and cabs was billowing under the stairway to Heaven, hindering vision.
His spy, Narada, came down to India to find out how the youths were doing and what they were planning for the future.
Narada spent some time in the country, and sent his report to the Creator.
“At the outset Lord, let me tell you that Lord Yama, our Lord of Death, is marketing big time here! His name is mentioned in TV and newspaper ads—it seems he has made a mini-chariot for the youth, called Yama-ha. Can you believe his cheek?
Anyway, the youth is what you sent me for, right, my Lord? The majority of youth wants the job of a cricketer called Sourav Ganguly. This job gives fame and job security—it seems they fire you 3 years late, to give you time to plan your retirement. 43% of boys wanted to be Sourav because they would still have a place off Park Street to park their Merc chariots and get overpriced oily food for free.
Lord, I want to be this person, too!
73% of youths said an honorable exit policy was important to their jobs. Equally important, they said, was an honorable entry policy. They demanded 50% job quotas for various scheduled, disadvantaged classes. An additional 30% reservation was considered mandatory for the un-scheduled, disadvantaged classes, presumably including the persons born out of French letters prematurely failing their warranties. 20% reservation, they said, should be kept for the ‘laid off’ category—this includes job descriptions called item numbers, dance bar girls, ministers, actors called Shakti Kapoor, rapists, alleged rapists, bottom pinchers, etc. Maybe we can keep a section in Heaven for these unfortunates, Sir?
Among older boys, some wanted to become ‘BCCI executive members’. The ostensible reason being the great ideal of ‘Ownership sans Responsibility’ to which these idealistic youth are drawn. Plus you get to eat a lot of 5 star hotel food!
What do our girls want to be? 29% said they wanted to be reborn with fewer clothes and renamed, preferably with multiple, repetitive alphabets to their names, you know, like Nnishha or Mallikkaa. Try it, oh Lord, how blissfully it rolls off your divine tongue: Kkrishnaa, Vvannitaa, and so on! Nnaaraayann!!
Some want to be ‘Fung Shway experts’. The attraction seems to be the ease with which you can make people do foolish things and get paid to make them do that.
A significant number of 14-year-old girls want to be someone called Sania Mirza, because you get to wear such nice skirts and cool T-shirts. Plus you get to lose every time and yet get praised, paid, and proud. Then you get to read 6 columns in the sports pages on the two games you won and only one line on the 12 you lost. Add to that a flattering photograph that is ogled at by every corporate honcho who has a few million bucks to throw on ads and sponsorships…. you get the picture? I must say, Lord, it pays to be a loser in Indian sports!
Sportspersons seem to be the Indian youth’s dominant fascination. The great Indian spirit of unflagging effort, dedication, fitness, and consistent pursuit of excellence are some of the major reasons for this collective, patriotic urge to become a sports star. There are a few minor side benefits that attract youngsters, including a multi-zero income, easy availability of consorts (now called girlfriends), and Government jobs. The fact that a busy sports person wouldn’t be able to attend Sarkari daftar wasn’t considered to be an issue. “Chalta hai re!” was the refrain. Some people, however, were worried about the risk of getting brain cancer. Huh?
It seems if you become a sports star, you have to keep talking on the mobile all the time, answering calls from a certain class of gentlemen called bookies, some kind of ladies called bimbos, and another kind of people called journos. The last are supposed to be a special aquatic species of mammals that eat things called stories, drink a liquid called scotch, and write without fear or favor of facts. Anyways, talking on mobile phones may lead to brain cancer, it seems, leading to worry. Lord, shall I get a mobile with Bluetooth for you? The banks and credit card firms are interested to give me one, FREE!

Where would you like to live, I asked the Indian youth?
A few said they wanted to go to POK, the Kashmir on the other side of the border. Why, I asked? The answer was “ it is the only place on earth where women listen to and obey their men”. Sounds interesting, Lord! Would you like to shift base?
Many boys and girls wanted to live in Bengal, the main reason being the extra 56 days of annual rest days that a benevolent Government ensures for its citizens by sponsored holidays, called bandhs. Some nasty people call them names for doing this. I disagree, as do many learned people like Mr. Karat. The Government wants the people to get rest, breath room air, and have normal domestic fights so that they don’t get carried away in the modern fashion of mindless escape from poverty, ill health and other spiritually empowering experiences. Bandhs also give these overworked people the time to procreate while the kids play street cricket, an important way for India to compete in the coming years with China.
Lord, I hereby recommend reservation of a section of heaven for these wonderful humans called Leftists! The materialistic, modern reformists can go to Hell!
Surprisingly, nobody wanted to live in Chennai. It seems it is unsafe for young people who hope to get kissed at least once in a lifetime. This immoral section of our misguided youth doesn’t realize how bad, demeaning and unhealthy kissing is. Ask the Tamil Nadu cops, they’ll tell you it’s okay to kiss only if the recipient is in Government and the anatomical site chosen for the act is way behind sight. So there!
Some boys wanted to shave their heads and anchor TV programs, attacking all the evil sections of society, like doctors, mothers-in-law, maids, etc. They unanimously said they wanted to establish their opinions without bearing the conventional burden of truth. They claim inspiration from none other than Einstein, who reputedly said, “If the facts don’t fit the theory, change the facts”!
What an admirable country your children are going to create, O Great One! I can then truly say, ‘Mera Bharat Mahaan’!
And, Lord, a place in Heaven for all head-shaved TV anchors, please?!”