By Eulalee Thompson, Staff Reporter RETIRED SURGEON Dr. Dilip Raje's moving, personal account of his diagnosis with leukaemia (a malignant blood disease) and his subsequent journey to remission,
put a soft, 'human face' on the public image of surgeons as cold, clinical and detached.
Dr. Raje, a former Dean of the Faculty of Medicine, University of the West Indies, now a consultant in palliative medicine, said that his interfacing with the health system from the hospital bed as a patient has given him an immensely different perspective compared to his interacting with the medical system as a surgeon. He spoke of members of the medical team who made insensitive remarks and of not even being asked to sign the required documents before some of his treatment protocol started.
Presenting the Annual Sir Harry Annamunthodo Lecture, last weekend at the 47th annual clinical conference of the Association of Surgeons in Jamaica, held at the Jamaica Pegasus Hotel, New Kingston, he said that the painful journey with leukaemia, a potentially fatal disease, started with preparations to say goodbye making financial arrangements, a will, passing on the power of attorney to other family members and making end-of-life decisions (resuscitation, live as a vegetable).
Then, he spoke of the stage of 'handing his body over' to medicine chemotherapy, blood transfusions. The chemotherapy, Dr. Raje described as 'chemical and cellular war', accompanied by lethal antibiotics to protect him against the superbugs to which his weakened immune system had become more susceptible.
The terror of decreased white blood cells, as the disease
progressed, saw Dr. Raje becoming vulnerable to scores of other illnesses diarrhoea and vomiting, dehydration, malnutrition and a tremendous loss of weight and weakness (cachexia). It was time to come face-to-face with impending death as even more complication of the disease surfaced the septicaemia, low levels of electrolytes (sodium and potassium) in the blood, bizarre neurological symptoms, fluctuation in consciousness and dangerously low blood count.
As a patient, Dr. Raje felt socially isolated no visitors, no gifts. From his dreary hospital bed, with thoughts of his own mortality, he saw no trees, no pets, no birds. He had only flashes of memories.
"Everyone was saying good bye to me at the end of the shift as if they didn't expect to see me the next day," he told fellow surgeons and other health professionals gathered in the conference hall.
But then, there was a new dawn, the cancer went into remission, and his blood count became normal. He soon went home, though now walking with a stick. He lives for each day, decluttering his life and appreciating and finding new facets in relationships.
He went close to the end, was standing on the brink, the very tip,
looking over, but now he is alive to tell the tale.
"Life in remission is less complicated, more focused goals and more enjoyment of life," he said.
And now Dr. Raje says that living with cancer means no procrastination, no long term plans. Many friends have dropped off, too afraid to call. It also means no insurance, limited options for job appointments, and still living in fear of a recurrence.
