“Doctor saab, my child got a bruise on his knee. It’s bleeding heavily. Help, please.”
“Hmm, blood is very precious. We cannot permit its loss,” said the #surgeon. Nobody was sure if he owned a medical degree. However, his ancestor had been a great surgeon once upon a time. He spent plenty of his earnings to ensure that the young surgeon’s face was splashed upon pamphlets and trumpeted through handouts as the upcoming Messiah.
The village people were #innocent, #trusting and #hopeful. So they trusted and hoped.
“Stop the blood gushing out, Dr.” pleaded the mother.
Dr. De Mon nodded his head gravely, “The cut is a serious issue. My engineer friend has patented a new medicine called #Thromboplastani. It blocks the vessels and stops bleeding.”
“Arr… it failed in the last seven attempts,” intruded his compounder. The surgeon silenced him with a murderous look.
“Hurry, Doctor. Apply it over the cut,” said the mother.
The surgeon threw apart his arms. “No, no. Not over the cut – that would only work locally upon the bruise. This emergency requires a major remedy. Something #revolutionary, something that’ll ensure my name imprinted forever upon medical #history. So – I’m going to insert Thromboplastani directly into the Aorta.”
“He’s a genius!” whispered the boy’s liver.
“What the hell?” snapped the boy’s brain. “Aorta is the main artery. Its branches supply blood every organ of the body. How can he block the aorta?”
“Shush!” hissed the kidney at the brain. “You overbearing snob. Are you the only one having clarity and sense? We do too. We agree with the surgeon.”
“So do we,” the intestine twisted in shy coils.
The surgeon pierced the aorta with a fine, long catheter and injected the new medicine. What a miracle! The cut on the knee slowed down!
The mother grasped the surgeon’s gloved hand and shed tears upon his apron. The surgeon’s ancestor beckoned the village reporter and told him to splash news of the successful surgery.
Meanwhile, the heart gasped, “What’s wrong? My energy is all sapped.”
The lungs wheezed, “Can’t breathe. Help.”
“Tolerate it for half an hour, can’t you?” chided the kidney in disdain.
“No, we can’t. Abort, abort.” wheezed the brain, heart and lungs as their vital blood supply was cut off.
“Ignore. They’re all selfish to the core. They live in the North, in the supra-diaphragmatic zone. They think we living down south are too LS.” denounced the toe. It tried to wiggle itself in anger, but instead found itself turning blue and bloated.
“Hey, Heart. Send us more blood, yaar. We are choking,” spluttered both kidneys together. The heart didn’t respond.
“What is that flat line on the machine?” the mother asked anxiously. “Why is his leg turning black?”
“No sweat,” said the surgeon with confidence. “Collateral damage. The main thing is that the bleeding slowed.”
He dialed his friend. “Thromboplastani is a roaring success. You own the patency, right? We’ll do 50:50 partnership on its sales. Let’s publish our findings in international journals. Here, jot it down.
Efficacy rate – 80%.
Minor #sideeffects – Coma, gangrene, heart failure, renal shutdown etc etc etc.”