When Compassion Meets Commerce

 A Lesson Beyond Medicine

Disclaimer:

This article is based on a true personal experience meant to highlight the importance of empathy and understanding in the medical profession. It does not intend to defame or generalize any individual or institution.

Every Profession Has Two Sides

Every profession carries its own strengths and weaknesses. It’s up to us how we perceive and practice it. Some sellers earn well by selling 100 products, while others sell just one and earn even more — it all depends on the nature of the job and the value of the service.

Similarly, in the medical field, a general practitioner might earn less than a specialist, yet both play vital roles in the system.

There are broadly two categories of people in this world — “How People” and “Why People.”

How People know how to do a job. They are the skilled experts — doctors, advocates, teachers, engineers, and other professionals.

Why People know why to do a job. They are the visionaries — entrepreneurs, industrialists, and business leaders.

Interestingly, “why people” often earn more than “how people.” When a doctor moves from the “how” to the “why” mindset, he or she opens a hospital, recruits other doctors, and begins to manage systems rather than serve within them.

This shift has led to the medical sector becoming a large-scale industry — sometimes prioritizing numbers over quality, especially in overburdened government setups where limited capacity meets unlimited demand. The result is compromised care, and ultimately, the cost is borne by the common taxpayers.

A True Story from My Life

Around twelve years ago, my maternal grandmother (Nani), who lived a long and graceful life till the age of 96, was admitted to a small private hospital.

The attending doctor, a North Indian by origin, diagnosed her and started saline. Later, he called his colleague — a general surgeon from another hospital — for consultation.

The visiting surgeon came, spent barely two minutes with my Nani, and then wrote a report declaring the case critical. He suggested an immediate transfer to his nursing home, citing possible kidney failure and estimating an expense of ₹1.5 lakh.

We were anxious — a typical middle-class family caught between fear and faith. But something didn’t sit right with me.

When I went to see my Nani, she said softly, “Mujhe yahaan se le chalo, mera yahaan dam ghut raha hai!” (Take me home; I feel suffocated here!)

Her report mentioned, “Patient not responding.”

Curious, I asked her what the doctor had asked. She said, “He spoke in some language I didn’t understand.”

That was the turning point. The surgeon had spoken in Bhojpuri, while my Nani didn’t know the language. Her silence was mistaken for “non-responsiveness.”

I confronted the first doctor calmly, saying, “My Nani is fine; she just couldn’t understand the language. We don’t need further treatment.”

After discussing with my uncles and consulting a family doctor, we decided to take her home. I carried my Nani — light as ever — to an auto-rickshaw, and we brought her back safely.

She lived happily for ten more years after that day.

A Reflection

That incident taught me something priceless — not all white coats shine with humanity, and not every diagnosis is divine truth.

Faith is good, but blind faith is dangerous. A patient is not just a case number; they are a human being who needs empathy, understanding, and respect.

In the end, medicine is not just about curing diseases — it’s about preserving dignity.

Final Thought

In every profession, whether it’s teaching, law, or medicine — humanity should always outweigh materialism.

After all, the truest healing happens when compassion meets competence.

Thanks for reading!

If you liked the blog, please share it with your contacts — let’s spread awareness for a social cause.

Have you ever come across a similar incident?

I’d love to hear your experience in the comments below.

Regards,

Rakesh Kushwaha

Educator | Writer | Founder – Mathivation HUB