Silent majority

At first, the villain of the piece appeared to be L-5 S-1. L-5 S-1 is a disc in Bunny''s spinal column which had developed a small rupture. As a result, L-5 S-1 had moved millimetrically sideways, pressing down on the sciatic nerve and causing the acute pain in Bunny''s left leg which had caused us to seek the advice of an Expert. The Expert — an orthopaedic surgeon of repute — ordered an MRI scan.He studied the results gravely. L-5 S-1, he announced like Javert unmasking Jean Valjean in Les Miserables. OK, so it was L-5 S-1; where did we go from there? I asked anxiously. Experts — being Experts on subjects about which I know zip — automatically raise my anxiety levels. The Expert prescribed a course of steroids, and the wearing of a tight corset 24x7. There is a 70 per cent chance you won''t require spinal surgery, he said. Actually he didn''t use the term ‘spinal surgery'', frightening as that is; he used the colloquial and far more terrifying phrase ‘be put under the knife''. To drive home his point, he showed Bunny some really gruesome pictures of people with advanced bone disease. The implication was clear: You treat every word I say as Scripture, unless you want to end up like this.
It was a thunderbolt from the blue. Go in to check out a pain, probably caused by a strained muscle, and be told there was a 30 per cent chance you might have to face spinal surgery — be put under the knife — in 12 days'' time. With the help of friends, we sought a second and then a third opinion. Both doctors — also experts, but without the intimidatory capital E — immediately and unequivocally ruled out surgery or any other form of invasive procedure. They also told Bunny to throw away the corset. A regimen of pain killers, rest and self-administered physiotherapy by way of gentle exercise and she''d be right as rain, L-5 S-1 notwithstanding. Bunny and I felt an enormous sense of relief. But this column is not about L-5 S-1 or Bunny''s medical problem, which turned out to be not so much a medical problem after all, but a moral, or ethical, one. For when we recounted the story to people, almost all of them said that we should do something to warn an unsuspecting public about the questionable prognosis and frightening remedy suggested by the Expert. It mightn''t be malpractice, but scaring the wits out of patients through patently alarmist diagnoses wasn''t kosher either according to the Hippocratic oath. Particularly, as in this case, the Expert seemed to have done this with several other patients we knew. But I was reluctant to blow the whistle on the man. Not because I didn''t think he deserved it. He did, and does, deserve it. But let someone else do it. Why me? Why should I take the onus and probably get into a messy situation of allegations and counter-allegations and general hassle. Nah. I don''t have time for any of that. Let someone else do it. Why me? Let someone else do it. Seven words which go a long way to explain why things are in such a godawful mess all around us.
Many millions in this country are voiceless against injustice and oppression. But even the privilegentsia, to which I belong, is fearful of speaking out against the misuse of authority or power of any sort: a rogue cop; a bent income tax officer who wants a bribe (just pay the fellow and be done with it; you don''t want to make an enemy of him); a political leader with a criminal record; a corrupt municipal official; the goons sexually harassing a young woman on the street. I know it''s wrong. But why should it be me to set it right. Let someone else do it.
So the real villain in this piece wasn''t Bunny''s L-5 S-1 after all. It was my vocal chords which failed to speak up when they ought to have. Confirming my membership, if confirmation were needed, of the silent majority.