Perils of Being a Medical Doctor

Ohan Tabakian, M.D.

Ohan Tabakian, M.D., currently resides in Montreal, Canada. In 1962, he taught chemistry to our graduating class from Sourp Nshan Armenian middle school. He was a student at the St. Joseph University Medical School in Lebanon (French: Université Saint-Joseph de Beyrouth). The attached is my abridged translation of a segment from his book titled “Moments Lived in a Doctor’s Life - «Բժիշկին Կեանքէն Ապրուած Պահեր».

1962 Sourp Nshan Graduating Class. Starred Dr. Ohan Tabakian and I.

I received my medical diploma in 1964 from the French University of Beirut. But it became impossible for me to find employment as a medical doctor in Lebanon because I was a Syrian national.  I had two options, either to find a way for securing a Lebanese citizenship or emigrating elsewhere.

I was in the midst of contemplating my choice when, to my great surprise and joy, the medical director of the Islamic charitable Al Makased Hospital made an exception and offered me a staff position as a medical doctor. During the years I had forged a special friendship with him. Every week we used to play backgamon in his house.

It was almost impossible to secure a Lebanese citizenship then. Two months after my employment a new government came about and my friend was appointed the internal minister of the country while continuing to retain his position as the medical director of the Al Makassed General Hospital.

One morning, the two of us were taking a leisure walk in the hospital’s garden. He was in a very jubilant mood that day. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked me: “Ohan, what do you desire the most?” Immediately I asked him if he could secure a Lebanese citizenship for me. He thought for a moment and told me that he was having a meeting that evening with the speaker of the parliament and he would raise the issue with him and will let me know the prospects for granting me a Lebanese citizenship.

The next morning he called me to his office and asked me to immediately provide him two passport size pictures. When I asked him why? He said in a few days you would become a Lebanese. My joy knew no bound. I was being offered a rescue raft I desperately needed. I state without hesitation that I truly started practicing my profession the day I received my Lebanese citizenship because I did not have to work under the supervision of another doctor any longer as I could legally render on record my medical diagnosis as a Lebanese practicing physician. Much like the rest of the medical doctors henceforth I took regular turns to be in charge of admissions and emergency medical care. But, it turned out that I was not sufficiently familiar with the prevailing social norms of those who attended the charitable medical center. Naturally I knew that middle easterners tend to be more emotional than westerners, but I had not realized that aspect could be so much pronounced in some.

One evening I was in charge in the hospital and was by myself. The head nurse came and asked me to accompany her to a room and officiate the death of one of the cancer patients who had just died. A day before the patient had undergone surgery. The deceased patient’s brother was at the door. He appeared to be around 50 years old and was wearing the customary robe of a Bedouin Arab with turban headwear. As soon as I entered the room the head nurse left. After ruling on his death, I approached the brother who was anxiously waiting to hear the status of his brother. His brother’s young son was next to him. With a sympathetic voice I attempted to explain to him that the cancer was too advanced and every effort was made to save his brother’s life but it was of no avail...

- “You mean to tell me that my brother died?” He asked.

I had hardly nodded in affirmation when I received a hard blow to my face that shattered my eyeglasses into many pieces. The bluish bruises and the swelling around my eyes remained for the next several weeks. Fortunately my eyes were spared. It was obvious that the experienced head nurse had left the room immediately to avoid the possibility. She later told me that it was customary to keep a safe distance whenever breaking such news to the family members of the patients.

The ever emotional middle easterners, who may engage in such acts at moments of high distress, also possesses a tender and a forgiving heart, gentleness and modesty. Two days after the incident the deceased patient’s brother, wearing the same dress, and the same turban headwear brought me a large box of sweets and apologized almost in tears. We sat at a table in the dining area. He told me that he was separated from his wife and had ruled out marrying again. Instead he had adopted his ailing brother’s family as his own and that he loved his nephew like a son. He then placed a golden medal necklace on my neck. When I told him that was not necessary, he seemed to be offended by my objection. I could not insist on my refusal,  “I will always remember my brother”, he said, as he took leave from me;  “ for me his death is merely an absence", he said. He apologized again and left like a person who has made amends for the wrong he had done and feels relieved.

Hardly a month had passed since that incident, I was tasked again to break the news of the death of one of our patients to his son. This time around I kept myself an arm’s length away as I broke the news to him. The young man was standing close to the window. As soon as he heard the news, he punched the window not only shattering the glass but also seriously injuring his hand we had to take him to the emergency room and take care of his wounds.

One day I was in charge of the emergency room when suddenly we heard shouting at the door and saw a man carrying his wife, who appeared to be lifeless, rushing into the emergency room and all the while cursing the Armenians. It turned out that his wife had reacted to a penicillin shot that was administered to her by the neighborhood pharmacist who was an Armenian. Upon the injection the lady had experienced an anaphylactic shock and had fallen on the ground senseless. The man was crying as he was recounting the happening while also continuing to curse the Armenians. Immediately I internvened and fortunately for all, and especially to me, I started detecting her pulse and her blood pressure started increasing and gradually she opened her eyes and started moving. Her husband obviously was ecstatic, but I also was happy no less. He was constantly thanking me, while continuing to curse the Armenians, when one of the nurses appeared to have murmured to his ear that the doctor who saved his wife’s life is an Armenian. Suddenly the cursing stopped and he started apologizing to me for his anti Armenian rancor and approached me and kissed my forehead. He was a different person now. He appeared to look for words and gestures to make amends for his anti-Armenian rancor. When the time came to discharge her, I told him that it was not the fault of the pharmacist who had administered the injection at the dictate of the doctor’s prescription. The doctor should have been attentive and should have ascertained that the patient was not allergic to penicillin injection.

Such is life. At times, reason gives way to emotion during periods of grief and distress. Tragic moments erase, in otherwise reasonable and good-natured people, the power to reason and they vent their anger on those who are around them, but often realizing their misplaced anger and they revert to their affable, communicative, gentle selves.

My parents celebrating my graduation. Starred Dr. Ohan Tabakian