By Dr. George Jacob
Kochi, June 25, 2024: National Doctors’ Day is celebrated to recognize the contributions of doctors to communities and individual lives. The day is observed on different days in different nations.
In India, the Doctors’ Day is observed on July 1 in memory of Doctor Bidhan Chandra Roy, physician and first chief minister of West Bengal. He was born on July 1, 1882, and died on the same date in 1962.
Personally, this year’s Doctor’s Day will dawn with a sense of great loss. It is only a few days back that one of my favorite teachers in Government Medical College, Kottayam. passed away.
To a doctor, nothing can be more melancholic than the loss of a teacher, who had selflessly, and with sincere dedication, love and palpable sense of caring lent their shoulders to their students to perch on, to give them a better understanding of the subject. To later progress through the demanding profession. To serve humanity by caring for the ailing.
Doctor Jacob P Thomas, JPT Sir to his students who adored him, had broad shoulders, being a man of considerable build. The big man always embellished his imposing physique with omnipresent mirth, ranging from a gentle smile to peals of laughter. Surgeons are known for their joie de vivre, lightheartedness and more relaxed demeanor, unlike their physician counterparts, who are more bookwormish, preferring to reside within the leaves of their Bible – ‘Harrisons Principles of Internal Medicine’. For some reason, the moment surgeons don the professorial garb, they tend to be more intense, purse-lipped and kind of ‘walled off’.
Probably brought about by the intensity of their strenuous trade, and the pressures of having to walk the talk before their impressionable young students. But JPT Sir, the burly teacher with curly hair and a luxuriant moustache, would have none of that. He wore his gentle firmness, effusive exuberance, and cheerfulness on his sleeves, which endeared him to his students.
Though JPT Sir had taught me as lecturer during MBBS, my rapport and familiarity with him abounded as a postgraduate student in Surgery. He was more a big brother (pun certainly intended), to me personally than a teacher. As the person responsible for patients requiring surgical intervention, while on duty in the Emergency, JPT Sir never shied away from instilling confidence and necessary skill into hesitant fingers of beginners that held the forceps and scalpel. To mould fine surgeons out of ‘raw material’.
At rounds, he taught us the art of dealing with the suffering gently. If possible with a smile. Surgical patients had painful wounds and sores to be tended.
His presence in examination halls during surgery practical exams- personification of ‘pressure-cooker atmosphere’ was always a stress-buster for highly-strung examinees. He would literarily roll about the hall, reassuring candidates with his trademark smile, and a gentle tap on the shoulders.
His presence in various surgical units gave us students something to look forward to. When the professor would pose questions to students during case presentations, JPT Sir would shake with laughter, with a silencer attached, of course, when not-so-brilliant students like me would squirm and fidget inside the white coat with nervousness before the professor’s questions, which demanded smart answers.
Serving to relieve the tense moments in the room. He would come up later, during rounds (he had a rapid gait despite his build) after the teaching session, put his heavy hands around our shoulders and ensure our ignorance on the subject lay buried.
With him around, there never was a dull moment as students. It was a practice to wind up daily rounds with a coffee session at the Indian Coffee House within the campus. It was unwritten rule and propriety that the most senior in the group would pay the bill. But the senior in our unit had the uncanny habit of glancing through the newspaper as the bill arrived, which would send JPT Sir into roars of laughter, until he would have to retrieve his wallet out himself to do the honors!
Rest in peace, JPT Sir. Thanks for putting your big heart to good use by molding us into surgeons who are technically competent, gentle and sensitive to the ailing, and, more importantly, into good human beings who wouldn’t consider it inappropriate to break into laughter at funny moments which an otherwise busy and stressful profession throws up occasionally.