By Dr. G. Govindaraj Vardhanan
“I believe that healing is more than curing the body. It’s about restoring the spirit and removing the ignorance. That’s why I decided to share these moments — so that someone, somewhere, might find truth and gets saved. Might find the Truth that sets them free.”
“Welcome to my Doctor’s Diary.”
It was a warm evening in Kanchipuram. The sun had dipped low behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the narrow street that led to my small clinic. I had just finished my rounds for the day, but my work wasn’t over — not really. This little clinic wasn’t part of my government duty. It was something I did out of choice… or perhaps, something I had to do.
You see, my father had died of cancer. That loss wasn’t just personal — it shaped everything I did. It stirred something deep inside me. So when I started practicing after completing my M.Ch in Surgical Oncology, I knew I wanted to give back. The clinic was free. No bills, no expectations. Just a small space for those who had nowhere else to turn.
That evening, a man walked in. He looked older than his age, worn down not just by disease, but by despair. His mouth was swollen — the unmistakable signs of oral cancer. I could smell the remnants of pan masala even before he spoke. He had already gone through radiation, but the tumor hadn’t gone. Now, the pain had spread — to his jaw, his head, his very being.
He barely spoke. I did most of the talking.
I gave him a tablet — a strong painkiller. I knew it would help him, at least for the night. And then I gently explained, “This won’t cure you. It’ll just ease the pain for now. But if you’re willing, surgery could give you a real chance.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t even respond. Just nodded faintly, took the medicine, and left.
I didn’t expect to see him again.
But a week later, there he was — standing at my door. He looked more composed this time. “I want to go ahead with the surgery,” he said.
I was surprised. What had changed? Still, I didn’t question it. We arranged for the procedure in Chennai, and the surgery went well. Clean margins. A difficult but successful operation.
Then, just like that, he disappeared.
No calls. No follow-ups. Nothing.
Seven years passed.
And then, one day, he returned. Same clinic. Same doctor. But this time, he came with a calmness that only those who’ve lived through fire can carry.
He sat down quietly, looked at me, and said, “Doctor, do you remember me?”
I did. Vaguely. Then he said something I’ll never forget.
“The day I first came to see you,” he began, “I had a bottle of poison in my pocket. I had bought it that morning. The pain… it had broken me. I was ready to end it all. But something inside me said, ‘Just see a doctor once.’ That’s why I walked into your clinic.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
He continued, “The medicine you gave me… and the way you looked at me, spoke to me… it gave me something I hadn’t felt in months — hope. That night, I didn’t take the poison. I took the tablet. And I slept. The next morning, I woke up thinking… maybe it’s not over yet.”
That moment changed something in me.
We often think of medicine in terms of treatment protocols, surgeries, and reports. But in that one encounter, I learned something no textbook ever taught me: Sometimes, it’s the human connection that heals before the medicine ever does.
He told me later that he had no idea pan masala could cause cancer. No one had ever told him. He had chewed it for years, like so many others around him. There was no warning label strong enough. No public message loud enough. Just silence — until it was too late.
Since then, I’ve met many more like him. Different faces, same story. And every time, I’m reminded:
The real enemy isn’t just cancer. It’s ignorance.
Why I’m telling this story:
This man — this one patient — was the first case I operated on after becoming a cancer surgeon. But in truth, he became my teacher.
He taught me the power of empathy. The urgency of awareness. And the responsibility we carry as doctors, not just to treat, but to listen. To meet pain not with prescriptions alone, but with presence.
At Harshamitra, this is what we believe in. We don’t want to wait until someone walks in with poison in their pocket. We want to be the reason they never even think of it.
Because every life matters. Every story matters.
And sometimes… hope begins with a simple conversation, a single tablet, and someone who cares.
And this is my Doctor’s Diary.
— Dr. G. Govindaraj Vardhanan
Surgical Oncologist.
