Mohit entered his father’s clinic after several months. This was the room, his father, Dr. Varma, used before his demise. It was the era before computers, and his prescription pad and pen were still kept on the table. A garlanded picture of his Dad adorned the wall behind the chair. Dr. Varma was known for his social service and charitable bent of mind, as much for his diagnostic brilliance.
Mohit had built a state-of-the-art hospital, with all modern facilities. He just could not give up the set of values, which he had imbibed from his father. He did not allow malpractices in the hospital. He refused to refer patients to the diagnostic labs, for investigations they did not need. The poor and needy were treated free-of-cost, and he had to cough up the specialist’s fee from his pocket. The doctors on the panel gradually quit, and revenue took a downward turn.
The administrator had issued an ultimatum, “We are running a business, not a charity. I am afraid we cannot continue for more than two months.”
The hospital had to be put up for sale. Mohit was back to his father’s clinic, to continue his practice in the years ahead.
Inspired by Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner