Doctor, Referral, or Commission ? A Journey I Never Forgot, 1996

✒️ :. Syed Majid Gilani

In the mid-1990s, advanced medical facilities were limited in Jammu and Kashmir, and patients often had to travel long distances in search of diagnosis and relief. One such journey, undertaken by my family in 1996, remains etched in my memory even today.

That year, my father, Syed Iftikhar Gilani, then in his mid-forties, began suffering from a continuous dull, aching pain in his back and leg. Initially, We assumed it was ordinary fatigue, the result of long office hours and routine strain.

But gradually, the pain worsened and began disturbing his daily routine and sleep.
We consulted several orthopaedic surgeons and neurosurgeons, both in government hospitals and private clinics.

Each doctor examined him, studied his X-rays, and prescribed painkillers and gels. The medicines provided temporary relief, but as soon as they were stopped, the pain returned, often more severe than before.

Those were different times. MRI, which is now commonly available, was not accessible in Jammu and Kashmir then. Doctors largely depended on X-rays, which sometimes fail to detect nerve-related or soft-tissue problems.
Finally, one kind and thoughtful doctor advised us to travel to Amritsar for an MRI.

I, along with my mamaji, took my papa on this long journey. We left Srinagar early in the morning, reached Jammu late in the evening, stayed there for a few hours, and resumed our journey late at night. The next day, tired but hopeful, we finally reached Amritsar.

After some effort, we located the private hospital. Thankfully, we were given the same-day appointment, a great relief after such a long and tiring journey.

The MRI was conducted with great care by a humble doctor, with keen attention to perfection. and later we were called to the reception desk on the ground floor. We were handed over the MRI films and the report and informed that the fee for the test was Rs. 5000.

In 1996, Rs. 5000 was a significant amount. But when it comes to the health of a loved one, financial concerns naturally take a back seat, and we paid the amount without hesitation.

While preparing the bill, the receptionist asked which doctor from Srinagar had referred us. We mentioned one reputed doctor. However, she pointed out that the prescription shown earlier belonged to another doctor from the Valley.

We explained honestly that we had consulted both doctors, and both had recommended the same MRI centre. We were carrying prescriptions from both.

The staff appeared confused and again asked who had referred us first. My father calmly replied that we were only interested in the report and, if necessary, both names could be mentioned in the report.

Then, quite candidly, the receptionist explained that the direct rate for the MRI was Rs. 3500. However, when patients were referred, the charge was Rs. 5000, and a portion of Rs. 1500 was accounted for in relation to referrals, maintained through monthly records and credited to referring doctors.

In our case, she said, they were unsure about whose record to reflect, since we had mentioned two doctors.

We stood there quietly.
For us, the journey had been about pain, diagnosis, and relief. The conversation, however, introduced us to a dimension of healthcare that we had never thought about before. We collected the report and left.

Alhamdulillah, the MRI revealed only a minor nerve compression. My father later received treatment back home and gradually recovered.
But the experience stayed with me.

Medicine undoubtedly remains one of the noblest professions. Society is fortunate to have many sincere, compassionate, and God-fearing doctors who serve patients with honesty and dedication. Their contribution is invaluable.

At the same time, experiences like this gently remind us that healthcare, like many fields, sometimes operates within commercial frameworks as well. Such instances, though not universal, leave patients reflecting on the delicate balance between professional service and financial considerations.

That journey in 1996, undertaken in search of relief, not only brought us a diagnosis but also left behind a quiet reflection, one that continues to stay with me even today.

Sometimes, a journey for healing also becomes a journey of understanding.

Syed Majid Gilani is a government officer, storyteller, and freelance writer from Srinagar. He writes on family values, relationships, and real-life experiences.
He can be reached at: syedmajid6676@gmail.com