Trigger warning: Not an article for those who have visceral reactions to the mention of medical terms, body parts or weird smells.
Many years ago, I did a rectal exam on a patient who was admitted with rectal bleeding. Later his nurse told me that the patient said, " Thank God she has tiny fingers."
" That's a plus point of being tiny," I replied with a laugh.
But it triggered a memory from the time I had graduated high school. My tiny fingers stood between me and my musical aspirations.
I wanted to learn the violin. My music teacher, a professional violinist said no. Your fingers are too small.
What about a piano, I asked.
Do you have a piano with at least three octaves, he asked me?
No.
I was downcast. I had barely convinced my dad to allow me to learn music. He would not pay up for a piano. Not because he could not afford it, but because he believed that spending money on anything other than books and food was a waste of money.
So my music teacher and I settled on the guitar. After learning the guitar for five years, my teacher wanted me to learn a second instrument. The violin, he said.
I looked at my fingers in amazement. Did they grow longer at 23 years of age?
I reminded him of his concerns five years ago. He was wishy washy. Or maybe it was a memory issue.
Either way, I moved to a different city for more medical training. And that was the end of music lessons. Later my teacher died of sudden liver failure.
Fast forward a quarter of a century later, I take care of patients with cancer including rectal cancer.
There is a saying where I come from ( Kerala, India) : " A good doctor's touch can heal many a wound".
When some of my patients achieved what we call a complete pathological response ( no cancer found at the time of surgery after receiving chemo or radiation or both), I told my nurse, " It must be the touch of the tiny fingers".
She laughed out loud.
