|
|
 |
DR SHARADKUMAR DICKSHEET
The Saint of Smiles
Bound to the wheelchair, his right side paralysed, his heart capacity at a mere 17 per cent, and suffering from terminal cancer of the larynx, Doctor Sharadkumar Dicksheet performs 50 to 70 operations a day for the disfigured poor of India.
It is amazing, almost surreal. Plastic surgeon Dr Sharadkumar Dicksheet cannot take three steps without a walking stick, can barely speak and has problems breathing. Yet, Dr Dicksheet has performed over 57,000 free reconstructive surgeries to correct cleft lips, cleft palates, facial scars, droopy eyelids and squints since 1968.
 | | Dr Dicksheet operating on a young patient |
"I do right side surgeries with my right hand and use the left hand for the other side," says the ambidextrous doctor. Dr Dicksheet uses a basic plastic surgery technique called Millard, but somehow cuts the time unbelievably short - just half an hour.
"The operation theatre is my temple," says Dr Dicksheet, "and I see God in my patients. Each time I come to India for camps it is a pilgrimage. I have been doing this for 33 years now." The 71-year-old surgeon spends five months every year in India in 30 camps organised across the country, giving poor disfigured patients a new face and new hope.
Five-time nominee for the Nobel Peace Prize - he was last nominated in 2001 - and honoured in India for his work with the Padma Shri, the doctor shuns the fanfaronade. "I don't like the celebrity status," says the Samaritan. "These awards mean nothing to me unless they are accompanied with a significant amount of money to help my cause. The prize money of the Nobel ($1 million) can be used to expand the camps."
 | | Dr Dicksheet with his young patients |
At the time of this interview in December, Dr Dicksheet had flown briefly from India to Columbus, Ohio, where he won the world's only international award for child advocacy. The $100,000 Kellogg's Hannah Neil World of Children Award, presented to him by boxing great Muhammad Ali along with Kellogg chairman and CEO Carlos Gutierrez, will also go towards his India Project, Dr Dicksheet said.
Dr Dicksheet had a successful plastic surgery practice in Fairbanks, Alaska, when a car accident in 1978 left the right side of his body paralysed. The accident cost him his job. However, he made good the loss by winning three cosmetic surgery fellowships in Mexico, New York and Switzerland. Then he taught at King's County Hospital in Brooklyn, New York.
Four years later, just when his recovery was complete, he was diagnosed with cancer of the larynx and lost his voice. "I used to sing every evening," says Dr Dicksheet. "Jagmohan was my favourite. The worst thing about laryngectomy was not being able to sing."
He then learnt oesophagal speech using the food pipe, inhaling and exhaling air to modulate. Since there is no connection between his nose and lungs, he breathes through his neck. A small metal tube in his throat keeps the food pipe open. The opening in the neck is covered with a special cloth that filters dust. In warm weather, like he experiences in India, he finds it very hard to breathe.
In 1988, Dr Dicksheet had a heart attack in the US, followed by a massive one in Ahmedabad in 1994. He was flown back to New York for a triple bypass surgery.
A decade ago, Dr Dicksheet formed a $1.5 million trust with his life insurance for which he pays $45,000 a year. When invested, the money will fetch more than $100,000 a year. Part of it will go for research and part to fund the expenses of plastic surgeons visiting the camps. It should help others carry on his work after his lifetime, along with five other trusts he has formed in India.
"The camps have been successful for 25 years," he says, "and I hope they will continue forever." Dr Dicksheet has used up almost all his other savings on his mission. He has been spending $50,000 every year on needles, sutures, anaesthetics and other surgical materials. The sutures are the most expensive part of the camps. "I used to keep thinking I'm going to die," he says, "so I spent all my money!" Mercifully, the camps now have moneyed sponsors.
"If a poor man is born with a deformity, he is scarred for life," says Dr Dicksheet, who lives in a high-rise apartment complex in Brooklyn, New York. "He can't afford Rs 25,000 for the surgery. As a result he can't get a job, he can't get married, and he loses his confidence. All it takes is a donation of $150 to take care of a deformed child in India, yet there are so few willing to help."
 | | Dr Dicksheet in his operation theatre |
Two million babies are born with facial defects in India every year. There is a long line of patients who wait outside the camps overnight for the surgeon whom they revere as God. Hundreds of patients are screened in two hours, and most of the chosen ones are children aged 18 months to 11 years.
Dr Dicksheet works non-stop with just a brief break for the nurses to have lunch. His lunch is a glass of milk and a banana. He does not even drink water while in the operation theatre. "I don't want to waste time going to the toilet," he says.
There have been no surgical complications or loss of life in the camps over the three decades. "Most complications in surgery are due to blood loss," he says. "While cutting, the nurse and I squeeze the area so there is very little bleeding." Meticulous, he brings the blades and dissolving sutures from the US and does everything himself: cutting, suturing and cleaning. There is no scope for error.
Dr Dicksheet grew up under Mahatma Gandhi's shadow in Wardha, Maharashtra. Says Dr Dicksheet: "Gandhiji's message was that real service to God is service to humanity. This is real religion for me. We have to recognise the godly spirit in others."
After graduating from Raddock High School (renamed Mahatma Gandhi School) in the year of Independence, Dr Dicksheet went to college in Nagpur. "I wanted to do medicine because doctors were respected and well-dressed," he says. "They also made good money."
After medical graduation from Nizam's College, Hyderabad in 1956, he had a six-month stint in the Railways. Then he passed the Army Medical Corps exam and also found himself among 50 Indian doctors who qualified for internships offered by the American Medical Association in hospitals across the United States. "I was told I would not be allowed to travel abroad during my commission in the army," says Dr Dicksheet. "So I deliberately flunked my medical tests!"
To raise Rs 6,000 to travel to the US, he took up a new job, saved Rs 5,000, borrowed the balance from a friend's father-in-law, and left for Wisconsin in 1958. He did a four-year surgery course in Grace Hospital near Detroit, and then specialised in plastic surgery. "It is very creative," he says. "You can see the results right away." He easily got a job in a Detroit clinic at $40,000 per annum.
 | A desperate mother with her disfigured child
at the camp |
In 1968, he participated in his first plastic surgery camp, organised by the Lions Club of Worli, Mumbai. That marked the beginning of his annual 'pilgrimages' to India, which never stopped despite major setbacks in his health.
For many years, Dr Dicksheet was the only plastic surgeon at the camps. Then he inspired other US surgeons to volunteer their services and paid their air fares. After he formed the 'India Project' with the Plastic Surgery Educational Foundation, plastic surgeons from America have been flying in for two-week stints at the camps at their own expense.
For the past eight years, American plastic surgeons have been accompanying Dr Dicksheet on his mission to India. The camps are operational throughout India from October to March each year. Camps are held in the poorest regions of India in Karnataka, Maharashtra, Gujarat, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Delhi, Madhya Pradesh, Andhra Pradesh, West Bengal and Assam.
In Brooklyn, Dr Dicksheet lives with memories of two broken marriages. He lives alone in a 17th floor apartment, does a 15-minute puja in the morning, washes his clothes himself, and cooks his own food. He does all his chores sitting down, and uses the wall as support to walk around. He writes articles for medical journals, corresponds with coordinators of the next camps in India, and listens to music, wishing he could sing again.
It is an amazing lifestyle for a man who suffers from so much pain himself. But then, jokes Dicksheet: "Ever since 1982 doctors had been telling me I was going to die soon!"
Undeniably, the good doctor is on notice. But he also takes all precautions to ensure there is only minimum stress on his heart. With every meal he has a bowl full of pills too and continues to live this extraordinary life in the shadow of death.
This profile was authored by Rupali Arora and first appeared in the magazine NRIworld.
|
|
