In Mumbai, One Surgery Is a Case. In Madagascar, It’s a Life
4 Days, 150 Surgeries, and a Notebook Full of Stories I Can’t Forget
In Mumbai, one hernia surgery is one case in my day.
In Madagascar, one hernia surgery is a man’s dignity, his family’s income, and his next 30 years.
We reached the hospital at 7:30 AM on Day 1. There was already a queue. Some had walked for two days. Some had slept on a mat outside the hospital gate with their families the night before.
One old man at the front, maybe 70 years old, had come from 200 km away. He didn’t push. He just folded his hands and said, “I’ve been waiting. 4 years. One more day is okay.”
That moment set the tone for the next 4 days. We weren’t just starting a camp. We were answering a wait.
We operated for 12 hours that day. We would do 150+ surgeries over the next 4 days with barely a few hours of sleep. But on the ground, it never felt like a number. It felt like 150 faces.
These are the moments I brought back with me.
The 8-Year-Old Translator
On Day 2, an elderly woman came in. No translator was free, everyone was running between OTs.
Her grandson stepped forward. He must have been 8.
He spoke a little French, a little Malagasy, and a little English he had learned in school. For the next 10 minutes, this 8-year-old became the most important person in our OT. He translated his grandmother’s history – where it hurts, since when, that she can’t lift water anymore.
When I told him to tell her that the surgery was successful and she would be fine, he translated it, and then hugged her so tightly.
In these villages, kids grow up fast. He wasn’t just her grandson. He was her caregiver, her voice, her support system. I won’t forget his face.
The Recovery Room Thumbs-Up Club
People think the magic happens in the OT. Half the magic happens in the recovery room.
We had 6 beds in one hall. All full, all the time. Patients who had never met each other before.
On Day 3 afternoon, I walked in for rounds. A young man who had just woken up from anesthesia, still groggy, looked around, saw five other people with bandages like him, and slowly raised his hand and gave a thumbs-up.
Within seconds, all five other hands went up. No one said a word. They were all smiling. They didn’t share a language, but they shared relief.
My colleague whispered, “Should we take a photo?” I said, “No. Let them have this moment.”
That was the most beautiful photo I never took.
The Farmer Who Asked About Work, Not Healing
We always tell patients after surgery – rest for a few weeks, don’t lift heavy weights.
On Day 3, I operated on a farmer in his 40s. Strong hands, sun-beaten skin. He had a large hernia that had stopped him from working fully for two years. His family was surviving on what his wife earned.
Two hours after surgery, during rounds, he asked me through the translator, “Doctor, when can I go back to the fields?”
Not – when will the pain go? Will it come back? When can I eat?
When can I work again.
I had to sit down and explain to him that if he rests for 3 weeks now, he can work for 30 years. He nodded and said, “My wife will be happy.”
For him, surgery wasn’t about health. It was about dignity. About being able to provide again.
The Last Patient
Day 4. 10:15 PM. We were on our last patient. We were physically drained but mentally we were not done. We wanted to operate on her.
She was a mother of three. She had been waiting since morning. She was scared, constantly looking at the door, worried we would tell her we couldn’t operate on her.
We went to her and told her, “You are next. Your wait is over.” Her eyes welled up with happiness. We felt the same.
Our anaesthetist held her hand, spoke to her softly in broken Malagasy and French, and she calmed down.
At 11:50 PM, I put the last suture. Someone on the team said, “That’s it.”
We all stood there for a second in that OT – sweaty scrubs, fogged goggles, no energy left – and just started giving each other high-fives.
What Madagascar Taught Me
People ask me why I do these camps when I have a comfortable practice back in Mumbai.
Because surgery shouldn’t be a luxury. In Madagascar, people live for years with something we can fix in 45 minutes.
In Mumbai, my one surgery is one case in my day. In Madagascar, my one surgery is someone’s entire life for the next decade. It’s a child going back to school. It’s a mother carrying water again. It’s a farmer returning to his field.
This community taught me that you don’t need a lot to be grateful. They came with nothing – no demands, no complaints about waiting 12 hours – only folded hands and a soft “Misaotra” – Thank you.
It Takes a Team
What people don’t realize is that a surgical camp is never just about surgeons. For every one patient on the table, there are 10 people making it possible – sterilization, anesthesia, recovery, counseling, translation, and the organizing team. There are no seniors and juniors here. It’s just – “Hold this, cut here, we got this.”
This camp would have been impossible without the hard work of the local organizers, volunteers, community members, and our beloved hosts who gave us a place to stay not only in their homes but in their hearts.
A Heartfelt Gratitude
And finally, my heartfelt gratitude for the inspiration, blessings, and guidance of His Holiness Dr. Syedna Mufaddal Saifuddin (TUS), whose teachings to give the best to humanity inspired us all to make this camp both impactful and meaningful.
It was truly an honor to be a part of this team. Together we made a difference, and in the end, the difference made us, with memories forever.
We came to give. We left with so much more.
Misaotra, Madagascar. You have my heart.
About the Author
Dr. Husain Gheewala
Consultant Colorectal Surgeon
Mumbai, India