Yours Toothfully by Dr Chan Joon Yee

It’s a worrying trend. Almost every week, there would be a case of a doctor/doctors being censured. It’s usually due to the over-prescription of addictive drugs. Sometimes, it gets more “exotic” like passing off as a plastic surgeon when you’re are really a GP. It’s just the beginning of 2010 and the axes are already grinding. Bring in the lawyers and we’ll all smell blood. And the public will love it at first.

Then, they’re going to find their doctors becoming less “flexible” with prescriptions and MCs. Charges are likely to go up if the risks of getting sued or suspended see a upward trend and professional indemnity costs more.

Cost more? No way. There is only one thing that can cost more in Singapore. And if the Ministry Of Good Ideas rakes me in with a salary of $1M a year, I would gladly sabo my medical colleagues with some bright ideas and brilliant policies which will keep the public very happy.

Like I said, there is only one thing that can cost more in Singapore. It’s better to have a lion lead a herd of sheep than to have a sheep lead a pride of lions. Of course! Who is going to lead if the lions eat up their sheepish leader? If citizens are not like sheep, how are the lions ever going to grow fat? Oops! I digress. My job in the Ministry of Good Ideas is to make sure that only one thing goes up and everything else must be better and cost less. So how do we rein in the poor and desperate doctors? How do we satisfy a public that keeps thinking that the doctors earn too much? I have an idea. Let’s go to Haiti.

In the aftermath of the devastating 7.0 earthquake, there are bound to be starving survivors dying to leave this sea of decomposing dead bodies in search of a more pleasant environment. How about Singapore? To date, we have not sent anybody down there to distribute aid and supplies. Why not do something better? Why not absorb Haitian doctors and make them citizens? After that 7.0 shock, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind working from 5am to 10pm for a loaf of bread and a couple of bananas. Yes! That’s the kind of citizens we need. Hardworking and hungry. Our local doctors had better stand on their toes and put some spurs on their behinds.

Oh! And make sure the psychiatrists don’t have any weapons within easy reach.

Tell you what. When I grow old, senile and start pulling out the wrong teeth for my patients, I’m going to be a farmer. Yep. And proud Farmer Chan is going to keep a great big herd of cows on my dairy farm. Why farmer? Why cows? Because cows are happy as long as you feed them grass. They won’t be like some people who want their dentures to function like real teeth. Besides, you can milk the cows every day. They are not like patients who see you once in 10 years when the pain becomes unbearable. Set up a diary farm when I retire and I’m going to be … well … happy as a cow.

But rumour has it that cows become less and less obedient, more and more demanding as they get familiar with their surroundings. At first, my cows are going to be quite contented as long as they have enough grass to eat. Then, as they get old and complacent, they are going to get less productive and more demanding. Their calves are going to be pampered and not hungry. They are going to protest if I … well … squeeze them too hard. So what do I do? Unlike unhappy patients, cows can’t write in to complain about being squeezed too hard. So what is a poor farmer like me, deserving of a million dollar annual salary going to do?

Two things. First, I’m going to import some foreign cows. I know the native cows are going to be unhappy, but I’ve got no choice. Such imports can only be good for my economy … oops … I mean the economy. Never mind if the grazing ground per unit cow has gotten smaller. The imported cows are very hungry and would not mind a little crowding. If the imported cows are treated the same as the native cows, the former are not going to be too bothered about being squeezed. That will wake up the sleeping native cows. Every cow is going to work hard, get milked and Farmer Me am going to laugh my way to the bank.

And perhaps I should also adopt a couple of foreign children just in case my kids take me for granted. They are lazy and always asking for toys and other luxuries. if I can rear kids from Third World countries and impose the same taxes and parental support obligations on them, they may give me more bang for my buck - if that is all that is important to me.

Maybe if I do that, my kids will go learn some ballet. That will keep them on their toes.

Oh no! I’ve got a bad dream again. I dreamt that I was a king, lounging in my palace, fanned by bellydancers, sipping my favourite Gentleman Jack on the rocks.

The messenger announced that citizens Class A were protesting that citizens Class B were being treated better than them. So what’s new? Citizen class A have always been complaining about citizens Class B being better off than them. Those whiners! As if they didn’t know that we need citizens Class B to fill up all the gaps in the economy. But this time, they are getting serious. My ministers warned that something must be done or they will block all supply routes into the palace and my helicopter has been sent for servicing.

“Your Majesty, let’s enhance the benefits and privileges of citizens Class A.” says my court jester.

Obviously. Good idea. Even my court jester knows that. Let’s do it. Wine and beer allowance for all citizens Class A.

“But Your Majesty, ” says my Grand Minister. “I think we should downgrade the benefits and privileges of citizens Class B instead.”

“How can we do that?” says my court jester. “citizens Class B will get angry and leave the country.”

“Shut up! What do you know? You’re just a jester. Now stay out of this serious discussion or I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon.” says the Grand Minister. “Your Majesty. We don’t have the budget for a wine and beer allowance.”

Yes, the price of my favourite caviar has gone up. My Grand Minister’s salary has also gone up to one hundred sacks truffles a year. I couldn’t possibly give my citizens Class A a wine and beer allowance. So let’s cut back on citizens Class B. We have screwed up citizens Class A for years without facing any serious repercussions. Certainly, trimming back a little benefits from citizens Class B would not cause any problems.

Oh no! What’s that? The messenger reports citizens Class B protesting this time. They want to torch my palace. I forgot that unlike citizens Class A, citizens Class B have no feelings for this place. If not for the benefits offered, they couldn’t care less if my palace burned down.

Wake me up. Wake me up.

As an adventurer, it’s not easy to admit that I have my phobias. I don’t know about everybody, but for me, my phobias can all be traced back to some traumatic experience in the past.

People who know I can swim but wonder why I’ve never done any scuba diving may have guessed that diving is one of my fears. This came after I saw the bloated body of my OC when I was 18 and serving in the army. My OC then, CPT Chua, was a diving instructor. On a trip to Tioman with his trainees, he went missing and was later found stuck to rock underwater.

That image was to be retained by my traumatised mind for years to come. The mere suggestion of going for a scuba diving course would send shivers up my spine. I just couldn’t do it no matter how hard the diving enthusiasts tried to convince me that the sport is very safe and accidents are very rare.

When my good friend Jason was still alive, we used to go trekking and climbing together. After Jason’s demise, I’ve lost a good travelling companion. And good travelling companions can be very difficult to find. Regardless of whether you’re going to Bali or Britain, Nepal or Norway, it is important to accommodate. Whether it’s your companion’s shortcomings or a disruption of schedules, change of plans due to circumstances, a good travel companion or even the lone traveller must deal with them with patience and an even temper. I’m sure almost everyone reading this has had bad experiences with friend or acquaintances who are ingredients for a disastrous vacation. Some people have gone on holidays as friends and come back as enemies. Would you feel good about going with them again, knowing very well that you’re going to end up with another eruption of fiery temper?

Only a fool would repeat the same mistake. Such unpleasant and sometimes traumatic experiences can sometimes result in phobias too. Just like my next phobia. There was also a time when I loved to go to Chiangmai. It was my second home. Years ago, I met many foreigners who also treated the city as their second home. Almost none of them is left today. Some have just left in disillusionment. Some have died.

Take J for instance. I met in Kathmandu on my first visit there many years ago. J is a Malaysian guy who fell in love with Thailand in the late 80s and decided to settle down there. He set up a legal, decent clothing business close to the Malaysian border and for years, J went through many ups and downs, struggling with the culture, the mentality and the authorities. He put up with them until someone held a gun to his head and threatened to blow it off. He settled down in Nepal and never went back to Thailand again. Why? Phobia.

At the time when I met J, I was also making plans to settle down in the Land of Smiles. I dismissed J’s story as a rare exception, but all that changed after a most traumatic incident far worse than seeing my dead OC’s bloated and deformed body. Having come face to face with life threatening situations before, the only time I panic, become cowardly and helpless is when my kids are threatened.

And there are spoilt brats out there who would threaten, throw tantrums and even resort to violence to have things their way. The trigger for such acts of violence can be that imaginary dusty old file that should have been closed ages ago. In a foreign land where guns settle disputes, where elected governments can be toppled by mobs and the rule of law is seldom respected by the powerful spoilt brats who are feared and obeyed by everyone around them, I can be quite helpless. It’s one thing to enjoy a nice holiday, ignoring the minor glitches and just concentrate on having fun. It’s another thing to pick on every minor irritation, blow them up, invent a few more stories and use them as an excuse to lose one’s temper and exact “revenge” on the bewildered “offending” parties. 蛮不讲理 takes on a whole new meaning.

I was so relieved to have escaped alive from that episode. Yes, it’s going to be a phobia that would remain with me for life. I will never step into that house of horrors again, especially when I can see that trouble is already brewing - again.