On a slightly weary Thursday evening, just as I was about to go into surgery at 6 pm, I got a frantic phone call from a son about his 75-year-old father. “For the past few days, my father’s balance has been off. But since this morning, his speech has been slurring, and he’s becoming incoherent and confused. It almost seems like he’s slipping in and out of consciousness,” the son went on, slightly frenzied.

“We took the advice of our family physician and got a CT scan of the brain. We’ve been told he’s slowly bleeding into the brain and needs an emergency operation,” came the vague description from the other end. “Why don’t you take him to the hospital closest to you,” I suggested, channelling my inner GPS. “Doctor, we live in Juhu. Do you come this side of town?”