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ABOUR'S FAVOURITE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES STRONG MEDICINE, BUT PATIENTS AND HIS COLLEAGUES MAY NOT SWALLOW IT
AZG Armenian Daily
17/07/2008
Social
The surgeon Ara Darzi likes to listen to Pink Floyd while he wields
his scalpel. After a year-long operation, the music stops tomorrow
when he publishes a review of the NHS that aims to revive the ailing
patient on its 60th anniversary.
One of Gordon Brown's first acts as prime minister was to call on
Darzi to undertake the task. He was duly ennobled as Lord Darzi
of Denham and made a health minister. Brown's request "gobsmacked"
the 48-year-old clinician, but stranger things had happened to Darzi.
Born in Iraq to Armenian parents and raised in the Russian Orthodox
faith, he went to a Jewish school before studying medicine in Ireland
and becoming an internationally renowned pioneer of keyhole surgery
in London. His robot-assisted techniques have earned him the nickname
"Robo Doc".
His years in Dublin have left him with an Irish lilt that marks his
affable manner. Courteous, brainy and driven, Darzi has done nothing
to embarrass his patron, unlike Brown's other coopted "outsiders"
such as Alan West, the security minister, Mark Malloch Brown, the
foreign minister, and Digby Jones, the trade minister.
He achieved heroic status last November by helping to save the life of
Lord Brennan, a Labour peer, who had a heart seizure after attacking
the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Bill in the Lords.
"I could see from the corner of my eye Lord Brennan was not very well,"
Darzi recalled on Desert Island Discs last week. "He collapsed. You
just forget where you are. So I started jumping on top of benches
and ended up doing a mouth-to-mouth and heart massage to see if I
couldn't get him back." After several minutes of futile attempts,
Darzi called for an electric defibrillator ("I used the F-word")
and revived Brennan. "As I was shocking him I saw the Archbishop of
York doing his prayers."
Darzi continues to perform operations on Fridays and Saturday mornings
in London: he is honorary consultant surgeon at St Mary's hospital,
professor of surgery at Imperial College and chair of surgery at
the Royal Marsden. The rest of the weekend is set aside for his wife
Wendy and children Freddie and Nina.
Having left political meetings abruptly when summoned for emergency
operations, he is clear where his priorities lie. He does a humorous
impression of aghast expressions in Downing Street when he raced off
to treat a colleague. "From day one I told them: if one of my patients
[needs attention], that comes first."
Darzi seemed in need of pastoral intercession himself last October
when the interim report of his NHS review proposed 150 polyclinics
or "super-surgeries", open all hours and partly run by private
enterprise, which would bring together family doctors and specialist
consultants. Amid talk of a mass walkout from the health service and
calls for Darzi's resignation, fears were raised that the innovation
could spell the end of small practices run by family doctors, replacing
them with a wasteful, bureaucratic system.
The clamour has increased in recent weeks, with the British
Medical Association's "save our surgeries" campaign raising 1.2m
signatures. Scaremongering, protested Darzi, who accused doctors of
"breaking their professional vows" by urging patients to oppose the
plan. In last week's Sunday Times he singled out some doctors as
"laggards", so intent on protecting their "professional boundaries"
that they obstructed new treatments.
Since Darzi mooted the idea of polyclinics, all 31 London health
trusts have submitted plans for the super-surgeries.
Tomorrow's review is expected to guarantee minimum standards of care,
setting out the rights and responsibilities of patients - although
plans to force people to lose weight or give up smoking in exchange
for healthcare have been rejected. Darzi also proposes to give a
bigger role to nurses.
Under his slogan "localise where possible, centralise where necessary",
Darzi believes doctors and nurses must treat patients as customers,
inviting them to grade the quality of their care so others can shop
around: "When you go to a restaurant you look at a website and find
out exactly what people said about that restaurant."
He visualises the NHS structured like a pyramid with, at the bottom,
patients receiving more care in the home - and being allowed to die
there, if they wish - while the top tier would consist of centres of
excellence along the lines of the Royal Marsden. Complex surgery and
critical care for serious illnesses would be provided by big hospitals
serving a million or more people.
Critics say aspects of the plan smack of John Major's "patient's
charter", introduced to little effect in 1991. They also cast doubt
on Darzi's avowed reluctance to take on a political role ("I had
sleepless nights thinking about this"), claiming he was used as a pawn
by the government in the 2004 Hartlepool by-election to reinforce its
reassurances that the town's University hospital would not be closed.
His detractors point to a telling remark by Alan Johnson, the
health secretary, on Brown's appointment of nonpoliticians to his
"government of all the talents", known by the acronym "goats". Johnson
told The Guardian in January: "We don't have a goat problem in this
department. Our goat is tethered."
Darzi was born on May 7, 1960, into a family that had fled to Iraq
from the genocide of Armenians by Ottoman Turks in 1915. His father's
work as an engineer, developing power stations, often took the family
abroad, but Baghdad was then a stable cosmopolitan city in which
Saddam Hussein had yet to appear.
Darzi's Jewish school was highly disciplined: "Very academic, not
even a playground. There was no such thing as sport, really." At
home he studied Armenian and served as an altar boy in church. He
was expected to emulate his father's career, but while in hospital
with a life-threatening case of meningitis, his doctor planted the
idea of medicine.
His parents had friends in Ireland, which they considered safe for
his studies, so at 17 he was packed off to Dublin: "Rain, cold,
miserable." Soon he began to fall in love with the place, visiting
little towns in a sailing boat and frequenting Durty Nelly's bar in
Limerick, which he had been told had the most beautiful girls. Friends
called him "Dara Darcy, the dark Paddy".
To his mind there was a curious parallel between the conflicts in
Ireland and Iraq: "Most of the troubles back in Iraq were between the
factions of the Shi'ites and the Sunnis. In Ireland, is was between
two factions of Christians. That had no logic to me. I found that
quite challenging."
As a student at the Royal College of Surgeons, Darzi took to hanging
around hospitals to see if he could make himself useful and experience
the reality of being a doctor. After conducting his first appendix
operation, a year before qualifying, he said: "It was the most exciting
day of my life."
He met Wendy, the Protestant daughter of a dentist, at a college
function. Their subsequent marriage in 1991 posed interdenominational
problems: "We had to find a church in Ireland to get married, and
also to have an Armenian patriarch to come and give us a blessing."
Darzi first encountered keyhole surgery in Dublin. "Surgery in those
days was a big cut - the bigger the cut, the more macho the surgeon
was." Enthused by accounts of less invasive techniques, he did his
first keyhole operation and was struck by the patient's quick recovery
time. "The same day we had done an open operation on the patient next
door. It was like chalk and cheese."
Moving to England to gain experience, he encountered resistance
to keyhole surgery from his superior, who pronounced the procedure
dangerous, until Darzi won him round by conducting an operation with
him. "Very quickly we realised this was the tip of the iceberg." The
medical director of St Mary's hospital was so thrilled by the publicity
that he offered Darzi a consultancy at the youthful age of 31. The
student decided to wait until he had qualified a year later.
Showered with awards, in 2002 he was knighted for services to medicine
and surgery; in 2003 he became a British citizen.
Darzi says his review of England's healthcare is like no other,
incorporating the views of 2,000 medical experts. His watchwords are
courage, innovation and best practice. "I am a great believer in
bottom-up. When I want to change something in a ward environment,
I go and talk to the student nurses on the ward, because they know
exactly what is happening on the ward."
AZG Armenian Daily
17/07/2008
Social
The surgeon Ara Darzi likes to listen to Pink Floyd while he wields
his scalpel. After a year-long operation, the music stops tomorrow
when he publishes a review of the NHS that aims to revive the ailing
patient on its 60th anniversary.
One of Gordon Brown's first acts as prime minister was to call on
Darzi to undertake the task. He was duly ennobled as Lord Darzi
of Denham and made a health minister. Brown's request "gobsmacked"
the 48-year-old clinician, but stranger things had happened to Darzi.
Born in Iraq to Armenian parents and raised in the Russian Orthodox
faith, he went to a Jewish school before studying medicine in Ireland
and becoming an internationally renowned pioneer of keyhole surgery
in London. His robot-assisted techniques have earned him the nickname
"Robo Doc".
His years in Dublin have left him with an Irish lilt that marks his
affable manner. Courteous, brainy and driven, Darzi has done nothing
to embarrass his patron, unlike Brown's other coopted "outsiders"
such as Alan West, the security minister, Mark Malloch Brown, the
foreign minister, and Digby Jones, the trade minister.
He achieved heroic status last November by helping to save the life of
Lord Brennan, a Labour peer, who had a heart seizure after attacking
the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Bill in the Lords.
"I could see from the corner of my eye Lord Brennan was not very well,"
Darzi recalled on Desert Island Discs last week. "He collapsed. You
just forget where you are. So I started jumping on top of benches
and ended up doing a mouth-to-mouth and heart massage to see if I
couldn't get him back." After several minutes of futile attempts,
Darzi called for an electric defibrillator ("I used the F-word")
and revived Brennan. "As I was shocking him I saw the Archbishop of
York doing his prayers."
Darzi continues to perform operations on Fridays and Saturday mornings
in London: he is honorary consultant surgeon at St Mary's hospital,
professor of surgery at Imperial College and chair of surgery at
the Royal Marsden. The rest of the weekend is set aside for his wife
Wendy and children Freddie and Nina.
Having left political meetings abruptly when summoned for emergency
operations, he is clear where his priorities lie. He does a humorous
impression of aghast expressions in Downing Street when he raced off
to treat a colleague. "From day one I told them: if one of my patients
[needs attention], that comes first."
Darzi seemed in need of pastoral intercession himself last October
when the interim report of his NHS review proposed 150 polyclinics
or "super-surgeries", open all hours and partly run by private
enterprise, which would bring together family doctors and specialist
consultants. Amid talk of a mass walkout from the health service and
calls for Darzi's resignation, fears were raised that the innovation
could spell the end of small practices run by family doctors, replacing
them with a wasteful, bureaucratic system.
The clamour has increased in recent weeks, with the British
Medical Association's "save our surgeries" campaign raising 1.2m
signatures. Scaremongering, protested Darzi, who accused doctors of
"breaking their professional vows" by urging patients to oppose the
plan. In last week's Sunday Times he singled out some doctors as
"laggards", so intent on protecting their "professional boundaries"
that they obstructed new treatments.
Since Darzi mooted the idea of polyclinics, all 31 London health
trusts have submitted plans for the super-surgeries.
Tomorrow's review is expected to guarantee minimum standards of care,
setting out the rights and responsibilities of patients - although
plans to force people to lose weight or give up smoking in exchange
for healthcare have been rejected. Darzi also proposes to give a
bigger role to nurses.
Under his slogan "localise where possible, centralise where necessary",
Darzi believes doctors and nurses must treat patients as customers,
inviting them to grade the quality of their care so others can shop
around: "When you go to a restaurant you look at a website and find
out exactly what people said about that restaurant."
He visualises the NHS structured like a pyramid with, at the bottom,
patients receiving more care in the home - and being allowed to die
there, if they wish - while the top tier would consist of centres of
excellence along the lines of the Royal Marsden. Complex surgery and
critical care for serious illnesses would be provided by big hospitals
serving a million or more people.
Critics say aspects of the plan smack of John Major's "patient's
charter", introduced to little effect in 1991. They also cast doubt
on Darzi's avowed reluctance to take on a political role ("I had
sleepless nights thinking about this"), claiming he was used as a pawn
by the government in the 2004 Hartlepool by-election to reinforce its
reassurances that the town's University hospital would not be closed.
His detractors point to a telling remark by Alan Johnson, the
health secretary, on Brown's appointment of nonpoliticians to his
"government of all the talents", known by the acronym "goats". Johnson
told The Guardian in January: "We don't have a goat problem in this
department. Our goat is tethered."
Darzi was born on May 7, 1960, into a family that had fled to Iraq
from the genocide of Armenians by Ottoman Turks in 1915. His father's
work as an engineer, developing power stations, often took the family
abroad, but Baghdad was then a stable cosmopolitan city in which
Saddam Hussein had yet to appear.
Darzi's Jewish school was highly disciplined: "Very academic, not
even a playground. There was no such thing as sport, really." At
home he studied Armenian and served as an altar boy in church. He
was expected to emulate his father's career, but while in hospital
with a life-threatening case of meningitis, his doctor planted the
idea of medicine.
His parents had friends in Ireland, which they considered safe for
his studies, so at 17 he was packed off to Dublin: "Rain, cold,
miserable." Soon he began to fall in love with the place, visiting
little towns in a sailing boat and frequenting Durty Nelly's bar in
Limerick, which he had been told had the most beautiful girls. Friends
called him "Dara Darcy, the dark Paddy".
To his mind there was a curious parallel between the conflicts in
Ireland and Iraq: "Most of the troubles back in Iraq were between the
factions of the Shi'ites and the Sunnis. In Ireland, is was between
two factions of Christians. That had no logic to me. I found that
quite challenging."
As a student at the Royal College of Surgeons, Darzi took to hanging
around hospitals to see if he could make himself useful and experience
the reality of being a doctor. After conducting his first appendix
operation, a year before qualifying, he said: "It was the most exciting
day of my life."
He met Wendy, the Protestant daughter of a dentist, at a college
function. Their subsequent marriage in 1991 posed interdenominational
problems: "We had to find a church in Ireland to get married, and
also to have an Armenian patriarch to come and give us a blessing."
Darzi first encountered keyhole surgery in Dublin. "Surgery in those
days was a big cut - the bigger the cut, the more macho the surgeon
was." Enthused by accounts of less invasive techniques, he did his
first keyhole operation and was struck by the patient's quick recovery
time. "The same day we had done an open operation on the patient next
door. It was like chalk and cheese."
Moving to England to gain experience, he encountered resistance
to keyhole surgery from his superior, who pronounced the procedure
dangerous, until Darzi won him round by conducting an operation with
him. "Very quickly we realised this was the tip of the iceberg." The
medical director of St Mary's hospital was so thrilled by the publicity
that he offered Darzi a consultancy at the youthful age of 31. The
student decided to wait until he had qualified a year later.
Showered with awards, in 2002 he was knighted for services to medicine
and surgery; in 2003 he became a British citizen.
Darzi says his review of England's healthcare is like no other,
incorporating the views of 2,000 medical experts. His watchwords are
courage, innovation and best practice. "I am a great believer in
bottom-up. When I want to change something in a ward environment,
I go and talk to the student nurses on the ward, because they know
exactly what is happening on the ward."