Some years ago, I was a family doctor in Evesham, a quaint, medieval market town on the banks of the River Avon in Worcestershire, in the United Kingdom.
As the end of my morning “surgery” approached, the phone rang. A worried patient, Mrs. Singh was hoping I could see her son, Deepak.
I describe that consultation, the worries that went through my head; the next few days as the diagnosis of Duchenne muscular dystrophy was established and the horrible task I had to face of giving a bad news to a patient and their family.
Deepak is dead now.
What more could I have done for him back then? Nothing – absolutely nothing – I couldn’t even offer hope.
That was, perhaps, the hardest lesson and most unpleasant duty I had as a family doctor.
I have written a book. A book that may help you defy your DNA.