Every few years, our CAT scan machine drops dead- only to purr again.

Bought about 10 years back, the machine has scanned about 20,000 heads, chests and bellies. At times, for some inexplicable reasons, the CAT stands still- a CATastrophic event in the hospital. And as engineers-flown from Bangalore- lay their hands on the CAT that refuses to purr, we worriedly watch which way the CAT will turn. “What is wrong with the CAT,” we want a diagnosis from the engineers but they do not seem to be in a mood to let the CAT out of the bag.

“When the CAT is away, why can’t MRI play?” asks a patient. That would be CATaclysmic choice of technology, we caution the patient. “How do we manage head injuries without a CAT?” this time our surgeons test our patience. “Don’t be a slave to technology. Use your clinical acumen to manage your patients,” our loaded suggestion almost sets the CAT among pigeons. We should have anticipated that- of all specialists, the surgeons like the least someone telling them how to handle their patients.

How long will it take for CAT to walk again? What makes it gasp again and again? Some patients repeatedly ask. “Don’t be so inquisitive. Don’t you know that curiosity killed the CAT?”we gently chide them. As the days roll by, and engineers are unable to fix the problem, Radiology residents and faculty begin to pace in their corridors- like CATs walking on a hot tin roof.

After several days, the engineers bring CAT back to life. The filament in the machine was playing CAT and mouse with us, they tell us. The problem fixed, our newly arrived neurosurgeon- sporting salt and pepper CAT whiskers- grins like a Cheshire CAT. We experience a feeling of CATharsis. And as we think of a well-deserved CAT nap, a resident asks, “will the CAT drop dead again?” “Do not worry,” I whisper in his ears, “haven’t you heard that a CAT has nine lives?”