Inquirer Opinion / Columns http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/columns/view/20101117-303673/Hospital-voodoo <http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/columns/view/20101117-303673/Hospital-voodoo%20>
PINOY KASI Pinoy Kasi : Hospital voodoo By Michael Tan Columnist Philippine Daily Inquirer Posted date: November 17, 2010 IT WAS around 9 p.m. Saturday night, and I was dosing off, exhausted from a very long day that included visits to a relative confined in the hospital. The phone rang and I jumped, worried it might be from the hospital. It was a woman asking to speak to me. When I asked who she was she answered, “I’m the secretary of Dr. Lim. He would like to talk to you.” “Dr. Lim” (I’ve changed the name for this column) was our attending physician. “What’s wrong?” I asked myself. Dr. Lim came to the phone and began to talk rapidly in English, apologizing for calling so late, saying he had just seen my relative and had talked with the special nurse. He asked when I was going to visit the relative again. When I said the next morning, he shifted to Filipino, “Uy tamang-tama (That’s just right), that’s when I make my rounds... Mike, I need a special favor.” He was now back in English mode and explained that he was coordinating an international conference and was so busy making arrangements for airport transfers. I was beginning to get irritated that he was giving me so many details, especially about his secretary having to go home to Laguna and then coming back to Manila. I was on full alert, with suspicions creeping in. Dr. Lim rarely talks to me in English. Wait, this guy doesn’t even sound like Dr. Lim, but then did I get the secretary right. Maybe it’s one of the other doctors. And maybe it is Dr. Lim; the caller does have a deep voice like Dr. Lim. Finally, he got to the point. He needed P14,000 in cash to give to some conference delegates arriving that night. “That’s about $300, di ba? I have dollars and euros. I can return it to you tomorrow when we meet. Sorry ha, nakakahiya.” Again, questions popped in my head, like, “Why couldn’t he just go to an ATM?” Doctors are rich, and P14,000 is loose change for them so they don’t need to borrow. But there was no way I could interrupt this Dr. Lim, who was now asking if I had a driver. I answered yes and he quickly took over again, asking me to send the driver to SM City in San Marcelino, because his secretary lived in a dorm in the area. “Just seal the envelope. Let me talk to your driver so I can give him instructions.” “Oh,” I was finally able to say something, “my driver has gone home.” Dr. Lim persisted, “Can you find someone? This is really urgent.” Ever the helpful fool, I said I would see if I could ask a friend to drive. Dr. Lim was clearly ecstatic. He apologized again but continued to press to have the money delivered soonest. *‘Dugo-dugo,’ ‘budol-budol’* As I put down the phone, I was aghast, realizing I had just nearly fallen victim to a hybrid “dugo-dugo” or “budol-budol” con artist. The phone rang again and I jumped. It was our private nurse. She was apologetic, almost tearful, as she told me a woman had called her in the hospital room earlier, identifying herself as Dr. Lim’s secretary and that she urgently needed to talk to the closest relative of the patient. It was the nurse who had given my home number to “Dr. Lim” but she, too, had wondered after the call if she had been conned. Only recently I had written about dugo-dugo gangs preying on household helpers, convincing them to bring money to some meeting point for their employer, supposedly because of an accident or some other kind of emergency. I also referred to budol-budol gangs, criminals who operate outside the home, approaching the elderly or other gullible-looking people with some get-rich-quick scheme. This hospital-based scam is more insidious, actually an older scam now combined with dugo-dugo and budol-budol. In the earlier version, the con artist would call the hospital room and tell the relatives or watchers that Dr. So-and-So’s representative was at the lobby and needed to collect his or her professional fees. Hospitals now routinely warn patients’ families about this scam so the criminals had to concoct new schemes. I can see now why people claim they were “hypnotized” in dugo-dugo or budol-budol and now, this hospital voodoo. The ones who plan these scams, as well as the con artists themselves who do the talking, clearly understand human psychology. The English used by “Dr. Lim” was quite good. He was clearly someone who had been to college. Probably not Ateneo, I thought afterwards about the accent, but more probably a UP graduate or student. (Joke, joke!) Like voodoo practitioners, these criminals know who are vulnerable. Hospitals are full of people whose abilities to judge and make decisions are compromised by stress. Moreover, posing as a doctor puts them in an authority position. Our special nurse gave out my home number simply because the attending physician’s name was invoked. In turn, I entertained the call because that doctor’s name was used. Even more importantly, by posing as a doctor, or, more specifically the doctor on whom your loved ones’ lives are so dependent, is a way of saying: “I talk, you listen. Don’t ask questions.” Talk they do, racing non-stop and bombarding you with all kinds of extraneous information. Your brain gallops full speed too, vainly trying to keep up. The question, “P14,000 is about $300, right?” was clever, threatening to short-circuit the brain’s circuitry. (“Hey, that’s only P40 to a dollar, way below the exchange rate.”) *Mesmerized* Psychologists will tell you there’s no such thing as being hypnotized without your consent. The criminals in malls and hospitals know this. If you do get mesmerized, it is through the information overload. (Sadly, marketing people and politicians and preachers know this too. They bombard you with words, and promises, repeated over and over again to trip your brain.) Ultimately, it’s our own brain, not the con artists, that betrays us. I felt so assaulted as I put down the phone. The feeling then gave way to anger at how such gangs could use hospital patients and their relatives. The next day, I got more details from nurses and other hospital staff, who confirmed there had indeed been a few similar phone calls with similar “plots” (i.e., bring the money to SM City) and realized the scams probably involved hospital staff, who had access to the names of attending physicians. My feelings of vulnerability grew, almost bordering on paranoia. I warned the household helpers and driver that some dugo-dugo gang had our home number and to be extra cautious. They knew the term and began to share stories they’d heard, again with stories of hypnotism and spells and charms, which I’m realizing now can make people even more vulnerable if they’re approached by these gangs. But then I remind myself that in voodoo and witchcraft, it’s the fear that comes with believing in voodoo and witchcraft that is so dangerous, even deadly. We shouldn’t be cowed by low life; instead, let’s get smart and train our brains not to betray us. Email: [email protected] ^ Back to top<http://services.inquirer.net/print/print.php?article_id=20101117-303673#> ©Copyright 2001-2010 INQUIRER.net, An Inquirer Company -- PJ C. Reyes -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "gimik" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected]. 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