ON a day that began like any other, Dr Ariza Mohamed was teaching her class. Without warning, a messenger from the prosecutor's office interrupted the lecture and presented her with a sealed envelope. The hint of a smug smile played on his lips.
Dr Ariza's fingers trembled as she broke the seal. "Everything went numb," she says softly. An unsettling chill raced through her, even as perspiration formed on her brow. The room's background noise faded. It was just her and the words on the page.
It was 2018 and the charge was grave: She was accused of causing cerebral palsy in a girl she delivered 15 years earlier.
Today, the woman on my screen — with a gentle expression — gives a faint smile.
"After 30 years in practice, facing charges was the last thing I expected," she says softly, adding: "I never imagined I'd find myself ascending the steps of the High Court, navigating a maze of legal formalities."
She shares that's precisely why she penned Doctor in the Dock. The book delves into her journey through the courts, capturing the challenges she faced and the profound impact it had on her.
Last year, after a relentless four-year trial, the gavel finally dropped. Dr Ariza and her co-defendants, including the private hospital where she once served almost 20 years ago, faced a verdict — liable for medical negligence. The cost? A record-breaking RM8.9 million in damages. It was an amount unheard of until then.
"I've sat through medico-legal lectures," she begins, "but experiencing a case firsthand as a doctor? It's a world apart. The perspectives are so wildly different."
She'd assumed the courtroom would centre on her medical decisions. "But in that courtroom, the rules of the game shifted," she reflects, adding: "I thought I'd be questioned about my actions. Instead, I was called to the dock just once. I hardly had a chance to voice my defence. It's surreal, hearing others dissect your case without you."
THE CASE
"I can't imagine how jarring it must be to face a court summons for something from over a decade ago," I remark, before probing: "Was it a shock? How challenging was it to rewind the years and recall that particular case?"
The 58-year-old woman, her eyes framed by glasses, offers another smile. "I recall the case vividly," she assures.
Catching my raised eyebrows, she elaborates: "In our line of work, certain cases just stick with you... lingering in the background. The moment that letter arrived, I knew exactly which case it referred to. There was no need to dig through old files or notes."
It was Feb 26, 2003.
At the first light of dawn at 7am, an urgent ring pierced the stillness. On the line, a nurse with news: a patient had rushed in, gripped by the throes of premature labour, her contractions ominously frequent for just 26 weeks into her pregnancy.
"Back then," the specialist reflects, "the threshold for a baby's viability stood at 28 weeks. Today, with medical advancements, it's shifted to 24 weeks".
They were on the razor's edge of uncertainty. Faced with a heart-wrenching choice, she pondered, "Do I let labour progress here, in a hospital ill-prepared for such delicate births? Do I prioritise the mother, letting the infant slip away free from the tangle of machines? Do I tell the parents their baby is simply too early, that our benchmark is still two weeks out?"
A weighty silence fills the room before she adds: "Even now, years later, I find myself grappling with those decisions."
SPLIT-SECOND DECISION
Dr Ariza made a snap decision to save the baby. The mother's best shot? A transfer to a larger hospital better equipped for such precarious births. "She was deep into labour. We had to move — and fast," Dr Ariza recounts.
But the moment the ambulance doors closed, the stakes immediately heightened. The mother began to push. "She was fully dilated," Dr Ariza notes with intensity, "a birth was imminent".
She takes a deep breath, before sharing: "Everything was chaotic… kelam-kabut." A doctor's life is a whirlwind of split-second choices. Recognising the inevitability of a roadside birth, Dr Ariza decided to deliver the baby right there in the labour room, instead of risking the journey.
Amidst the cacophony of a distressed patient, shouted commands from nurses, and frantic calls from the ambulance driver, Dr Ariza stood resolute at the eye of the storm. Every ounce of her concentration was dialled in on one goal: to protect the baby.
Preparations were made for the mother to give birth. Her cervix was ripe and open, ready for the baby to pass through.
In a bold move, one which would later be scrutinised in court, Dr Ariza ruptured the amniotic sac. And then, a hush: the mother's urgency to push simply vanished.
In a moment of decisive clarity, Dr Ariza seized the fleeting calm to transfer the mother to a more specialised facility. As the mother was ushered into the larger hospital, murmurs began to ripple through the medical staff. "Who would rupture the membranes on someone so premature?" they whispered, sharing sceptical glances.
At the larger hospital, the mother welcomed a baby girl into her arms. However, the joy was marred with a dreaded complication: the little one was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, destined to face life without the ability to walk.
The doctor's smile falters, if only for a moment. "Under the pressure of the moment, I made the best call I could," she says with a note of vulnerability.
In the world of medicine, split-second decisions are the norm, and the intricate dance of the human body doesn't always bend to one's will. Even with the best intentions, sometimes a doctor's choices can come under fire.
When a "flaw" or what's thought to be a flaw happens, everybody focuses on it and not at the 100 other correct decisions you'd made, she wrote in her book.
The weight in her eyes deepens. "It wasn't just external scrutiny; I was my own harshest critic. I fixated on that perceived misstep, overshadowing all the right calls I made. It's a harrowing space to be in — pointing fingers at oneself."
She sighs, saying: "I believe many of my peers spiral into this self-blame when things go south."
With a slight shrug, she adds: "Making hard choices is part of a doctor's life. We always strive for the best for our patients, even when the decisions weigh heavy on us."
Still, being a doctor is all she knew how to be.
SMALL TOWN, BIG DREAMS
With a light chuckle, she shares: "For me, there was only ever one path: medicine." As the eldest among five siblings, her schoolteacher-parents were set on offering her the finest education.
"Years ago, 'ambitions' seemed more linear," she remembers. "My parents dreamt big for me. Dulu-dulu, my father had 'psyched' me to be a doctor and I never really envisioned anything else."
From the modest beginnings in Bota Kanan, Perak, her education journey started unusually early — at just 5. "Being the eldest, I simply tagged along with my parents to school and joined the Standard One class," she says, eyes twinkling.
Her father, keen on her mastering Mandarin, later enrolled her in a Chinese school in Penang, a move designed to avoid having her repeat Standard One when she turned 7. Subsequently, to polish her English, she transitioned to the Marian Convent in Ipoh.
"My father was relentless in finding the best schools for me. It felt like an educational adventure," she recounts. Her scholastic journey also took a brief turn at the Tun Fatimah school, an all-girls boarding haven in Johor.
Ultimately, she found her academic footing at the Mara Junior Science College, where she wrapped up her secondary education.
Dr Ariza charted her path to medicine at University Kebangsaan Malaysia (UKM). "True to my roots," she says, adding: "I've always been a local girl."
Upon graduation, she weathered a rigorous housemanship in Penang. "Those were demanding times," she recalls. Later, she served as a medical officer in the Ipoh district hospital. But the call of academia was strong, and Dr Ariza circled back to her alma mater, clinching her Masters and emerging as a seasoned specialist.
After several years of lecturing at Hospital Canselor Tuanku Muhriz UKM, Dr Ariza felt the pull of private practice. Her journey took her first to a private hospital in Bangi, and then to Ampang Puteri Hospital.
Though she made her mark as a consultant specialist in several institutions, a turn in personal circumstances led her back to Ipoh, where she devoted herself to caring for her ailing father.
"Of course, I had to care for him. He'd been my biggest supporter all my life. I wouldn't have been a doctor if it weren't for him and my mother," she explains.
Trading her stethoscope for textbooks, she pivoted to teaching and now shapes young minds as an associate professor at Universiti Kuala Lumpur Royal College of Medicine Perak (UniKL RCMP) in Ipoh.
It's worth noting, Bangi was the backdrop for the challenging case of the premature birth that marked her career and affected her deeply.
PAINFUL EXPERIENCE
In court, she saw the mother and her now 15-year-old wheelchair-bound daughter for the first time in many years. "I thought… this is the child I saved," she recounts, her voice heavy with emotion. "I wanted to go and speak to them, but my lawyers stopped me. 'Anything you say can be used against you,' they said."
In her book, Dr Ariza writes poignantly: "In my case, the mother didn't think that I saved her baby. The mother's only thoughts were on her handicapped child. The mother thought I was the cause of the ill-fated baby."
The court trial was a harrowing ordeal. It was strange and frustrating that she was the one charged with negligence, her reputation was at stake and that she might be facing bankruptcy; but she wasn't the one being "interrogated". Other people were speaking on her behalf.
"I had many things to say," she confides, adding: "I wanted to explain, I wanted to argue. But the only thing I was able to do was sit there. It was so frustrating!"
When the verdict finally came, she felt numb. Her son, who attended the proceedings with her, looked at her and made the "slaughter-neck sign". She'd lost.
"My faith in destiny kept me sane," she reflects. "Embracing the belief that nothing is random, that everything is preordained — it eased much of the weight. Throughout my entire experience, I never shed a tear."
At most, she might face bankruptcy or lose her licence to practice. But the core of who she is? Unshaken.
"I acted with ikhlas (sincerity)," she asserts, adding: "My only concern was the well-being of both mother and child. Any other path could've risked their lives."
She had no choice but to appeal. After a long and arduous process of reviewing evidence and statements, a turning point arrived: she was declared not guilty.
In the words of one of the appeal judges, a statement stood out, clear and resonant: "Dr Ariza is fully cleared of any insinuation of professional negligence cast upon her."
The journey was undoubtedly challenging and painful, but the compassionate doctor has found her peace. "I've reclaimed my life," she says with a gentle tone. "I hold no resentment towards the mother."
Her book stands as a guidepost, aiming to shield fellow doctors from similar pitfalls. It's a handbook on maintaining up-to-date insurance, and an ode to the crucial role of patient communication in forestalling legal battles.
"Stay true to your path," she urges her peers. "Adhere to guidelines, protect yourself, and keep the faith. If your heart is true, aid will come from the most unexpected places."
When asked about her family's stance during the tumult, the mother-of-four smiles, before replying: "I once asked my husband if he ever doubted me. Without hesitation, he said he always believed in my choices, regardless of the courtroom's narrative." Her second son, now walking in her medical footsteps, stood by her throughout the trial.
Dr Ariza continues to mentor young medical professionals while leading the non-governmental organisation she founded, Pertubuhan Zahir Kasih Insaniyyah Kinta (Zakiyyah), which focuses on empowering young girls and youths.
In the quiet after the storm, she reflects on that ordinary day that changed her life. The memory of the sealed envelope, the gravity of its message, and the weight of the years that followed never stray far from her thoughts.
Yet, with grace and resilience, she's emerged from the crucible not defeated, but fortified. She concludes wistfully: "This journey taught me the beauty of gratitude, even for the little things. I've evolved, grown wiser and deepened both my faith and trust in God."
DOCTOR IN THE DOCK
Author: Dr Ariza Mohamed
Publisher: Firdaus Press Publications
162 pages.