WHAT AFTER DIAGNOSIS?
- Madhukar Dama
- May 19
- 7 min read
The silent futility of having a name for the disease but no path to cure
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I. INTRODUCTION: THE MOMENT YOU GET A NAME
You sat in a chair.
The doctor looked at a screen.
A few numbers, a frown, a tone shift.
Then came the sentence:
“You have ___.”
Diabetes. PCOS. Hypothyroid. Lupus. Fatty liver. Depression. Arthritis. Crohn’s. Cancer.
The name lands like a hammer.
You gasp.
Your family reacts.
The WhatsApp messages begin.
“See this specialist.”
“Start this medicine.”
“Join this group.”
The mind screams:
“But why me?”
The heart asks:
“What now?”
The system responds:
“Take this forever.”
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II. DIAGNOSIS IS A LABEL, NOT A LIFELINE
Modern diagnosis offers:
A name
A number
A prescription
A follow-up
A lifelong subscription
It does not offer:
A root cause
A reversal plan
A cure
A meaningful change in how you live
What you get is clarity without direction.
Your disease has a name — but you’re just as lost.
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III. AFTER THE NAME COMES THE TRAP
Once you're diagnosed:
1. You’re emotionally reduced to a condition.
“I’m diabetic.”
“I have thyroid.”
“I’m on pills.”
That becomes your identity.
2. You’re medically managed, not healed.
The sugar is controlled, not cured.
The swelling is reduced, not resolved.
The pain is silenced, not understood.
3. You’re socially pitied or patronized.
You’re told, “You must take care now.”
But no one walks the path with you.
4. You’re subtly blamed.
“Did you eat too much?”
“Did you stress too much?”
“You should’ve come earlier.”
5. You’re industrially monetized.
Test kits.
Pills.
Consultations.
Supplements.
Health apps.
Disease is now a business model.
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IV. WHAT'S MISSING AFTER DIAGNOSIS?
No one tells you how to change your food culture.
No one tells you to get sunlight, silence, movement, emotional release.
No one examines your family rhythm, sleep pattern, screen exposure, gut health, emotional history.
No one explains that the disease is not the enemy — your daily life is.
Diagnosis is the name of the collapse,
not the cause of the collapse.
And the system is not interested in cause.
It is interested in control.
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V. THE REALITY: NOTHING CHANGES AFTER DIAGNOSIS — EXCEPT YOUR DEPENDENCY
You go home.
You take the pill.
You eat the same food.
You sleep late.
You watch more reels about your condition.
You avoid the mirror of your habits.
And wait for the next follow-up.
Diagnosis becomes your leash.
Pills become your crutches.
Hope becomes your illusion.
---
VI. THE ONLY MEANINGFUL RESPONSE TO DIAGNOSIS
Diagnosis can either be:
A prison sentence
or
A call to change everything
Here’s what should follow diagnosis:
Question every habit.
Break the rhythm that created it.
Disrupt your family’s food cycle.
Simplify. Sleep. Breathe. Walk. Touch soil.
Talk less. Feel more. Eat real. Rest often.
Stop outsourcing healing. Start embodying it.
The diagnosis is just the alarm bell.
It’s up to you whether to silence it — or wake up.
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CONCLUSION: A NAME IS NOT A SOLUTION
You now have a disease with a name.
But your body doesn’t speak in names.
It speaks in imbalance, overload, noise, suppression, and rhythm loss.
If you don’t change those,
you’ll just keep collecting more names:
Thyroid. BP. Insulin. Asthma. Arthritis. Anxiety. Acidity. IBS.
And the cure will remain as absent
as the day you were diagnosed.
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“WE THOUGHT THE DIAGNOSIS WAS THE CURE”
A conversation with Madhukar the Hermit and a large Indian family trapped in labels, reports, and lifelong management
---
Characters:
Madhukar (43): The barefoot healer, simple, silent, observing more than talking.
Jayamma (72): Matriarch, had gallbladder removed, on 5 medicines, thinks she’s “fine.”
Venkatesh (75): Her husband, BP and arthritis, proud of having “everything under control.”
Suresh (50): Their son, diabetic, on insulin, walks with knee pain.
Ragini (47): His wife, thyroid, acidity, “manages well.”
Pooja (25): Their daughter, PCOS, acne, hair loss, exhausted.
Akhil (22): Son, prediabetic, gym-goer, protein shake addict.
Radha (45): Venkatesh’s younger daughter, hypertensive, spiritual bypasser.
Arjun (48): Her husband, diagnosed with fatty liver, says “it’s very common now.”
Meena (15): Their daughter, constipated, moody, gaining weight.
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I. SCENE — UNDER MADHUKAR’S TREE
They all arrive with files, bags, snacks, mineral water bottles, and opinions.
Madhukar:
Who is sick here?
Jayamma:
We’re all fine. Just follow-ups. Little BP, little sugar, but all controlled.
Pooja (interrupts):
I have PCOS. But I’m taking the right tablet. Doctor says it’s normal these days.
Suresh:
Same here. I’ve got insulin, one for cholesterol, and a sleep tablet. Everything stable now.
Ragini:
My thyroid is lifelong. It’s genetic. I take my 100 mg every morning.
Radha:
I don’t believe in all this fear. I chant. Healing is vibration.
Madhukar (calmly):
So... you're not sick.
Just diagnosed. Managed. Labelled. Medicated.
But not healed.
---
II. THE CONFUSION UNFOLDS
Venkatesh (laughs):
What’s the difference, son? If I take the medicine, and I feel fine — isn’t that healing?
Madhukar:
You feel controlled.
Not healed.
The body didn’t repair. The signal was silenced.
Jayamma:
But doctor said my gallbladder was removed and now I’m fine!
Madhukar:
If your roof leaks and you remove the ceiling tile, is the house fixed?
(Silence.)
---
III. DIAGNOSIS AS A DEAD END
Pooja:
When I was told I had PCOS, I cried.
Then I Googled.
Then I joined a PCOS group.
Now I take the tablet.
But… I feel dead inside.
Madhukar:
Because a name was given.
But no rhythm was changed.
No food wisdom was taught.
No emotion was explored.
Only management began.
Akhil:
My trainer said my sugar is borderline. But I’m taking whey protein and green tea. So I’m covered, right?
Madhukar:
You’ve outsourced your instinct to the label “borderline.”
Your body is not borderline.
It’s begging for repair — not routines.
---
IV. THE FAMILY DEFENDS THEIR FILES
Ragini:
But doctor said thyroid is for life.
Suresh:
So is diabetes.
Radha:
So is BP.
Madhukar:
Only when lifestyle doesn’t change.
Only when root cause is ignored.
Only when the body is managed, not heard.
Diagnosis is not a death sentence — but you’re living like it is.
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V. MEENA SPEAKS UP
Meena (15):
I don’t have diagnosis yet.
But I’m always tired. I poop once in 3 days.
My skin itches.
And nobody notices.
Madhukar (softly):
That’s because they’re busy managing diseases, not watching bodies.
Your body is warning early.
Don’t wait for a file.
Start healing now.
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VI. THE SHIFT IN CONVERSATION
Jayamma:
I thought surgery meant healing.
I thought no pain meant cure.
I thought the medicine was the solution.
Madhukar:
You thought silencing was solving.
You confused labels with understanding.
But the body doesn’t speak in diagnosis.
It speaks in rhythm, elimination, digestion, sleep, skin, emotion, and silence.
Arjun (quietly):
So all these years…
We just collected names.
Never changed.
---
VII. MADHUKAR'S PRESCRIPTION: NOTHING TO BUY
Madhukar:
Tear the labels.
Burn the folders.
Start from the body:
Wake with the sun.
Walk barefoot.
Eat one real meal as a family, in silence.
Remove white sugar and emotional suppression.
Fast once a week.
Sleep with darkness, not distraction.
Let no diagnosis become your identity.
Because when the body is respected,
The diagnosis becomes irrelevant.
---
VIII. 3-MONTH TRANSFORMATION
Month 1:
Resistance. Arguments. A few relapses.
But Meena begins pooping daily.
Pooja sleeps better. Acne reduces.
Suresh’s insulin dose drops slightly.
Month 2:
Jayamma eats earlier.
Venkatesh walks without sarcasm.
Ragini begins to feel energy again.
A family meal becomes real.
Month 3:
Pooja’s period comes without pain.
Akhil stops prediabetic status.
Arjun’s liver numbers improve.
And Radha — finally — admits her chants don’t replace food.
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IX. CONCLUSION
They had folders.
They had names.
They had pills.
They had tests.
But no one had rhythm.
No one had real sleep.
No one had peace.
No one had trust in the body.
Until they realized:
Diagnosis is not healing.
It’s just a loud knock asking you to begin.
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“WE GOT DIAGNOSED. THEN WE STOPPED THINKING.”
---
we sat in plastic chairs
with numbered tokens
and called it health.
we clutched reports
like proof of innocence,
as if knowing the name
of our disease
somehow cured it.
---
“type 2 diabetes,”
he said.
“hypothyroid,”
she nodded.
“pcos,”
whispered the daughter,
half proud, half broken.
even the 78-year-old fart
who hadn’t pooped in three days
grunted,
“my bp is under control.”
---
the doctor handed out
names like identity cards.
the pharmacy printed
lifelong subscriptions.
we all exhaled.
finally —
we had answers.
finally —
we could stop asking questions.
no one said:
“now what?”
no one said:
“what made this happen?”
no one said:
“what do I need to undo?”
---
we just started swallowing.
a tablet in the morning.
one before dinner.
one for sleep.
one for what the last one damaged.
the body became a filing cabinet.
symptoms were just folders.
every ache had a code.
every code had a cost.
---
and we called this
healing.
---
but nothing changed.
we still ate the same.
slept the same.
fought the same.
scrolled the same.
lied to ourselves the same.
the only thing different
was the folder in our hand
and the fear in our gut.
---
the child who had no folder
was ignored
until her skin itched
and her sleep died.
then we added her to the list.
---
healing never happened.
only scheduling did.
we replaced intuition
with test results.
we replaced rhythm
with dosage.
we replaced silence
with side effects.
and every time we asked:
“is this curable?”
the doctor said:
“manageable.”
and we nodded
like prisoners
grateful for chain length.
---
the saddest part?
we thought diagnosis
meant the end
of confusion.
but it was the beginning
of forgetting
how to feel
our own bodies
speak.
---
truth is:
we were already sick
before we had names.
we just liked
pretending.
---
give us a pill,
give us a label,
give us a package,
but don’t
you
dare
ask
us
to
change.
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