Dr.C.J.George FRCS 
Some people collect stamps. Others collect antiques. I, apparently, collect legal disputes.
By temperament, I suffer from a rare allergy—to injustice. The symptoms are predictable: raised eyebrows, strongly worded letters, and occasionally, a court summons. If something is unfair—be it an employer, a government department, a corporate giant, or a stubborn neighbour—I find it almost impossible to let it pass. This habit has earned me two things: a formidable archive of correspondence and a healthy list of enemies.
In the early days, I wrote letters with pen and paper, each one carefully drafted and re-drafted like a love letter to justice. I used to read it out the final draft to my elder sister, my partner or eldest daugher as time passed by, prior to sending someone. Amstrad word processor, which revolutionised my campaign—cut, paste, print, repeat. With the arrival of laptops, email, and the iPad, my grievances became faster, sharper, and much more difficult to ignore. Technology, you see, is a powerful ally for the persistently aggrieved.
My initiation into litigation began long before I wore a stethoscope.
My father owned a three-storey building facing College Road in Thrissur (then Trichur), leased in 1964 to a hotelier named Kuttan. For five years, rent was paid. Then,like a vanishing magician, payments stopped. My brothers sued. The case travelled through the lower courts and up to the High Court together with time. Sadly we lost, in our endeavour to recover rent.The verdict declared our property transaction was “BINAMI” or nameless.
At the time, I was studying medicine at Davangere. On visiting home, I read the judgment repeatedly, less like a son and more like a detective. Something did not add up. A visit to the registration office at Trichur revealed the plot twist: the tenant had allegedly bribed officials to tamper with our property title deed records. Armed with this revelation, we appealed to the Supreme Court of India and won.
The case dragged on for years before eviction was finally secured. By then, I was living overseas. Justice, I learned early, may be blind but it is also slow, overworked, and fond of adjournments.
Nigeria, the NHS, and the Price of Principle
While working in Nigeria, I discovered that contracts are sometimes treated as decorative literature. When employers fell short of agreed terms, I complained politely at first, persistently thereafter. When my employer Mbadiwe stopped paying monthly salary, I left Nigeria,
In the UK, my battles continued within the National Health Service. Payments for work beyond agreed Unit Medical Time UMT were mysteriously delayed or absent. Fortunately, the British Medical Association stood firmly behind me. After prolonged exchanges, the NHS paid—retrospectively and reluctantly.
Did my rebellious streak slow my career progression? Possibly. Hospitals, like elephants, have long memories, especially for doctors who write letters.
The Entrepreneur vs. The Establishment
In London, I founded Prompt Doctor Service, recruiting vetted doctors for NHS hospitals. Business was straightforward: I paid the doctors on time; hospitals paid me. Contract terms clearly stated that hospitals could not directly employ doctors introduced by my agency without compensation.One hospital did exactly opposit that.
The dispute escalated, expert opinions, legal advice, courtroom drama. I took the case to Liverpool Crown Court. Unfortunately, I lost and was ordered to pay substantial legal costs. I was not having the resources to go higher courts. A costly lesson: righteousness and victory are not identical twins
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