Much is said and gossiped about when it comes to my father. Many will often assume that whistleblowing doctors appear out of thin air and have no family or relatives to consider. I didn't have the comfort of leaving the United Kingdom in some razzmatazz event like Prof Steve Bolsin. I had serious responsibilities in the United Kingdom. One of them was my father. I was responsible for my father. For those who don't know, my father was a consultant surgeon cut in his prime at the age of 52. He became disabled following a suspected brain infection. The fact he became disabled is always used against me not only by the conceited General Medical Council but by my enemies. I have many enemies and as time has gone on I have ignored the thoughts of the narrow minded because I know how stigma works. I can name numerous times my father has been used against me. The General Medical Council had the idea that because my father had a head injury and a mental illness, I must have it. Now this has been mentioned to me a number of times. Its also written in the GMC's notes. The GMC were always rather keen to merge my father with me. Its probably why they questioned my mental health in the hapless way that they did. Mental illness runs in families according to them. Did it really? Or was it just that the GMC had mistreated our father? I cannot really explain my father's dislike for the General Medical Council. Even with half his brain in a damaged state, he would tell me what a ruthless,incompetent body they were. As time went on and I was older and a doctor, his words started to come true. Gradually, I started to discover who the GMC was. What is not said or spoken about are the hardships I had to go through as a young girl and a teenager. The fact about hardships is this, it teaches you to keep going. I am unsure whether its anger or injustice or a bit of both that drives you to carry on but something makes you wake up every morning to fight for a better day. At the age of 14 I had a huge battle ahead of me. In the 1980s, I didn't have computers or printers, I wrote letters by hand. The GMC had done their bit and thrown my father into the dustbin. I suppose they felt that because they did that, we would all sink with him. Four of their experts diagnosed him as having multi-infarct dementia. This meant no one would make any effort to rehabilitate our father and we were told he would die at 55. Aged 55 came and went and our father improved. I taught my father everything again from reading, writing, teaching him to wear his clothes and walking with him daily. When the medical profession gave up [ and they all did], it was left to me, a teenager to bring him back. We had no help or support. I needed to tell everyone this tale because its important to remember that where there is a will, there is always a way. The way is forward. The solutions are there if you seek it out. I did seek it out. I challenged our then GP who brushed off my ideas of recovery. I still refused to give up. I hand wrote letters to the United States and obtained a solution. Still the local authority fobbed me off. I attended a meeting where I challenged the recovery evidence and the diagnosis made by no less than four senior London neurologists/psychiatrists. These were figures from the National Hospital of Neurology etc. Anyway, I knew I was right and they were all wrong. I knew that one day I would prove it even with my limited knowledge then. I was 19 when things finally began to turn my way. By then, I had been writing the local health authority letters every week for nearly four years. I kept going strong even at University. I finally obtained the right to have my father reviewed by Addenbrookes Hospital. There, the two neuropsychiatrists were shocked at the General Medical Council's handiwork. German Berrios categorically stated my father had been neglected. In any event, comments like this never go in medical records. My father was though given the right to rehabilitation at the age of 60. The door finally opened. I had finally succeeded at step 1. After reversing the diagnosis of dementia after 10 years, it took me another few years to fight for rehabilitation funding. At that point, I raised finances after writing to 543 charities by hand. After that, I designed the programme with the suggestions by Dr Nathan Zasler USA. I obtained the results that this worked and presented it to the health authority. My father had finally gained some hope and was excited about moving forward. He went from a decade of self confinement to living his life again, to using computers, reading, going out, watching films and eating fish and chips. His life was returning slowly to him and he was motivated to keep going. Even though it was hard, he still got up at 5am in the morning to do his memory exercises etc. With the results of the programme after one year, I kept writing to the Health Authority for further funding. One evening in winter 1995, a letter dropped through our door. It was the letter agreeing to funding because it was costing far too much to handle my correspondence :). My father had one of the first community based rehabilitation programs Our father lived until his 70s and led a good quality of life until his death in 2005. His name is not in the BMJ or any other leading magazine. Our father spent one part of his life saving the most vulnerable in Africa, when he became the most vulnerable, his colleagues were never there. Through his darkness, he finally made it into the light and lived a good life. Our father was a brave man who never gave up - ever. This is the executive summary http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/rita-pal/head-injury-rehabilitation_b_1514048.html At some point in the future, I will probably write about the real horrors of the General Medical Council and how lives are ruined because of their negligence and malicious behaviour. For now though, the GMC and I both know what happened to my father. Moreover, the man they left to die, lived his life to the best of his ability. They will also be happy to know that the final settlement in libel case Pal v GMC 2005 went to our father. I handed it to our father with the apology for the GMC's behaviour and the years it cost him. I did it because the GMC wasn't man enough to do it. They didn't have the courage to tell a disabled doctor that they had got it wrong. Sorry was indeed the hardest word for them. The system may fail and doctors in the system maybe indifferent but if you see a way forward, you should take it. On occasion, the best option left is you as everyone else would have given up and moved on. This is written in memory of our brave father. Everyone gave up on him. He never gave up on himself and I never gave up on him. Together we survived and made it until it was time for him to go onto a different adventure. No doubt we shall meet again after our respective journeys are over for that fish and chips by the seaside.