I am Dr. Ahmed Ismail, a medical doctor. At the beginning of my career, I specialized in tumor surgery. Later, I pursued my PhD in endemic diseases, as this specialization was not available at my university at the time. My first passion has always been researching the causes of endemic diseases and finding the necessary treatments. I was particularly interested in understanding the environmental, natural, and geographical factors behind disease outbreaks. This passion led me to work at one of Egypt's largest pharmaceutical companies.
I never wanted to be an ordinary doctor, working in hospitals or private clinics. Instead, I aspired to be one of those doctors remembered in history for discovering treatments that help humanity conquer certain diseases. My role models were historical figures like Ibn Sina, who died more than a thousand years ago and is still remembered for his genius in medicine, and Alexander Fleming, among others. These figures, through their work, have saved countless lives and continue to be celebrated for their contributions.
Being Egyptian, I also take pride in the fact that some of the earliest medical researchers, like Hesy-Ra, were from my homeland, and their legacies continue to inspire us today, over five thousand years later. Coming from a wealthy family, financial gain never tempted me. I was also fortunate to marry the woman I loved, which brought great stability to my life, allowing me to focus entirely on my work as a researcher and drug developer.
In the research and development department of the company where I worked, there were five other researchers, but I was the youngest and most recent graduate. Despite that, I was the most active and committed, earning admiration from my colleagues and superiors, particularly Dr. Moamen Hassan, the head of the department. He always encouraged me, reminding me that patience is the key to success in research.
At that time, there were no endemic diseases in Egypt except for hepatitis caused by the hepatitis C virus. However, since I was not specialized in viral diseases, I focused on bacterial infections. Things took a dramatic turn in the winter of 2001 when an outbreak in a village in Egypt led to numerous deaths. The speed of the disease's spread suggested a viral infection, but the symptoms and areas of infection pointed to a bacterial cause. Dr. Moamen Hassan assigned two viral disease researchers, Hany Khalil and Youssef Gouda, and two bacterial disease researchers, myself and Dr. Abul-Ezz Mahmoud, to investigate.
Dr. Abul-Ezz, ten years my senior and still unmarried, often seemed to harbor some unspoken animosity towards me, despite our professional relationship. As we began researching the disease, we confirmed that it was caused by a bacterial pathogen similar to streptococci, which rapidly spread through the bloodstream and attacked various organs, leading to different causes of death depending on the individual's vulnerabilities.
With the confirmation that the disease was bacterial, the viral researchers were no longer involved. The responsibility of finding a solution rested on Dr. Abul-Ezz and me. Our immediate priority was containment, so we implemented quarantine measures in the affected village and sterilized the area. I collected samples from the village’s water sources, plants, and air for analysis, but all results came back normal. However, autopsy samples from deceased patients revealed terrifying results, as the pathogen attacked vital organs like the brain and heart.
Despite Dr. Abul-Ezz distancing himself from the research without explanation, I continued working closely with Dr. Mohamed Samir, a forensic pathologist who became one of my closest friends. Through relentless research, I finally found an effective treatment that began to slow the spread of the disease.
Confident in my findings, I submitted my research to the company to begin mass production of the treatment. I was overjoyed as colleagues, especially Dr. Mohamed Samir, congratulated me on my discovery. But then, a shocking event shattered all my plans and dreams...
At the time I was conducting clinical trials to confirm the effectiveness of the treatment—after the remarkable lab results showing the drug's ability to completely eliminate the deadly bacteria—I learned that Dr. Abul-Ezz Mahmoud had submitted a treatment to the company, and it had received preliminary approval. I discovered that his treatment was merely a suppressant for the bacteria, meaning it would put the bacteria into a dormant state, like hibernation, without killing it entirely. This was a true disaster because once the bacteria reactivated, it would become even more aggressive and deadly, spreading more rapidly among those infected. The implications were terrifying.
I rushed to the company management and announced that I had a treatment that was 100% effective. I expected this to cause a major media stir because we would finally eradicate this killer disease for good. However, to my utter shock, the company approved the production of Dr. Abul-Ezz's suppressant drug, which was not even new; it was an existing treatment he had simply pointed them to. Meanwhile, my own drug was rejected.
I could hardly believe it, and this disbelief was clear on the face of the person who delivered the news—Dr. Moamen Hassan, the head of our department. He looked visibly upset as he informed me. I was crushed by the news, but my anger soon surged. I immediately stormed into the office of the chairman, the majority shareholder of the company. I was fuming as I walked in, but he greeted me with a faint smile. He stepped out from behind his desk, shook my hand, patted my shoulder, and asked me to sit down. I sat, and he sat across from me, still smiling, and said, "Why are you angry?" Before I could respond, he continued, "No one denies the extraordinary effort and scientific breakthrough you’ve achieved in such a short time. I'm truly proud to have one of the world’s finest researchers working for me. But the decision to approve Dr. Abul-Ezz's drug was unanimous among the board, and we must respect it."
I returned his smile, though with disbelief, and replied, "Sir, this isn't about choices or decisions. This is a purely humanitarian matter first and foremost. Then it becomes a national responsibility to protect the health of our people. Finally, it’s about human conscience." I knew exactly what I was saying, but his smile faded, replaced by anger. He rose from his chair and, with frustration, moved behind his desk. "Who are you to tell me these things?" he demanded. I stood up as well, speaking calmly but firmly, "I am a citizen of this country, and more importantly, I am a bacterial researcher. I know the ferocity of this disease, and I know what you're doing will lead to a future disaster for the people of this nation." His anger subsided slightly as he responded, "Tell me, researcher, where is this disease now?" Before I could answer, he continued, though more calmly, "There are only a few dozen patients left, thanks to the preventive measures we’ve taken. As long as the precautions are in place, we’ve contained the disease, and any treatment will work. I’m not going to spend millions to manufacture a drug for a few dozen patients. The losses would be tremendous."
I spoke slowly, in a calm voice, though I was stunned that a man, supposedly a doctor and scientist responsible for one of the most critical industries, could say such things. "A few dozen people? That's nothing to worry about, I suppose. Over three thousand people have already died. That’s nothing either, right? So, what is something to worry about in your view, doctor?" I paused, then added, "You fear losing millions because the treatment might not be needed later. I understand your decision completely if profit is your only concern. But mark my words, there will be a huge disaster in the future if this goes on."
He interrupted me, saying, "This conversation is over. I expect you to return to your work and never speak of this again." I looked at him in anger and replied, "Return to my work? How can I return to work in a place where all the noble masks have fallen, revealing only false ones? How can I work in a place where there is no honor, no concern for humanity, and no fear of God?" He snapped, "Don’t bring God into this." I responded, "How could I not? It’s God who—" He cut me off again, "Do you think, researcher, that if your drug were produced, these patients could even afford to buy it? Most of them are poor, and the drug will be very expensive."
I replied, "I can reduce the overall production cost of the drug." He retorted, "No matter what you do, it won’t change my decision. I will not produce your drug." At that moment, I pulled a sheet of paper from his desk, took out my pen, and wrote my resignation letter, handing it to him. He looked at it, smiled, and said, "I accept your resignation. You’ll find your dues ready in two days with the accounts manager." His acceptance came so swiftly, it was disrespectful considering my scientific standing. I smiled, thanked him, though I had no idea what I was thanking him for, and left his office. As I walked out, I felt my strength leaving my body.
I didn’t know where to go, so I headed to see my friend, Dr. Mohamed Samir, the forensic pathologist. When I reached the morgue, I learned he was in the autopsy room. I walked in, and he was working on a body under orders from the public prosecutor. He looked up, smiled, and said, "I was just thinking about you! I was hoping Dr. Ahmed Ismail would join me for this autopsy." But as he saw my expression, his smile faded into concern. "Did they reject your treatment for production?" he asked. I looked at him, surprised. "How did you know?" I asked. He responded, "It was what I expected. The few cases left can’t justify the cost of producing the drug." I asked in anger, "So we let people die for the sake of money, even though we don’t know how dangerous this pathogen could become if it mutates?"
He sighed and replied, "They are businesspeople first, looking for profit. You won’t find a trader willing to invest in a product no one will need later." I responded, "And the victims who have died, leaving their children and wives? They mean nothing?" He said, "With all due respect, to them, it’s just a business calculation, weighing the profit and loss from production."
I grew angrier and said, "You’re talking like them! Has money become your priority too?" He shook his head, "No, I am not like them. If I cared about profit, I wouldn’t be in pathology, earning only a salary. But I’ve learned from my experiences with these people. Their thinking is shaped by the business mindset."
I replied, "When God becomes the least important observer, everything is permissible, everything has a price. And what has a price is cheap. God gave us the most valuable things in life—water, air, and conscience—free of charge. He never asked for payment, even though these are the essentials of life. On top of that, He guided us to the right path and provided examples for us to follow to save ourselves. He asks, 'Why don’t you learn from an ant, which carries multiple times its own weight over great distances, just to ensure the survival of the colony?' Or from the bee, where laziness and corruption have no place in the hive. Even among crows, no traitor goes unpunished, no matter their status. Or the wolf, known for its fierceness, yet it teaches us about family bonds and loyalty. If we followed these examples, would we be considered criminals or wrongdoers?"
Dr. Mohamed listened carefully as I continued, "If every leader did their job with fear of God in their hearts, would history ever deny their good deeds? Would their people? Never. The actions of the people are the greatest author of history."
At that moment, while I was conducting clinical trials to confirm the efficacy of my treatment—following the incredible laboratory results in completely eradicating the deadly bacteria—I learned that Dr. Abu Al-Ezz Mahmoud had submitted his own treatment, and the company had given it preliminary approval. To my shock, I discovered that his proposed treatment was merely a suppressant, not a cure. It only put the bacteria into a dormant state, much like hibernation in polar bears, without killing it entirely. This would be a catastrophe because once the bacteria reawakened, it would become more aggressive and lethal, spreading faster among humans.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, I quickly presented my 100% effective treatment to the company, fully expecting a media uproar as we prepared to finally eliminate this killer for good. However, the shocking news came when the company chose to manufacture the suppressant treatment proposed by Abu Al-Ezz, which, by the way, wasn’t even his invention. He merely pointed it out to them. Meanwhile, they rejected my treatment.
The news was too unbelievable, and it was clear from Dr. Moamen Hassan, the department head who informed me, that even he was deeply saddened. The shock defeated me, but soon my anger took over. I stormed into the office of the Chairman, who owns more than half of the company's shares. My anger was palpable as I entered his office, but he greeted me with a light smile, stepped from behind his desk, shook my hand, and asked me to sit down. I did so, and he continued to smile as he asked, "Why are you so angry?" Before I could respond, he carried on, "No one denies the incredible scientific achievement you've made in such a short time, and I'm truly proud to work with some of the best researchers in the world. But the decision to approve Dr. Abu Al-Ezz’s treatment was unanimous by the board, and we must respect it."
I smiled, but it was an unexpected, forced smile, as I replied, "Sir, this is not a matter of choice but one of humanity. It's a national decision, in the interest of our people, and above all, it’s a matter of conscience." I finished my words, fully aware of their weight, but his smile turned to anger as he returned to his desk, saying, "Who are you to lecture me on this?"
I stood as well, replying, "I am one of the people, and above all, a researcher in bacteriology. I know the ferocity of this disease, and what you’re doing could lead to a mass extinction of our people in the future." His anger subsided a little as he responded, "Tell me, where is this disease now? The number of patients is only a few dozen, thanks to the preventive measures we've taken. As long as these measures are working, we’ve successfully contained it, and any treatment will yield good results. I'm not going to spend millions manufacturing a drug for a few dozen patients; it would be a huge financial loss."
His words were a devastating blow. I couldn’t believe that a man in his position, responsible for human lives, could speak this way. I replied, "A few dozen patients? More than three thousand have already died. And that doesn't bother you? If that's the case, what does?" He interrupted me again, saying, "The conversation is over. I suggest you return to your work and stop discussing this matter." I looked at him in anger and replied, "Return to my work? How can I return to work in a place where all the noble masks have fallen, revealing nothing but falsehoods? A place without honor or fear of God."
His anger flared once more, and he shouted, "Don't bring God into this!" I shot back, "How can I not? God is the ultimate witness to all of our actions." He interrupted again, "Do you really think that if we produce your drug, any of these patients will be able to afford it? Most of them are poor, and the cost of your drug will be too high for them."
I told him, "I can reduce the cost of production." But he dismissed me, saying, "No matter what you do, it won't change my decision to reject your drug."
At that moment, I took a piece of paper from his desk, pulled out my pen, and wrote my resignation. I handed it to him, and he looked at it with a smile, saying, "I accept your resignation. You'll find your dues ready in two days with the head of finance."
His swift acceptance of my resignation, given my scientific standing, was inappropriate. I smiled at him, thanked him—though I didn’t know what I was thanking him for—and left his office, feeling as if my body was collapsing.
Not knowing where to go, I decided to visit my friend, Dr. Mohamed Samir, a pathologist. I headed to the morgue and found him in the dissection room, working on a corpse under the authorization of the public prosecutor to determine the cause of death. When he saw me, he removed his face mask and smiled, saying, "I swear I was just thinking of you, hoping you’d join me for this autopsy." But his smile quickly turned to confusion, and he asked, "Did they reject your drug for production?" I was surprised and asked how he knew. He said, "It's what I expected because the current number of patients isn't enough to offset the production costs of the drug."
I replied in frustration, "Are we going to let people die over money, without understanding how dangerous this disease could become?" He responded, "They’re businessmen, first and foremost, looking for profits. You won't find a businessman who invests in something no one will need later."
I angrily retorted, "And what about the victims? The ones who died and left behind families—do they not matter?" He replied, "With all due respect, for them, it’s a numbers game: profit and loss."
I shot back, "You've started to sound just like them! Has money become the ultimate goal for everyone?"
Dr. Mohamed looked at me and said, "I'm not like them. If I cared about money, I wouldn't be working in pathology, earning just my salary. But I’ve learned how they operate, and it’s not personal. To them, it's business. But for people like you and me, it’s about saving lives."
With my prestigious scientific standing, I found myself, for no apparent reason, thrown into a cell that barely fit 20 people, yet held more than 60 men. I could only sleep on one side for three hours, then had to stand for nine hours so that others could have their turn to rest. The cramped conditions made my stomach churn, even though I had never suffered from irritable bowel syndrome before. When the prosecutor called me in for questioning, I left my cell in handcuffs, not knowing what crime I had committed to deserve such treatment.
I looked at the faces around me, and I saw varied expressions—some looked at me with pity, while others wore smiles of schadenfreude. Some even looked at me with disdain, assuming that I must be a doctor with no conscience to end up in a place like this. The emotional pain was unbearable, but the worst of all came during the visits from my wife. Sitting behind bars, I felt like a lost child, and after each visit, I sat alone, overwhelmed by a crushing sense of grief. I constantly asked myself, "What crime have I committed? Is my only crime that I got angry for the sake of protecting this nation from a disease I understand better than anyone else?"
What a disaster. I couldn't sleep; I screamed silently inside, "Where am I? Get me out of here, I can't take it anymore!" It felt like my soul was being ripped from me every single day. I glanced at the others around me and saw eyes that silently wept, but no one noticed. How can we recognize the pain of those who are already suffering?
I endured this torment for over 130 days, imprisoned without knowing my crime. The worst part? After all that time, I was released pending trial, meaning the prosecution hadn't yet cleared my name. I was still awaiting the court's decision, leaving me vulnerable to another prison sentence, without knowing why—other than for speaking out to "the gentlemen" in an improper tone. Is this justice? To strip a man of his dignity simply because he stood up for his country, offering a solution that could ease the suffering of millions?
When I was finally released, I felt utterly broken. I couldn’t interact with those around me; I had become a hollow shell of a man. The disaster had shattered me internally, and all the knowledge I had amassed over the years now seemed worthless.
Later, I learned that Dr. Abu Al-Ezz had been promoted to General Manager and Head of the Development Department, replacing Dr. Moamen Hassan. This was because of the enormous profits his "suppressant" treatment had generated, as cases of the disease began to spread widely. His treatment only suppressed the illness, keeping it dormant, but I knew, deep down, that the bacteria were evolving, preparing to become even more deadly.
I also found out that the son of the Minister of Health had married the daughter of the Chairman of the pharmaceutical company—the same man who owned the largest share in the company. People called it a marriage of power and wealth at the time.
Meanwhile, my personal suffering continued. I battled severe depression for over six more months, during which my wife bore the brunt of my agony. I often sat alone, crying like a child. I tried countless times to escape the darkness that consumed me, but I always failed.
Then one day, my friend, Dr. Mohamed Samir—the pathologist—visited me. He gave me an opportunity to start fresh by telling me he had rented a clinic for me in a prime location downtown. The previous owner had left the country, and I knew him well—he had been a distinguished surgeon. The clinic came with its patients, or rather its clients, as they’re called in the medical field now. It was clear that I would have to adapt and become like other doctors, treating medicine as a profession, not a mission, and patients as clients, not individuals in need of care. The reality was devoid of any humanity.
It was difficult, but I made the decision and successfully implemented it. However, soon enough, what I had predicted came true. The disease spread again, this time with unprecedented ferocity. Its virulence shocked everyone—everyone except me. It claimed hundreds of lives daily, sometimes over a thousand. Dr. Abu Al-Ezz’s treatment became utterly useless; in fact, it provided the perfect environment for the bacteria to thrive and spread. The media turned against the Minister of Health and the pharmaceutical companies. It was a disaster on every level.
The greatest shock came when the daughter of the Chairman of the pharmaceutical company—the same man who refused to approve my cure—and the wife of the Minister of Health’s son, contracted the disease. She had been working in my department, and during a research expedition, she became infected. They tried to send her abroad for treatment, but every country refused, fearing the spread of the disease.
At that moment, I was remembered by the Chairman of the company, the largest shareholder. I found him standing in my clinic, which had now become overrun with clients. Yes, clients, because what they had done to me had killed the human being I once was.
Yes, they killed him—the person I used to be. They turned me into one of them, seeing patients as clients, and every human situation as a transaction. Now, I look into their wallets before even thinking about how to heal them. Only those who can pay are the ones I agree to treat. I’ve become someone else—someone I despise with all my heart.
And especially that man, who I knew was waiting outside after my nurse informed me of his arrival. Even the way I spoke now had changed—I used to despise people who said things like "my nurse works for me." It always felt degrading to those who worked alongside me. I preferred to say "my nurse works with me," out of respect for their humanity, regardless of the job they did. Their work was more honorable than that of their so-called superiors.
When the nurse came into my office and said, "Dr. Abed Shawky is here," I looked at her in surprise and said, "Send in the next patient, then let him in." I wanted to give myself time to think through all the possible scenarios that might unfold between us. I was sure he had come to ask for the research file containing the formula for the treatment, now that the disease had spread throughout Egypt and was rapidly spreading worldwide. The time had finally come to produce the medicine, and the company would now make a fortune.
But how could I take revenge for what happened to me? For my dignity, after that unjust imprisonment, from which I still hadn’t healed emotionally. After all, he was the main reason I ended up in jail—he accused me before the prosecutor of being delusional, claiming that I had discovered a cure for this disease. He even suggested that I was mentally unstable.
I remembered the hell I went through—the tiny 20-centimeter space I had to sleep in, unable to even turn to the other side, bodies pressed together in suffocating proximity. And the few hours of sleep, followed by eight hours of standing on one foot. Even going to the bathroom meant waiting for hours, sometimes more than two, just to relieve myself.
After finishing with the patient, I allowed Dr. Abed Shawky to enter. I had prepared myself for both attack and defense, but what walked into my office left me stunned. Before me stood a man I barely recognized. He had lost his former pride, his arrogance stripped away, and he was visibly thinner. His face had turned pale; he looked like a sick, broken man.
As soon as he entered, he rushed towards me, eager to shake my hand, showing me a respect I had never seen from him before. This was a man who once exuded arrogance and superiority over anyone he considered beneath him. I was surprised—taken aback by his transformation. He sat down in the chair opposite my desk, but before either of us could sit, he startled me by grabbing my hand and attempting to kiss it, as if he were begging for forgiveness or desperately seeking help.
I pulled my hand away quickly, shocked by his behavior, but he immediately spoke up, "Please, Dr. Ahmed, save me with the cure for this deadly disease." Still in disbelief at what I was witnessing, I replied, "What cure are you talking about?"
"Dr. Ahmed, I beg you—my only daughter is hovering between life and death. Please, save her!"
I looked at him, filled with a deep, burning anger. "Now you're asking for the cure, when the disease has reached your own home? Search for it, Doctor, search for it among the dead who perished because of your greed. Search for it among the children orphaned because of your insatiable hunger for profit—you and people like you."
But he grabbed my hand again, trying once more to kiss it, desperate to change the conversation from one of refusal. He pleaded, "Please, do whatever you want to me. Take revenge however you see fit, but please save my daughter, my only child."
Here, I found myself laughing—a strange, noticeable laugh—as I said to him, "Now you come asking for the cure? Now, when it will cost you millions to manufacture it, just to save your daughter? Why didn’t you think, even once, about the people whose lives were lost because of this disease when you had every opportunity to save them? Now, you look to yourself and fear losing someone you love. Why didn’t you think about the children who lost their parents, or the wives who became widows, with their children orphaned, because of your financial decisions? Now you come seeking the cure for your daughter? I’m sorry, Dr. Abed, but I don’t have what you’re asking for."
But once again, he tried to kiss my hand, pleading desperately, begging me to save his only daughter's life. He said, "Please, I’ve had enough. I know I wronged you." I interrupted, "You didn’t just wrong me. You wronged all of humanity. People are dying now—why didn’t you come before, for their sake? Is it only because the disaster has reached your doorstep? You were the reason I was unjustly imprisoned. You accused me of being delusional simply because I wanted to create something that would heal people. And where is the Minister of Health now? The same one whose son married your daughter after you threw me into jail. I was the scapegoat, slaughtered in celebration of your children’s marriage. Because of your actions, I became a stain on my family’s reputation, a shame on my children. I became a broken man."
He looked at me with desperation in his eyes and said, "Ask anything of me. I will do it. I will go on all the TV channels and publicly apologize to you. I’ll give you half the profits from the medicine’s production. No, all the profits! Just give me the dose that will save my daughter. Please, Doctor!" He reached out again to kiss my hand, tears streaming down his face.
I looked at his worn face, and for the first time, I saw a truly broken man—someone time had treated mercilessly. I gently patted him on the shoulder and said, "No, I don’t want anything. I just want to examine your daughter. Please, give the order to start preparing the labs immediately for production."
He grasped my hand, weeping bitterly as he thanked me over and over.
I went with him to examine his daughter, who, unfortunately, was in an advanced stage of the disease. I quickly prescribed some immune boosters to strengthen her frail body, hoping to buy time until the treatment could be produced. Any further deterioration could be dealt with over time, but death has no cure. I then rushed to the factory, pulling out my phone, where I had saved the formula for the medicine.
The work and attention to detail were so rapid that within just 24 hours, the first dose of the treatment was packaged and ready. I personally took the dose to Dr. Abed’s daughter and administered it myself. After three days, her health had improved significantly. Soon, all the TV channels were broadcasting Dr. Abed’s official apology, addressed directly to me by name. I was overjoyed by this, but my greatest joy came from hearing about the positive effects of the medicine and knowing that we had taken the first steps toward eradicating this deadly disease.
Two months later, after continuous production of the medicine, I was surprised to find millions of dollars deposited in my name at one of the Egyptian banks. When I asked about the source of the money, the bank mentioned the company. I went to see Dr. Abed, only to find him saying, "These are all the profits from the medicine so far, and it’s less than a quarter of what’s due to us. You haven’t even received all your entitlements yet." I tried to convince him that I didn’t deserve more than my fair share, but he insisted that every penny of the medicine’s profits was rightfully mine, and that I truly deserved it. He continued to thank me for saving his daughter’s life.
But everyone forgets that we are merely instruments—reasons granted to us by God to be the means for the salvation of others.
As Allah, the Almighty, says in His Book: "And if Allah did not repel some people by means of others, the earth would have been corrupted." (Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:251)
Yes, we push one another, to restore and heal the earth.
Let me introduce myself now: I am Dr. Ahmed Ismail, owner of the largest pharmaceutical company in the Middle East and recipient of the State Appreciation Award.
Thank you all.
=================== Written by: Mohamed Hassan Murai
