Every family has doctor stories; this one is rather old (so i suspect it is beginning to take on a legendary aspect). Anyway: my great-grandmother was ill (back 80+ years ago). Her doctor could not help her, so he referred her to a famous Harvard brain surgeon (the famous Dr. Harvey Cushing). The good doctor diagnosed a brain tumor, and advised her to "get her affairs in order’. Well, you probably know the rest: Dr. Cushing was dead within the month, Grand-Grandmama went on to live another 19 years!
Sorry, just popped into my head! 
I have two, though the first is not really the same. I’m going to tell it anyway. It’s a feel-good story.
My grandfather was a reputed doctor in India. He, like many people, had his toilet/bathroom cleaned by an untouchable couple.
One day the wife came in and she’d obviously been beaten badly by her husband. Well, my grandmother took her into the bedroom, covered the bed with a brand-new white sheet, sat her down, and cleaned her up and gave her medicine and bandages from the closet. The woman kept saying that she shoudln’t touch her, but my grandma wouldn’t listen.
No one did that in those days, you know.
The second one is told to me by my aunt.
Her and Grandpa - her father - were walking along the street, him holding her hand. Apparently a barber said namaste to my grandpa, but grandpa didn’t notice it. Now doctors are much higher in class than barbers, so he technically didn’t have to say anything.
They went on for some time, and then my aunt said, “Papa, why didn’t you say namaste to the nai (barber)?”
My grandfather got the story out of her, and then, embarrassed, trekked all the way back to the barber’s shop and apologized to him specifically. Again, not something he had to do, but his innate sense of politeness wouldn’t let him go on.
One:
Mom’s sterile. Serious. Really. That the most prestigious doctors in the country said. How she came to deliver three healthy children is a mistery best left to the theologians (and while I don’t remember my own birth, I do remember my bros’).
Two:
The Civil war of 1936-39 started on July 18th; Uncle Julio had just finished his first year of medical school but hadn’t received his grades yet. By the time he started the second year, he was 22 years old and had spent three years as a battlefield surgeon. He died over 12 years ago but he was such an enormous figure in local medicine that my SiL (who is also a doctor) found herself identified as “Don Julio’s niece-in-law” just five years ago; she still gets routinely introduced as “Don Julio’s niece” by old timers to other old timers. This is a story that was told to me by another doctor.
Doctors have to do “rotations” in different departments during their practice years. At this point they are already doctors, but not yet specialists. The doctor telling me the story was working with the head of the Internal Medicine department when Don Julio came in. As was his usual style, he knocked but just let himself in. Before the other two doctors could say anything beyond “good after-”, Don Julio said “that blonde with the green dress, is she yours?”
“Well, yes.” A blonde patient wearing a green dress had left the office seconds before. “Do you know her?”
“Nope, haven’t ever seen her before. It’s her right kidney. Do XYZ test.”
“Uh, but…”
“What? C’mon, man, you’ve got patients waiting, speed it up!”
“Well, we’re ordering the 123 test of course, it’s her first visit.”
“Oh sweet lord Jesus on a pair of crutches… OK, I know that’s the protocol and it makes sense, but you must still have the paperwork on that desk, right? Just sign her up for the first four tests together. Otherwise by the time you get 'round to XYZ she’ll be incurable.”
The big name doctor did what the crusty old GP said and ordered the first four tests in the protocol. And it was her right kidney indeed… and if they’d followed the protocol to the letter, she would have been incurable by the time they found it. You should have seen the look in the doc’s face as he told me the story, I’ve seen people in that much awe but not in more. I’ve heard other stories about Uncle Julio’s magical eye.
My family’s doctor was a young man during WWII. There was a shortage of general practitioners so he became one instead of a endocrinologist. :o Came in handy when I found I had varicocele, which is like a varicose vein in a man’s testicle. Boy!! He sure hand cold hands.
Not to hijack, but I’ve heard of castes in India, but could you explain this further? Untouchable? Why? Because their parents were, or because of their job? What social ostracism (if any) did your grandma face for being kind to her? What happened to her husband for beating her?