Representative image.
Credit: iStock Photo
While on the last lap of my evening walk, the mobile tinkled in my pocket. Perturbed by the interruption, willy-nilly I picked up the call to hear a calm female voice: “Doctor, I want to thank you for being there for my nonagenarian mother.” I was baffled for a moment while she continued: “While going through Amma’s material possessions, I came across a diary note mentioning your kindness to her. She passed away four years back! I am indebted to you for looking after her.”
My mind went on a search mode; Oh yes, I saw her, an elderly lady impeccably clad in a Kanjeevaram sari with a face brightened by the high-clarity diamond ear studs and a solitaire adorning her nose. It was Onam and I was in my traditional gold-bordered cream Kerala sari with jasmine on my hair-bun. There was a gala vegetarian spread (sadya) to celebrate the feast and to welcome Mahabali, the benevolent mythical king.
I was with my last patient, ready to run across to the food hall. Then, I saw her peeping in, as I was halfway to the exit. I ushered her in, masking my displeasure and disappointment. My heart told me that she was old and I had to be kind to her, but my brain was trying to resist this.
As a young lass, she had shifted from an interior village to Delhi and later to Bengaluru. She had kept her language skills alive, even as she became a homemaker, mother of four and grandmother. She had made her mark in the vernacular literary world bagging medals and honours. But now, here she was, in her nineties, frail and fragile. She had aches and pains, and on that day she could not get up from a chair without help, she could not hold her urine, she felt lonely and low at times and most importantly was fatigued almost always.
I examined her, looked at her reports, tweaked her medicines, taught her the right insulin injection technique and spoke to her children about her care. And, as she left, it was well past lunchtime! I had spent over
two hours with her! I was too late and to my chagrin, the lunch was gone. After this, she would call me on and off for minor ailments and after a few months this stopped as she succumbed to multiple myeloma.
Now, back to the diary note, was she returning my kindness? No! She was being kind; kindness pouring in by remembering a physician who gave her a ‘patient’ hearing. That too, years later. A kind cut indeed! Did I deserve it? I had missed lunch and wasn’t pleased about it. Every moment of kindness counts when one is counting moments in time.