Friday, April 17, 2015


A blog series on “Compassion” is incomplete without a hail to the healing touch of doctors and nurses. I sometimes wonder, why the sick are called “patient”? Isn't it be a namer given to the doctors treating them? The patience and endurance they exhibit is beyond parallel. 

A bleeding accident victim, a child running high fever, a patient breathing his last moments, a mom in labour, a mentally challenged girl - a gentle smile and a soft caress, and the heart says, “Yes, I will be better”. 

This takes me to an anecdote I would like to share with you all. Dates back to my school days. She used to be as one of the most strict staff member in our school. In year 7, I had opted to learn Malayalam (a language spoken in the state of Kerela, in India). Even though the language was difficult, and very different from my mother tongue, the scariest part was the teacher / Sister Thomas. Sister Thomas was our school nurse. A simple lady clad in white saree, she used to dislike noise. No matter how much I tried, her mere presence in class made me cold. I failed in my language test.  

I was in year 11, in high school. I had exams coming up, and I used to study late nights. The day I went to school to attend extra classes, I fainted in class. My friends must have managed to take me to the sick room. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a bed in the sickroom, and Sister Thomas was sitting beside me. A good friend of mine, Puja, was sitting right next to her. I tried to get up, and wished to head back to class. But Sister Thomas, didn't allow me to leave the room. She was around me for the next few hours, calming and soothing me, until I was fit to run. Since then, my respect for the profession increased manifold. 

Just another incident, which many of us must have experienced. I had a prolonged labour. Due to some complication, they had to do an induced labour. But the baby was not descending. While me and my family were requesting for a C Sec, Dr Swati was insisting on a normal delivery (for health reasons).  While I was in labour pain, my doctor, Swati Sinha, slept in the hospital, say 2 or 3 hours during the night. I was there for 3 nights, and Dr Swati did not leave the hospital. And finally she was successful, I had a normal delivery with a healthy baby (knock on wood). That is the level of zeal doctors have. 

An ode to all the healers who have helped me get back to normal from various illness and similar circumstances. I can easily say that I owe my life to thee! 

This post is written as the fifteenth in the series of A-to-Z challenge and a part of #1000speak
My theme is "Compassion" and today's thought is based on