The Old Age of Kindness

By Farah Wahida

Its a terrible habit of mine to make the same resolution every year as I watch
gunpowder explode infront of famous landmarks. I dont suppose Ive ever made a
public announcement about it which is inconsistent with who I am as a person but
my resolution is to always be a little bit kinder and to always smell nice.

I make this resolution every year not because I fail to achieve it and so it needs
to be revitalised but because it is an achievable goal. This applies to the former
resolution; I feel that the latter is sometimes a futile idea because of the weather and
the no-shower habit Ive adapted. Ha!

Ive always thought that a single act of kindness would be enough to create a
ripple that would change the world for the better. You know what they say; kindness
begets more kindness. Oh my, my young heart, forgive me the lies I told myself I
was such an optimist. Kindness is overrated, I mean, its a thing thats kind of good in
and of itself but at the end of the day, you still have the Donald Trumps of the world
holding powerful positions. I mean, we could have had Clinton; she wouldve been a
bad president but thered be no such bans and walls and gag orders.

This is not a political story. I promise.

This is not the story I wanted to write about but it is the one I am about to tell.
This is my faith in kindness; re-evaluated and renewed.

The elderly ward can be quite delightful but most of the time its your average
ward - quiet except for the mechanical beeps keeping watch over frail hearts and the
occasional shouts about never forgetting. As a third year medical student, I always
feel like a lost puppy cute but completely helpless. Ill trot behind the consultants as
we dissect patients files and Ill smile at the elderly just to let them know things are
looking up. And then, a moment of victory. A moment to get one of my directly
observed procedures (DOPs) signed off.


Farah, do you want to put the cannula in? Ive gotten mine done already so
you can have this one. Esme called out to me as she nodded to the lady in B12.

Yes, this is it. This is my moment. If you hadnt already guessed, I was
striking Freddie Mercurys victory meme pose. Esme took that to mean I will get the
job done. Because that was what it is, it was a job. It was a test. It was a 6 minute
OSCE skill station. It was a signature in my white book.

Thats all there is to it, right?

So, I went into the supplies office; got my apron and gloves on; got my
equipment sterilised and ready to go; removed the old gloves and took a pair of sterile
ones because aseptic no-touch technique, you know, and then said a little prayer
before making a pit stop to the nurses station. Now, here came the tricky part
getting a junior doctor to observe the procedure so that s(he) can sign me off.
Thankfully, Dr Mun was around and was more than happy to be of service.

We made a beeline to B12; me (a nervous wreck), Esme (telling me words of

encouragement) and Dr Mun (chilled as usual).

Hi there Mrs. Smith (real name omitted because of patient confidentiality),

my name is Farah and Im a third year medical student. Ive been asked by the doctor
to insert a small plastic tube into your vein using a needle. This is going to make it
easier to give you fluids and medications, will that be alright with you? By the time
Ive delivered my rehearsed text to her, my nerves have calmed down a bit. Or
perhaps, my nerves made a leap onto Mrs. Smith because she was nervous. But, she
nodded anyways because shes a trooper. Or maybe she nodded because she was
admitted with increased confusion and when someone mentions doctor, she knows to
automatically agree.

The third year medical student in me screamed to get it done, now. NOW!
But, common sense asked me to calm her down because I was scared to hurt her. I did
not want to hurt her. I just wanted to help.


By the way, guess who won?

Pssst, it was common sense.

I got down on one knee and held her hand (I was breaking several infection
prevention risks here), Mrs. Smith, when I was in GP land, all of the patients said
that I was gentler than the doctors. She chuckled slightly, it wasnt enough for me.

Mrs. Smith, I try again, you will feel a sharp scratch lasting for about 0.1 of
a second. I know, Ive timed it myself. She nodded profusely.

Mrs. Smith, I - She waved a hand, her eyes looking a lot less hazy and said,
Im fine, doctor. Just a bit scared of needles.

I pat her hand gently, Youre allowed to look away and if it helps, you can
imagine me naked. I heard inconceivable giggles erupt from behind me but I remain
focused on Mrs. Smith. She showed me a toothy grin and said, I think thats for
public speaking, sweetheart.

The cannula went in without a hitch. Mrs. Smith did pull her hand away when
I put the needle in my heart skipped a beat. I thanked her and went on my way.

I see her most days, shes been exerting signs of dementia but whenever I pass
by her bed, she beams at me and that chews at something in my heart. Its not a bad
feeling, not at all. Its a ball of contentment, ready to burst into a smile or make my
heart break from the weight of all it. Its a good feeling, it truly is.

So, Ive made my peace with kindness. I see now that it will not ameliorate
this world and all of its harsh realities. I know that the doers are those who want to do
right by people. I understand that kindness manifests itself in small gestures and in
those fleeting moments when you surrender youself to the aftereffects, all you can
taste is sweetness.

The End.