Small acts of kindness in anaesthesia
I was working in Iran in 1992 when
our second son was born. Soon
after his birth we discovered that
he had a complicated cardiac
anomaly that could not be treated
there, and we were advised to
take him to a medically advanced
facility in Europe or England. We
first enquired in England but the
cost of surgery was well beyond
our means. One of our dear friends
who was working in Ireland spoke
to a cardiac surgeon working in Our
Lady’s Children’s Hospital in Dublin;
although a big name in his specialty
he was a very kind-hearted person.
It was only through his efforts and
assistance that we managed to
reach Dublin.
Soon after our arrival in Dublin my son had his operation.
After surgery he was moved to ICU, still on the ventilator.
Every morning my wife and I would visit ICU, hoping to see
him awake and off the ventilator. However, on the fifth day after
surgery, we received the dreaded call to come to the hospital
urgently as he had deteriorated and would not survive long.
As we entered the ICU, his heart stopped.
He was a stranger, and yet he had made me feel that I was not alone in my grief.
I remember that we stood at the side of the bed in a state
of complete shock, not fully taking in the fact that our son
had died. My wife was being consoled by the nurses, while
I just stood there in grief staring at the lifeless little body not
knowing what to do. Someone tapped on my shoulder. I
turned around to see the young ICU doctor looking at me.
Without saying a single word, he just hugged me. This was the
moment when I broke down in tears, and he kept holding me
for a couple of minutes. I felt as if a burden had been taken off
my shoulder, and I was now ready for closure.
My friends arranged the funeral, and after a couple of days
we came to the UK where I started my new job in anaesthesia.
It was only several years after my son’s death that I realised
how important that little act of kindness had been. He was a
stranger, and yet he had made me feel that I was not alone in
my grief. He gave me support when I most needed it just by
offering his shoulder to cry on and showing that he cared. It
was at this stage that I thought I must tell him how grateful I
was, but I knew nothing about him. I went back to Dublin, but
he was not there anymore. I started searching on social media
platforms but had no success. The only thing that I found out
was that his name was Bill.
As I told my story, I could see the mood in the room change from cheerful to sombre, with some holding back tears.
The years went by and memories of that day faded slowly as
my professional life became busier. In 2017 I accepted a job
offer in a brand-new hospital in the Middle East. During my
first week there, I was being shown around when I saw him
in one of the rooms, surrounded by colleagues, and instantly
recognised him. “Bill.” I said as I entered the room. “That’s me.”
he replied. My heart almost stopped. The person I had been
seeking for the last 25 years had appeared suddenly in front
of me when I least expected it. “Can I shake your hand?” I said.
“Why not?” he said, extending his hand towards me. Instead
of taking his hand I said “Actually, can I give you a hug?” With a
puzzled look he said, “Yes of course”, so I hugged him. By now
everyone in the room was looking at me intently. “Now tell me
the story...” Bill said. As I told my story, I could see the mood in
the room change from cheerful to sombre, with some holding
back tears. However, for me this was a day of delight - I had
met my first mentor in anaesthesia who had given me a
lesson in compassion and empathy that I would never forget
throughout my professional career. Thank you, Bill William
Casey.
Zahid Rafique
Consultant Anesthesiologist
Alfardan Medical with Northwestern Medicine, Doha, Qatar