Small acts of kindness in anaesthesia | Association of Anaesthetists

Small acts of kindness in anaesthesia

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

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