Most tedious part of a long working day is the last hour when time stands still and the thoughts of a cup of tea on reaching home swirl in a tired head. Any task that presents in this laboured hour is instinctively avoided and if unavoidable, detested. I experienced this sentiment in final half-hour of last weekend when the reception called to ask if I, a doctor, could ‘take’ a patient who was late for her appointment by half an hour.
Overcoming a strong urge to refuse I almost unwittingly said yes and immediately regretted. Eye patients require to undergo pupillary dilatation and invariably take almost an hour for complete examination. A word of affirmation once uttered cannot be taken back and certainly not without some embarrassment.
The patient came and was profusely grateful for my gesture that I was cursing myself for. She had travelled a long distance by public transport and was thankful for being ‘taken’ just 10 minutes before my closing time.
As I subconsciously kicked myself, she elaborately poured out her problems that I half-heartedly offered solutions to and then a minor clinical procedure had to be done. The procedures per se are minor but the effort expended to get an approval is major, particularly when your patient has a modest insurance.
A tetchy exchange with insurance approver caused a further delay but approval finally came, procedure was done, and the patient left thanking me copiously. Such delays invariably result in having to travel through heavier traffic or a grumpy spouse at home and one cautions himself against such thoughtless benevolence towards patients who do not report at the appointed hour.
Life carried on
A few days later my daughter sprained her ankle and went about her business with casual indifference. The ankle swelled in revolt and had to be immobilised with a crepe bandage, restricting her movements to a point where even visiting the toilet became painfully arduous.
One of us had to support her for balance and to avoid bearing weight on the swollen foot. She desperately needed a walking stick if she needed to visit the washroom at night. It was rather late, but I decided to go and purchase a walking stick for her. My inquiry at the first two pharmacies was fruitless but the third fortunately displayed a walking stick.
I hurried to the outlet only to find the salesperson locking the glass door as his colleagues impatiently awaited him in their shared transport. He expressed his inability to be of any help and added that the system had been shut down for the day making it impossible for him to bill the purchase anyway.
Despairing, I offered to take the appliance then and pay for it the next day morning. This too was unworkable since the inventory balances were matched with the previous day billings before they started billing for the next day, he argued. Meanwhile, the murmurs of protest from his fellow travellers in the cab became distinctly audible.
‘Desperate moments take desperate measures’, and I made a last-ditch attempt to suggest that he could sell the stick to me and then bill it against his own name in the morning. Transaction registered, he could then start his day with stocks and billing balanced.
He mulled over this reluctantly and considered every possible eventuality that could be considered. Tad irritated but satisfied, he bent down to unlock the closed doors, pulled out the appliance from the shelf, took the Dh100, hurriedly locked the door and waved to his frantic colleagues. Much relieved and triumphant, I reached home and was so reassured to see my daughter’s painful hopscotch acquire this crucial support.
My mind went back to my patient’s demeanour of deep gratitude, and I am sure the pharmacy salesperson saw the same in my pleading eyes. Call it God or almighty or providence or nature, there is that divine reward for smallest of good deeds.
So, here’s my life lesson, do good and the good will come back.
Dr Rakesh Maggon is a specialist ophthalmologist with an interest in literature
