A tiny baby hair fountain and a hug.
I stretched my legs under the OPD table in the JIPMER RHC (Rural Health Centre). My friend and I were on duty that night.
Two interns are posted for RHC night duties to deal with emergencies, problems that can’t wait for the break of dawn. Diseases that are stabilized in the RHC and sent to our main hospital in our ambulance.
Someone ought to inform our villagers that people usually don’t die from “Sali, irumbal and thalavali” (cold, cough and headache). A common cold is to a heart attack what a gentle breeze is to a hurricane. We neither get many serious emergencies nor do we get any sleep.
When a smiling young lady wearing a dull green churidar walked in carrying a babbling toddler on her hips, we were sure that neither of them would need the ambulance any time soon.
The baby was around 11 months old and was rather bubbly for a child who was supposedly sick. She wore a dark blue sequined one-piece dress with frills at the hem of her sleeves. Her short hair was tied up in a single bunch on the middle of her head. Small strands of hair spouting out in every direction like a tiny fountain. She had a big round black mark on her otherwise cute and chubby face. I guess with all of her infantile glee and that tiny baby hair fountain, this kajal* mark to ward off “evil eye”** was not completely baseless.
She coughed a little but was far less distressed than her mother. I leaned in to examine her breathing as her mother went on an exaggerated monologue about how this happy, hyperactive, curly-haired child was apparently very sick.
“She coughs too much”, “She doesn’t eat enough”, “She woke up in her sleep twice yesterday”, etc.
I guess, a mother’s worrying starts when the pregnancy test turns positive and stops when she breathes her last. It’s just part of the job profile.
She plopped the child onto my lap so that I could examine her better. To my surprise, unlike the restless babies I’m used to, she was comfortable on my lap. She immediately started playing with my ID card as I listened to her mother describe a common cold as if it were the end of the world.
Unsure of how to hold her as I stood up, I handed her back to her mother. Being a junior doctor, you’re never completely sure of your diagnosis and you’re always worried about making a mistake. I gave her mother a bottle of nasal drops for the cold and leaned in one last time to examine her chest.
She chuckled in delight, smiled a wide-toothed grin with whatever teeth she had, and reached out with both hands to hug me.
I let myself be hugged by a patient. Just this once.
I carried her around the RHC, showing her around the empty building. We saw a couple of rooms like the dressing room and the nurse’s room which she didn’t quite completely understand and a few rooms like the Major OT (Operation Theatre) which I didn’t quite completely understand. I made sure to double-check all my clinical examination findings during our little walk.
When she left, it was around 9 pm and I had the whole night ahead of me. I hoped that she didn’t need to come back to the RHC again, but I wouldn’t have minded a few tiny hugs every now and then.
*- black eyeliner used in India
**- Indian belief that if people look at something good in your life with malicious intent, misfortune will fall upon it. This “thing” could be a nice house, a new car or even a cute baby.