It was the professor's weekly round day and his residents were awaiting his arrival in the large and crowded children's ward of the government general hospital. The professor was also doubling up as the head of department of paediatrics.
All the residents, juniors and seniors, looked forward to the professor's grand round for they all agreed that the prof's round was like no other anywhere else, not only in the hospital's other departments but perhaps anywhere else in the country.
At just before 8:30am a short thin man wearing a hugely oversized white apron came running up the flight of stairs leading into the children's ward, his shirt's edge flowing freely over his pants, his feet donning the simple chappals which rubbed against the floor making a grating sound which was as obvious as his complete lack of sync with the latest clothing trends. Before entering the ward he carefully removed the apron, folded it neatly and handed it over to the junior resident who had gone ahead to receive him into the ward. The trouser's sleeves, now duly folded, ended just about an inch above the ankles. It would be hard to believe that a man who looked more like a gardener was indeed a professor of paediatrics.
Beginning his rounds from the most infirm of children, the professor progressed slowly from one cot to the next giving short instructions to the residents at each bed. As he approached cots with children who were admitted a few days before and were thus familiar with the surroundings, the short professor would jump into each cot, hold the child in his lap, cuddle the sick child, hug him, kiss him and in general kuchi-koo unfathomable and yet pleasant nonsense with him, cleaning a child's running nose here with his own handlerchief or wiping the tears off the child's cheek with his shirt's cuff there on another cot, before handing the small child back to the parent in a few moments of having done this utterly undocumented method of 'examination'. The parents of the patients, some of them being not yet out of their early twenties themselves, would be pleasantly baffled by this behaviour when they encountered it for the first time, but as their stay in the ward with their children would continue, they would look forward to the professor visiting their child; for after every visit of the professor a number of children would continue to brighten up and be ready to go home, though none wanted to without one last kiss from the prof!
The more haggard looking or the more unkempt the child the more he or she received the professor's filial affection during the rounds. Several times in the round the professor would be crying with the parent when the latter would express concern for the child's well being not being seen anytime soon and the parent and the professor would hold each other's hands, silently continuing to shed tears while the crowd of resident doctors would squirm and look the other way or fake taking notes.
Often parents of the patients in the paediatric department would wonder as to just how loving a parent the professor must be for his own children at home. But then, not many outside the department of paediatrics knew that the professor had been by his wife's side through multiple miscarriages and they were ultimately advised of the medical inappropriateness of conceiving yet another baby.
When the prof cried with the mother of his sick patient, he cried not only on the mother's behalf but also on behalf of his own wife and himself for a child they always wanted so dearly but never had.
P.S.: The professor, now long retired, is very much here in our midst, and hence his identity cannot be revealed; it is another matter that quite a few paediatricians who would have been this man's students would recognize the man from this post. The retired professor may not like if his identity is revealed; hence caution is advised to readers in the know.
All the residents, juniors and seniors, looked forward to the professor's grand round for they all agreed that the prof's round was like no other anywhere else, not only in the hospital's other departments but perhaps anywhere else in the country.
At just before 8:30am a short thin man wearing a hugely oversized white apron came running up the flight of stairs leading into the children's ward, his shirt's edge flowing freely over his pants, his feet donning the simple chappals which rubbed against the floor making a grating sound which was as obvious as his complete lack of sync with the latest clothing trends. Before entering the ward he carefully removed the apron, folded it neatly and handed it over to the junior resident who had gone ahead to receive him into the ward. The trouser's sleeves, now duly folded, ended just about an inch above the ankles. It would be hard to believe that a man who looked more like a gardener was indeed a professor of paediatrics.
Beginning his rounds from the most infirm of children, the professor progressed slowly from one cot to the next giving short instructions to the residents at each bed. As he approached cots with children who were admitted a few days before and were thus familiar with the surroundings, the short professor would jump into each cot, hold the child in his lap, cuddle the sick child, hug him, kiss him and in general kuchi-koo unfathomable and yet pleasant nonsense with him, cleaning a child's running nose here with his own handlerchief or wiping the tears off the child's cheek with his shirt's cuff there on another cot, before handing the small child back to the parent in a few moments of having done this utterly undocumented method of 'examination'. The parents of the patients, some of them being not yet out of their early twenties themselves, would be pleasantly baffled by this behaviour when they encountered it for the first time, but as their stay in the ward with their children would continue, they would look forward to the professor visiting their child; for after every visit of the professor a number of children would continue to brighten up and be ready to go home, though none wanted to without one last kiss from the prof!
The more haggard looking or the more unkempt the child the more he or she received the professor's filial affection during the rounds. Several times in the round the professor would be crying with the parent when the latter would express concern for the child's well being not being seen anytime soon and the parent and the professor would hold each other's hands, silently continuing to shed tears while the crowd of resident doctors would squirm and look the other way or fake taking notes.
Often parents of the patients in the paediatric department would wonder as to just how loving a parent the professor must be for his own children at home. But then, not many outside the department of paediatrics knew that the professor had been by his wife's side through multiple miscarriages and they were ultimately advised of the medical inappropriateness of conceiving yet another baby.
When the prof cried with the mother of his sick patient, he cried not only on the mother's behalf but also on behalf of his own wife and himself for a child they always wanted so dearly but never had.
P.S.: The professor, now long retired, is very much here in our midst, and hence his identity cannot be revealed; it is another matter that quite a few paediatricians who would have been this man's students would recognize the man from this post. The retired professor may not like if his identity is revealed; hence caution is advised to readers in the know.
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