Small acts of kindness that have a big IMPACT
WHen people hear that I am a doctor, one of two things usually happens.
either they try to show me a part of their anatomy and ask if I think it’s infected, or they look at me, dewy- eyed, and say how wonderful it is that I help people for a living. They often bemoan their own job and comment wistfully that they wish they could ‘help’ people, too.
The truth is that while I love my profession, I spend hours each week on paperwork or attending meetings, and at times medicine can seem as mundane as any other job. It’s not all rushing around saving lives.
Besides, lots of other jobs do involve helping people. I couldn’t get to work each day without the Tube driver, for example.
We all contribute to society in one way or another, and you don’t need a medical degree to help others. In fact, the kindness and support that others show is often more meaningful because it’s not in their job description.
I’m reminded of this each Christmas because of a conversation I had a few years ago.
After my parents divorced, my mum suffered from low selfesteem, so my sister and I insisted that every few months she came up to London for a few hours of pampering. It did her the world of good (I wish I could say the same for my bank balance!) and has been going on for more than 15 years now. A
s a result, we’ve got to know her hairdresser, Brendan, very well. Apart from being my mum’s crimper, he’s a stylist to the stars.
On one occasion just before Christmas, I arrived early to pick her up and found her sitting transfixed.
‘It’s Paul McCartney!’ my mum blurted out as I approached.
‘He’s standing behind me. I could practically touch him,’ she continued with unbridled excitement.
I looked at the man standing a few feet away talking to Brendan and, sure enough, it was the former Beatle himself. Mum was behaving like a teenager and I wanted to die of embarrassment.
The two men finished their conversation, sir Paul walked off and Brendan turned round to greet me.
While my mum was busy texting my auntie about her close encounter with a superstar, I took the opportunity to ask him what he was doing for Christmas.
‘Oh, not much,’ he said. ‘I’ll see my mum on Christmas morning, and then I spend Christmas afternoon and Boxing Day at a hospital near where I live.’ ‘Why?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘I go around the wards doing the ladies’ hair. It’s such fun, I do it every year,’ he explained, smiling.
I immediately conjured up an image of the elegant Brendan milling around a grotty nHs ward, giving elderly ladies a free makeover that would normally cost them several weeks’ pension.
He looked embarrassed and added: ‘It’s nothing compared with what you do.’ I shook my head. The idea of this celebrity hairdresser to the great and the good ( and my mum) doing something like this really bowled me over.
His compassion and humility embodied the real spirit of Christmas.
Yes, we doctors and nurses help people — but that is our job.
What I took from this encounter was the realisation that every one of us has the capacity to help others in need. In fact, people can often help in ways that a doctor or nurse cannot.
For those unfortunate enough to have to spend Christmas in hospital, there was no drug that could help them in the way that Brendan’s skill could.
The season of goodwill is an annual reminder of the pleasure and satisfaction that we can all derive from helping others.
And as for sir Paul, if he feels like doing some charitable work this Christmas, I know of a certain 73- year- old woman who can make herself available for a cup of tea and a chinwag at very short notice.