Abdul, the doorman

There are doormen and doormen. And there is Abdul. I used to think that doormen are a waste of resources in spite of the fact that I've always admired the strapping ones back home in India, with their puffed out chests, oiled and coiled moustaches and stiffly starched turbans. Later, I thought that automatic doors do the job so well and so neatly. Why waste able men to simply open doors? Till I met Abdul.

Abdul is the doorman at a private hospital in Singapore.

On Sunday night my little soccer star had a pain in his "knee bone" that he claimed in all earnestness, had been bothering him "for two years." Needless to say, I smiled, and went back to my reading.

On Monday morning a little maternal elf perked its head up and made me roll up my eldest one's pajamas only to see an angry red swelling on his knee. I panicked. The GP looked grave and did pretty much nothing to calm my nerves as she rattled off a list of possibilities...arthritis, infection, fracture...Visions of my son's soccer dreams fleetingly floated before my eyes. I bit my lips.

Somebody tugged at my skirt..."Amma, don't take etta (elder brother) to the hospital...people go to the hospital to die." Now this was serious.

I squatted down, held the worried four year old by his shoulders, looked deep into his dark, troubled eyes and said with all the love, firmness and confidence I could muster at that moment, "Darling, people go to the hospital to get better. They don't just die." That came nowhere near those profound statements moms in movies make, but thank God, he decided to believe his mom over the expert advice of his 3 year old nursery schoolmate.

We reached the hospital in thirty minutes, my forehead creased with worry, all my thoughts boiling over in a potful of panic, worry and guilt. As I hurriedly grabbed my bag, the door on my side opened magically and I looked up into a smiling, reassuring face. The doorman. Amidst a flurry of smiles and looks of concern, he muttered some soothing inanities and quickly opened the back door. "Do you need a wheelchair?"

"Uh..no, um..he's okay...thank you"

He quickly led us inside, made sure we were clear where to go and ran back to give parking directions to my hubby.

Every time, I've hurried to that hospital with a little bundle of worry in the backseat, Adbul has been there. Ever smiling, ever reassuring. Whatever the competencies of the doctors or nurses I meet later on, Abdul is the first person I meet. He is the first one to calm my nerves, to give me clear directions and make sure I reach where I need to reach in the shortest possible time....fairly crucial matters in the first few fumbling minutes on reaching a hospital, with a pain in the heart or a delirious kid in your arms.....

Thankfully, all the doctors I've met there have been very competent. But what brings me back to that hospital, again and again, is a feeling that they care. And it starts with the doorman.

Btw, the little soccer star is just fine :)

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net