Be thankful for the things we take for granted.

On Monday, I sat in for an assessment done by a pediatrician and a physiotherapist. And I think it may have just changed my life forever.

The patient came seeking for a more accurate diagnosis for their child. They were an overseas client from a not very developed country, but were relatively well-to-do. So they came into our clinic as their country doesn't provide the appropriate services they were seeking.

While the doctor talked to the parents, I played with the child. I can't say she built a rapport with me immediately, nor did she took notice of all the toys I was dnagling in front of her. Most of the time she stared blankly at the sounds the toys made and looked like she wanted to play. When I took her hands and placed them on the toy, she finally turned and looked at me, and smiled blankly. And the physiotherapist and I just went gaga at the blank smile. And then, she just kept giving that blank smile on and off after that. It may or may not be a heartfelt smile coming from her, but it always twisted something in me to see her smile.

There were clearly many problems with her, which for the confidentiality issues, I can't elaborate here. But after the consultation was over, and the doctor and I were alone, I asked her what the problem was. And she told me she suspected it to be a genetic problem, which in summary, caused delays in almost everything from speech to IQ. She had to see a genticist to confirm it anyway. And so I asked casually "If it's confirmed to be the blahblahblah syndrome, will she eventually be able to talk?" and the doctor replied me just as casually "no" while continuing to scribble her notes.

That "no" left me haunted for days.

The family was only supposed to be in Singapore for a week anyway. The child was arranged to see the geneticist the next day, and came back for other therapies every day up til Thursday, where it was the closing session before they returned to their home on Saturday. Everyday I saw her, I went up to her happily and called her. She continued to give that blank melting smile, which haunted me even more. I chatted with the mummy after their closing session on Thursday, about stuff like where they were bringing her to play before returning home on Saturday, etc... And that was the last I saw of them, and the blank melting smile.

I never asked the mummy nor the doctor about the diagnosis eventually. It would likely be what the doctor suspected, but I never wanted to find out; it had already left me thinking about it for days anyway.

I always thought reading the developmental psych textbook created an immense awareness in me about the too many many birth defects possible. And I told myself at that point of time, the birth of a healthy baby is simply a miracle enough already.

Indeed, my fellow internmate said more than once "Working here makes you scared of having your own baby." After thinking about that blank melting smile for days and days, I realised to me, it was more about being thankful if I ever have my own dozen of miraculously healthy babies.

And if I ever go into clinical practice one day, I hope I don't talk like the clinicians I talk to everyday. It's scary to become immune like that...