The "Random Acts of Kindness" movement has been in existence since some time in the 1980s. Peace activist Anne Herbert claims to have started it all by writing the phrase "Practice random kindness and senseless acts of beauty" on a restaurant placemat in the early 80s. The movement gained national media attention when the phrase was shortened with the release of the book Random Acts of Kindness in 1993.
The idea behind the movement is simple: Because we are all interconnected, it is surprisingly easy and almost assuredly rewarding to do one unexpected kind thing for someone every day, no matter how small the gesture. My husband and I have adopted two random acts of kindness that usually produce first a look of disbelief from the recipient, but then a thank you and a smile. When we pay a $1 toll for our car when we travel, we give the attendant another dollar to pay for the car behind us. And we give a $1 tip to the person who takes our order at a fast-food restaurant. When this person says, "We don't take tips," we say, "Heck, it's only a dollar"—which is then pocketed with a smile. That was easy and a lot of bang for a buck!
I began to wonder what small things PAs can do that can demonstrate the same principle of stopping for a moment to do something nice and unexpected. What is it about who we are and what we do that can be translated into this type of simple gesture? What small acts are possible for us, as caring health care professionals, to do for someone else and, especially important, that don't require any practice? Here's my starting list; it's easy to add your own.
Call a relative who has a health problem. Many of us don't live close to our relatives, and perhaps we see them only on special occasions. Usually by way of the family grapevine, we can hear if someone is having a health problem. For example, you might know that your favorite uncle has long-standing heart disease, even though you haven't spoken to him in a long time. Now you learn that he requires surgery, and he may appreciate some reassurance from someone who has clinical expertise. Even if you only spend 5 minutes on the telephone, it will mean a great deal that you have reached out and are concerned for this relative's well-being.
Introduce yourself to another health care provider. Who is that man or woman who passes you in the hallways at the hospital and sometimes says "Hello?" What is the background of the new oncologist in town? We have always emphasized that PAs are members of a team and that the spirit and practice of collaboration lead to cohesive and effective patient care. Depending on where we work, we come in contact with many health care colleagues. We don't always know their name, much less what they do, but we do know that they share our commitment to providing care to those who need it. Take a moment to introduce yourself to someone new. Even if you have only a 5-minute conversation, it may be the beginning of a new collegial relationship.
Contact a PA student. I teach a class about medical writing to the Quinnipiac University PA students, and I always am buoyed up by spending time with young, energetic, enthusiastic almost-PAs. This past year, a young woman came up after the lecture and had a question about a manuscript she was developing. We spoke for only 10 minutes or so, but I thoroughly enjoyed the brief give-and-take, and I know that she did too by the thank you e-mail I received from her. You don't need to teach a course to meet a student or show that you care. Call your alma mater and ask if they have a student who might appreciate hearing some encouraging words from a graduate. Buy a funny card, and if you send it via snail mail, that might be surprise enough. I'd be willing to bet that the student will keep that card for a very long time.
Say "thank you" to a patient. Providing care to patients is not a one-way street. Of course, our goals are to listen, to evaluate, and to treat those who need our help. We also learn from our interactions with patients and, hopefully more often than not, we experience in return the satisfaction of a job well done. But is it possible to regard a patient's act of letting us care for him (or her) as a gift from that patient to us? I often felt that my patients were never more vulnerable and giving than when they told me their story and then allowed me to touch them. Depending on your employment circumstances, the patient may be a total stranger, someone you will never see again, or someone you have known for years and see on a regular basis. Either way, when we examine patients, they give us permission to cross the personal space we all erect between ourselves and others. But do we always, sometimes, or ever ask for their permission? Do we assume that permission is tacitly given because it's part of our job? Or do we not think about it at all?
Today, why not choose one of your patients and say "thank you"—two words that are easy to say but provide richer rewards than you can imagine? And it won't even cost you a dollar. JAAPA