clinic pt. 5

We have three rooms in Angio, aptly named Room 1, Room 2 and Room 3. Room 1 and Room 2 are generally used for body angiography, while Room 3 is typically cerebral angiograms or spinal procedures. I was passing through Room 2 today doing my usual inventory check when the UNE in our area, Marisa, was trying to calm a patient down. The patient kept asking her to hold her hand, likely because she was frightened and just needed a hand to hold, but Marisa was gowned and as per proper aseptic technique, could not touch the patient. She kept telling the patient this, but was met only with, "Hold my hand."

One thing led to another, and I ended up holding this patient's hand. Cold, elderly hands, thin and bony, quivering with a weak grip. This is something so trivial, yet I felt like out of all the days I have been in Angio, this was the most fulfilling.

This is not patient care but it is human comfort. We just need to be told, "It's okay, we'll get through this" once in a while just so we can feel ready to proceed with whatever comes next. Sometimes the best message is one that doesn't use any words.

The doctor came in later and spouted that this patient was such a baby and that "Kind Joey offered his hand to hold," in the typical way that jaded health professionals blow off most non-work related minutiae. I think that for them it probably isn't very important, and I can understand that. For me, being at the lowest rung of the ladder, I have to say that my own psychological state was strongly bolstered by this interaction. For some reason that is unknown to me, I do feel good, even though I didn't administer any tangible health care at all.