This morning on rounds one of my patients got that look in their eyes. It's a look I've gotten pretty used to seeing. Worry. Fear. Concern. Loss-of-control. Confusion. Trust. Once you see it you know you need to sit down on the edge of the bed or pull up a chair, hold a hand, and smile. No matter what you just spent the last 10 minutes saying, they didn't hear a word of it. I can't blame them. I'm pretty sure I would have the same look if I sat in a hospital bed for hours on end, listening to various beeps, buzzers, pagers, and chatter not knowing what was going on inside my very own body. My mind wrapping around the reality that life is finite. Understandably, it's scary.
This morning, again, was one of those sit-on-the-edge-of-the-bed kind of mornings. With her wet eyes, she looked at me and asked if she could hug me. Of course, I did. I don't think she asked because I did anything spectacular. I didn't cure her. I didn't give her wonderful news. I think just wanted/needed a hug, and I happened to be the only other person in the room. Still, I was happy to do it. It was a simple way to make her feel better, and it kind of made me feel better, too.
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