Gone are the Hands
I walked out of the unit and down the hall, half of the speed of which I had walked in
The normal chattering of the voices were no longer there, people visiting, their nods and smiles as they usually passed by now a ghostly image replaced by an eerie stillness that hovered in the silence.
The whirring of the sanitizing machines and the ventilators had replaced all other sounds now as it echoes down the corridors.
I miss those faces, the ones of concern, those who have the details about the patients that we take care of that they can’t tell us, now that they are full of tubes
They comfort, they sometimes sit, just idly, holding that hand, but THEY know they are there somehow, they can feel the presence that is no more, and it makes a difference in this new age.
So we are the substitute, the family, the nurse, the caregiver, the healer, the spiritual worker, the ONE that person will be the first to see, hear, smell… and possibly the last.
About the Creator
compassion24
Compassionate about people, processes and the human rights of others. I look for the good in people and my glass is half full, whether I fill it or someone else does. I hold a Doctoral degree in healthcare, and am a freelance writer
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