A nurse named Jeffrey who smelled of cigarettes, the one who wrapped his arms around me and tucked my face into his stubbly neck as the spike of lidocaine entered my spine, the one who peered nervously into my eyes after the shot of ephedrine jerked me back to consciousness, the one who moved in and out of view as doctors barked and rushed, as I felt the jumbling and tugging of my organs and saw my blood-washed baby girl rising out of me, spinning out and shivering...
That nurse Jeffrey winked at me as I emerged from drug-induced amnesia squeezing his hand. He said, "Everything goes better if you have a hand to hold, right?" Then all the doctors lost their straight faces, laugh lines appeared above their masks, and the room got warmer at my expense. I'll never know just what I did, but now I consciously ask for a hand and I have never been denied.
© Laura Seale, 2013
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| Hold My Hand Photo by Elizabeth Ann Colette from Wikimedia Commons |
1 comment:
Wonderful practice all hospitals should encourage. Thanks for sharing.
Bill V.
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