SPEECHLESS

death with dignityI don’t know if I am an advocate of “therapeutic touch” in the contemporary sense (many studies contradict each other regarding the efficacy). I’m not sure people must be trained in a technique that brings solace; nor do I think it is too mystical or inexplicable. But I am a believer in humanity.

I believe we as humans can share compassion, in a glance, in a touch.

I am a believer in touch and presence as a healing balm to the dying, in a practical sense, since this has been my experience time and again, at the bedside vigil. I have actually seen the turmoil and angst in a dying face suddenly disappear, with the gentle kiss of a spouse, or the simple holding of a dying person’s hand.

Vera is my patient whose hearing aids no longer serve to enhance anything; she cannot hear me, without literally screaming into her ear. Her eyesight was poor already, but perhaps now she can no longer read my lips or even see my expressions, as her tired eyes are glazed over and mostly closed.

She probably has mere hours, at the most a couple of days left, in this womb-like state, to have things done “to her” by her well-meaning caregivers, who need to clean her, turn her, and give her medicine.

But her eyes flutter open briefly; I see a hint of recognition for the hospice nurse who has had those loud conversations many times in the past weeks. (We have had miscommunications and what almost seemed like shouting matches in order to address her needs, with many written notes back and forth.) I think of past confidences I have made, and the long sometimes whispered conversations I have had with other patients, who have told me of their fears and worries as they faced their dying.

This isn’t to be with Vera.

Now, after completing the necessary “nursey” things, as I touch her cheek and hold her hand, I see a calm settle on her face. I don’t know if I can describe this as “therapeutic touch” but I have a great need to comfort her, in her silent world, and to let her know I am wishing her well on her journey.

I try to emanate this as I sit quietly next to her. I feel a slight pressure in her hand that lies in mine…I think she got my message.

About Amy Getter

MS, RN, CHPN
This entry was posted in caregiving, touch and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to SPEECHLESS

  1. newton says:

    Very touching indeed. Thanks for the post.Kenyatta University School of medicine

    Like

  2. timothylahey says:

    Nice post Amy, thanks!

    Like

  3. Claudia Marsh says:

    Beautiful.

    Like

  4. Karen Carson says:

    Thanks, Amy, for including me in hospice diary. Presence and touch – the essence of human relationship and comfort. Beautiful story.

    Like

  5. Helen Stoll says:

    Speechless indeed. Wisdom is knowing when to be present without speech. Thank you for your reflections, Amy.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s