Hands
Dina Roche
This year many hands have reached out to grab my mine. “Thank you” says one patient. “You’re going to be a great doctor” says a second. “Am I going to be okay?” says a third. Having started my clinical rotations in a time of “social distancing,” both inside the hospital and out, physical touch that isn’t part of the physical exam feels like a stolen and dangerous moment of vulnerability. In the past year, I have touched many hands – I have inspected for rashes, tested grip strength, pressed hard on fingernail beds to induce just enough pain to awake a patient who is obtunded. But on my internal medicine rotation, I actually held patients’ hands for the first time. They grabbed my hands to express a range of emotions – the first expresses gratitude, the second hope, and the third, fear. For each of these 3 patients, they reach out to me with their hands teeming with energy. They squeeze my hand to add emphasis and meaning to their words. I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity to care for them.
But there was a fourth pair of hands too. Her hands are yellow with jaundice, cold, damp and limp. All of her energy is spent taking infrequent, shallow breaths. She asks me “when will I die?” I tell her I do not know. “When will my son get here?” “Soon,” I tell her. “He’s on his way.” She closes her eyes, exhausted. When she musters enough energy, she opens her eyes. She asks me again, having already forgotten my unsatisfying answer, “when will I die?” “I’m so sorry. I don’t know.” My heart races. No one taught me how to do this. I don’t know any words to comfort her. Her fingernails are still covered in chipped, pink polish – a reminder to me that only a week ago, when I met her, there was so much life and vigor in these hands. She poked fun at me for my amateur physical exam skills, and we laughed together on morning rounds for most of the week. Later in the week, as she grew weaker, I helped her place phone calls to her loved ones. Now, I hold her cool, yellow hand in my own hands which are hot and flushed with anxiety. I gently squeeze her hand. She closes her eyes again. I remember from our prior conversations that she is a religious woman, so I ask her if she wants to pray. She nods so we pray together, hand-in-hand.
Dina Roche is a fourth year medical student and an aspiring family physician. She enjoys using writing as a way to reflect, commemorate and honor the many patients who have made a profound impact on her both professionally and personally.
