Transcript of the Reading:
They said: He's a feisty one. Yeah, he's vocal.
They said: He's complicated, lots of meds, lots of tubes.
I thought: I'm nervous.
I thought: What if I forget something?
I thought: What if I mess up?
He said: a lot, none of which I understood.
He spoke for 15 minutes, trying to make me understand.
I tried to work the tracheotomy microphone.
I said: I'm so sorry, I don't know what you're saying.
I said: Say it one more time. I'm sorry I don't understand; what is it you need?
I thought: What can be more frustrating than speaking to someone who doesn't understand?
I thought: Already I am causing frustration for this man.
I thought: He's going to ask for a real nurse.
He gave up on my understanding, but kept speaking.
I gave up understanding, but kept listening.
I watched his eyes.
I tried to remember to check the oxygen.
I tried to remember to time the meds right, watch the vitals, reposition him frequently.
I tried to remember things to tell the doctors when they came by on rounds.
I forgot a few things.
I did remember to turn off tube feeding when the head-of-bed was below 30 degrees.
I sought out his eyes reflexively.
I helped the nurse; we cleaned his soiled bed.
I cleaned his lips, combed his hair.
I washed his face. He closed his eyes.
I thought: He seems to be appreciating this.
I thought: Maybe I am helping him.
I held his hand.
I smiled.
He smiled.
I thought: I'm sure there are things I'm not remembering to do.
The only thing I could remember consistently was to look for his eyes.
He looked at me when I walked in.
He looked for me when the room was full.
I said: I'm going to take care of you; I'll be here tomorrow too.
I said: It's so nice to meet you.
He said: a lot, none of which I understood.
I said: Goodbye for today. I'll see you tomorrow.
I thought: Maybe I did some good today.
I thought: Maybe I exaggerated the comfort I thought I provided yesterday.
I thought: I probably need to pay more attention to all the things I need to do right.
I thought: What if I was comforting yesterday but I mess it up today?
I thought: What if he needs something that I can't give him?
I thought: I'm nervous.
I thought: What if I do something wrong?
I said: Hello!
I held his hand.
I asked him how he was.
His lips said he was good.
His body said he was not.
I smiled at him.
He smiled at me.
They said: His underlying pathology is not preventing him from getting better.
They said: We're not sure why he's going downhill.
I said: Do you remember me from yesterday?
He smiled.
I checked his oxygen.
I checked his tube feeding.
I cleaned his tracheotomy.
I helped the nurses clean his soiled bed.
When his face contorted in pain I held his hand and his arm.
I watched his eyes.
He looked for me when the room was full.
I gave him meds.
I monitored his vitals.
I cleaned the room.
I remembered a few more things than I had the day before.
I cleaned his lips, combed his hair.
I washed his face.
I wiped a tear from his cheek.
I told myself: Don't cry.
I held his hand.
I looked into his eyes.
I didn't want to leave the room.
I said: I have to go.
I squeezed his hand.
He squeezed my hand and held it between his swollen ones.
I told myself: Don't cry.
I said: I really enjoyed being here with you.
I smiled.
He smiled.
I thought: They probably don't want us to do this, but:
I kissed him quickly on the forehead.
I thought: Maybe I did some good today.
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