Hand

 “All nurses are different. Some just jab the needle into you, and it hurts.”

-A patient

White Gloves by jparadisi

White Gloves by jparadisi

Few things make me feel more successful as a nurse than when a patient says, “That was the most painless port access, (IV start, or injection) I’ve ever had.” I can never promise a patient I won’t hurt them, but when I don’t, it makes my day. I strive for a gentle hand. 

In art the term “hand” describes the workmanship of an artist, and nurses often tell patients going to surgery, “You’re in good hands,” referring to a surgeon’s skill with a scalpel. But “hand” refers to the way we treat people too.

Whether educating patients about chemotherapy and radiation regimens, explaining home medication administration, or simply discussing current events, it’s important to remember that even the most optimistic patient is emotionally fragile. Tone of voice, the abruptness of an encounter, and our choice of words all contribute to the “hand” we touch them with emotionally. Too heavy of a conversational hand can pierce a patient’s soul as painfully as any needle or scalpel.

I forgot this during a shift memorable for both the number and acuity of its patients. Everyone had complex questions about their care. I enjoy patient education; however, this shift I was doing so much that I began pulling information from my knowledge base as if it were files from a computer. By this, I mean remotely. I wasn’t paying attention to hand, my personal touch.

During the course of an assessment, a patient revealed she wasn’t taking a prescribed home medication because of its side effects. The patient also reported a symptom, which I recognized was caused by the discontinuation of the home medication she’d just mentioned, and I just sort of blurted out my observation. Immediately, I regretted my heavy-handedness as I saw this otherwise optimistic patient crumble nearly to the point of tears. I had carelessly broken a tender reed.

Needing to make amends, I sat on the rolly stool, and I apologized. I complimented her involvement in her care, and her ability to sense changes in her body. I also apologized for abruptly responding to the discontinuation of her medication. I regained my gently touch, she forgave me, and we devised with a care plan.

I hope I made up careless hand. I had hurt her as if I’d jabbed her with a needle.