Lately I've developed a habit of examining my aging hands and lamenting the changes I see in them. While fat tends to fill in the lines on my face, I can't say the same for my hands, which tell my life story in the thin skin and ever- multiplying wrinkles.
And then I think: these are hands which have held new life and comforted the dying.
They are hands which have given the first bath.....and the last.
They are hands which have been washed hundreds of thousands of times in the service of people I didn't give birth to.
They have administered the first feeding, and the last dose of morphine.
They have rubbed sore backs, dressed wounds, smoothed fresh linens over a feverish patient. They have fed, cleaned, stopped bleeding, performed CPR. They have also prepared the living for surgery and the dead for their final journey.
They are the hands of a nurse. I may not be one anymore, but my hands will forever bear the marks of the noble work they once did.
One of my first nursing jobs, I worked with a nurse who called me "snap-back" . I was like "what? what does that mean?" She smiled and laughed---"your skin still snaps back".
That was 22 years ago....not so snap back anymore. Yep, I have got some good wrinkles now. But each one has a story too.
motherof3sons
223 Posts
One of my first nursing jobs, I worked with a nurse who called me "snap-back" . I was like "what? what does that mean?" She smiled and laughed---"your skin still snaps back".
That was 22 years ago....not so snap back anymore. Yep, I have got some good wrinkles now. But each one has a story too.
Thanks Viva for this reminder!