I met someone very important last year when he warmed my frozen bony hands when we got soaked trekking gorillas in a Ugandan jungle. “I never offered to do that before for anyone,” he admitted.
**
This morning I was working in the hospital I was born in — more or less, several incarnations later — and heard a lovely story of patient-centred care. A man had been in the hospital for 45 days and he needed his fingernails trimmed. A woman — not a nurse or personal care worker, just someone who heard him — stepped in, cut his fingernails, washed his hair, massaged his scalp, got her daughter to trim his hair. “I feel human again for the first time in forever,” he said.
**
At my grandmother’s bedside as she was dying, my grandfather clasped her hand, said “we’ve held hands all over the world, I’m not letting go now.”
**
My sister and I both have Raynaud’s syndrome, that circulatory issue where our hands get disproportionately cold, won’t warm. Cross-country skiing, I’m nearly in tears with the ache. She teaches me to warm them by swinging my arms around in huge circles.
**
As I’ve learned to use my camera, I’ve learned about where my hands are steady, where they shimmer more than I knew. Hands away from the shutter, tripod in place, a click of the remote release, I make longer exposures, let in more light.
Really lovely post.