These hands
by Jennifer S. Johnson
These hands are not young but neither old,
The nails are short, the veins are bold,
The knuckles are wide with tiny creases,
Perhaps arthritis—it never ceases
So many patients, young and old,
So many people, shy and bold.
So many seasons, hot and cold.
The touch of a hand is as precious as gold
And now my story will unfold.
In January these hands were anointed
By a parish nurse priest who was appointed
To bless and sanctify these healing hands
In order to take part in bigger plans
For wellness of body, spirit and mind.
It was in retrospect that I had to find
The deeper meaning of the word nurse.
I now give it to you, verse by verse.
I never wanted to be a nurse.
I never thought there was anything worse
Than being on one’s feet all day
For several hours and little pay.
Many years later I took a class
In human biology—I wanted to pass,
So I studied and read and as I learned,
It was a degree in nursing that I yearned.
Since then I have used these hands of mine
To hold a newborn with hair so fine.
I have held the arms of a patient who had
Thoracentesis for a lung that was bad.
I remember the girl, who was handicapped,
Her arms were flaccid, her teeth were gapped,
This was the girl, who could not walk,
She spoke with her eyes, she could not talk,
When they filled with tears, so did mine,
I read her a story line by line.
I think of the time the Polish man
Had to have surgery on his hand,
He spoke no English, not a word.
His 13-year-old son was his interpreter.
I brought the boy into post-op care,
(A situation like this was very rare).
He stood by his father until he awoke,
He stood by his father until he spoke.
My focus that day was advocacy
For a family with cultural diversity.
My hands have held the hands of many
Quite sick, some sad and sometimes funny,
My hands have often touched the dying
My hands have soothed the family’s crying.
I can still feel the faint heartbeat
Of a cancer patient preparing to meet
The next life—whatever that may be,
Truly, I helped him become free
Of sickness, despair, pain and sorrow
From yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Throughout the years, there have been times where,
This mentor’s hands have been right there
To teach new nurses all the “stuff”
That they must learn well enough
To be high-tech in the profession,
But I never forget to give the lesson
On the challenge of reaching out
With holistic connection, and with no doubt,
To not only the body but also the mind
Of each and every patient they find
That is in need of their gentle touch,
To us this may not seem like much,
Bit it is to a patient that is on a vent,
And it is to a mother whose baby is sent
To an ICU far, far away,
Or an asthmatic struggling every day
To breathe—
In January, my hands were anointed,
Now, I am the one appointed
To connect with patients young and old,
To care for families as precious as gold,
To nurture and mentor and teach and mold
New nurses and watch them unfold
Into holistic humans who hands can hold.
New verse by verse, my story’s been told.
Jennifer S. Johnson, RN, C, MA,
is a resident of Binghamton, N.Y
