To Touch A Soul

We referred to him as Mr. Comatose.

 His chart had him diagnosed as mentally ill and he was mostly comatose. He was blind. He never spoke. He barely moved. He was a complete care patient. 

He made us wonder. What goes past such a body that neither speaks, or moves nor seems to understand? Do the medications we carefully calculate and administer have a purpose other than just maintain a beating heart?  It sometimes felt as if he were a mock patient like those we had practiced on in labs during our training; except this one had no remotes or buttons that triggered any form of communication.

 Is this where our job is summed into a daily set of tasks and checklists to mark off? It sometimes felt as if we were turning and feeding a product on a to-do list. We wondered if the care we performed for him meant anything. Did he feel pain? Was there anything more than a body? Did his heart feel our touches of care? Did our dedication and devotion to his needs just bounce off his rubbery skin, or did we manage to reach some sort of soul that was perhaps hiding in this stationary statue of skin, bones and IV tubing?

 When we would get into his room to change or turn him, we would chatter about in our daily banter. We would occasionally include Mr. Comatose, even ask for his silent opinion at times. His silence spoke comfort during rough days, his silence helped decide where to go on our next vacation or even which nurse he preferred to turn and clean him next.

  One morning we heard loud, incessant cursing emanating from one of the patient rooms; F*** you, F*** you.  We thought an intruder or a disruptive family member was on the unit and we were about to call security. As we searched for the intruder, we traced the cursing to Mr. Comatose's room.

Indeed, he was alive.

 It was his last day in the hospital, and those were the only sounds we ever heard from him.

Somewhere inside our large and swollen sleeping beauty was a soul crying out in pain. That day the soul that absorbed our nurse banter and our gentle care when rolling and cleaning him, broke out of its silence in thankful curse. His mouth broke out in a passionate f*** you. This time we answered him back with a silent, gentle caress on his shoulder. He quieted down.

Our touch had silenced him.

Perhaps that day we had reached beyond a being with rubbery, swollen skin.

Perhaps that day we had touched a soul.