I Didn't Know Him 09/07/07

I moved him on his side and held him. I washed his arms, legs, chest, skipping over the bandaged sores that checkered his body like coordinates on an unreadable map. I didn’t know him, he was a new patient and wasn’t expected to last long. This I learned from the shift meeting in the morning for the volunteers and staff that basically outlines what’s what for the day. A brief overview of each patient, what’s been done by the previous shift, and what needs to be done.

The hospice I volunteer at is facility for people who are dying. Who have AIDS and generally have nowhere else to go. It is the best of what people can do when they care enough to make a difference. Basically it kicks ass! It’s a residential hospice that feels like a home, with a living room, full kitchen, and dining area. You would never know in a million years that this beautiful home houses the sick and dying. Not from the outside, and not from the atmosphere of the staff and volunteers who actually like being there. An eclectic group of lovable freaks who take the time to care for and know each patient, and never give in to the despair that seems to cling to most hospice care facilities. I guess I’m one of them now, and our house, even with its ups and downs, is where I want to be most days. Even when I can’t wait to leave, I’m always waiting until it’s time to come back.

I didn’t know him. He was the first grown man I’d ever washed, and he was a mess of scars and holes and he smelled like an infected open wound. I puked in my mouth, swallowed and kept washing. Cleaned his crusty forehead, wiped the thick white paste from his cracked lips and beard off his swollen face. I was wet with sweat and shaking, and he never opened his eyes. His moans told me when I pressed too hard or repositioned his body too quickly.

Finally, when it was all done. When he was all clean in a new hospital gown, he opened his eyes. I was standing at the foot of the bed making sure I hadn’t missed anything and he looked right at me. I held his vacant gaze for a second and then looked away and bolted from the room.

The next morning he was dead. I hope he knew that a scared girl, who had never washed a grown man before, as tenderly as she could, cleaned every part of him as if he was her brother, father, husband, son.