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National Public Radio (NPR) ALL THINGS CONSIDERED (8:00 PM ET) April 26, 2000, Wednesday TAKING THE EXTRA TIME TO
HELP MAKE NOAH ADAMS, host: For caretakers and hospitals too, time is scarce. But a few extra minutes can make a difference, and not only to the patient. Here is commentator Belle Waring. Ms. BELLE WARING: Reverend Smith was on the loose again, out here with us at the nurse's station, leg bandage unwinding like paintings of a last judgment where the dead fly up with their shrouds streaming loose. 'Reverend Smith, you're on isolation for your infection. You need to stay in your room.' Reverend Smith was an old, old man who got few visitors. He was a retired minister, soft-spoken with a high forehead and intelligent eyes, easily amused and quick as a fox. 'My wife needs to go to the doctor,' he said. Reverend Smith's wife was deceased. Stick an elderly gentleman in a cold hospital bed with a chewy, old mattress and he loses his landmarks, starts to jabber and one day he hauls off and socks you in the kisser. Reverend Smith was walking briskly on his 90-year-old legs right to the exit sign. 'Now, Reverend,' I said. The old devil was getting away clean. 'Ma'am?' he said, with a vivid Southern lollop in his voice, 'this establishment leaves much to be desired.' I couldn't argue with that. Three weeks out of nursing school and I couldn't even handle some fragile old pensioner. 'I'll read to you,' I said. 'Just come back to your room, OK?' I got him settled and took up his King James Bible, black binding, nothing chic. 'OK,' I said, 'what would you like?' He said, 'Song of Solomon,' which I had never read. Such was the ignorance of my youth. 'Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for thy love is better than wine. This, Reverend Smith?' 'Yessum,' he said placidly. 'A bundle of myrrh is my well beloved unto me. He shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.' This was getting weird. I did not go to nursing school to read erotic, if sacred, verses to some old man whose wife was dead, whose daughter rarely visited, and when she did, she seemed dispirited and cross and yanked him around. 'Now thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine and the smell of thy nose like apples.' The smell of my nose was like a worried kind of sweat. I had 18 other patients and reading poetry was not a priority. Yet the stuff was hypnotic. You couldn't stop. 'Who was this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?' Maybe visitors never came for this patient because they feared what the old must face. Maybe I could poke all day around another person's trouble so I wouldn't have to look at my own, just so. It was clear enough what Reverend Smith was doing, wandering back to when his wife was living. 'Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thine arm, for love is strong as death.' The charge nurse stuck her head in the door. 'Blood bank called. Your two units are ready.' 'Got to go-go,' I said. Reverend Smith extended his hand and propped up in bed, executed a courtly and understated bow. 'You read well,' he said. 'Let's move it,' said the charge nurse. ADAMS: Belle Waring is a registered nurse and writer. She lives in Washington, DC. (Soundbite of music) |