"As a student nurse, I was assigned to give my first bed bath to an elderly woman with emphysema and heart failure. I was told she went in and out of consciousness, and not to worry too much about communicating with her.
I gathered the bath supplies, but the woman didn't move, open her eyes or acknowledge I was there. I thought giving her a bath would be like working on a mannequin, as we had often done in calss. While I ran the washcloth over her resting face, the warmnth of her skin and little ringlets of hair on her forehead made me keenly aware that, although we might not be able to communitcate verbally, she was still a human being. I bathed her gently as I would have bathed a baby.
I had almost completed my task when a whisper came from her lips. 'You care,' she said, barely audible. I bent down near her face, touched her cheek and asked what she had said.
She repeated, 'You care.' Her eyes were open. Her voice was crackly and breathing labored, but she had something she wanted to say. 'Most of the nurses dont think I notice, but I do.'
By then, her face was animated and she went on to tell of events in her childhood and the antics of her grandchildren. She seemed to be having so much pleasure talking and remembering as I finished bathing her. She gave me advice about my life, then patted my hand and finally said, 'I'm tired now.'
I gathered up the bath supplies and looked at her resting, smiling face. The conversation ended as quietly as it had started."
*From Chicken Soup for the Nurse's Soul