A Memorable Episode | A Story About How a Patient's Smile Provided Unintentional Comfort

I was 23 years old and in my second year as a nurse, working on an internal medicine ward.

One day, when I thought I had gotten used to the work to some extent and was communicating with patients without any difficulty, I accidentally upset a male patient in his late 50s over a trivial matter.

The reason he was upset was not a work-related trouble. He had hemiplegia and it was his daily routine to go to the rehabilitation room. On the days I was in charge, I would accompany him as he walked with a cane from his room to the rehabilitation room. There was no rule that the nurse in charge had to accompany him, and it seemed that other staff members often asked the nursing assistants to do it.

That day was very busy, so I couldn't accompany him to the rehabilitation room and asked a nursing assistant to do it instead.

Later, when I visited the patient after he returned from the rehabilitation room, he was very grumpy. It was obvious from his appearance that he was irritated, and his tone was harsh as he almost shouted, 'Why didn't you come to accompany me today!' As I listened to him while trying to soothe him, I realized he had been looking forward to our conversations during the short time it took to walk from his room to the rehabilitation room.

I apologized for not being able to spare the time right then and left the room, but I felt down while reflecting on how I should have told him in advance that I wouldn't be able to accompany him. Even though I tried to switch gears and be careful not to show that I was feeling down, I let out a light sigh in my head, thinking, 'Sigh, I still have a long way to go.'

It was another patient who eased those feelings.
I wasn't directly comforted; it was comfort without any intention at all.

She was a woman in her early 50s who was hospitalized with severe anemia. After being admitted, she had no appetite and didn't seem energetic due to lethargy, but that day she finished her hospital meal for the first time at lunch. When I was doing my rounds to collect the trays, she called out to me with a beaming smile, 'Nurse! Look, I was able to eat it all!!' (At the time, we were called 'kangofu' instead of 'kangoshi'.)

That smile, the brightness of her voice, and the empty tray—that alone made me so happy that tears welled up. I didn't actually cry, but I felt such joy that the dejected feelings I had earlier were eased.

Comfort is often intentional, but perhaps it is these unintentional, trivial scenes of daily life that remain in our memories.

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This article was another episode I wrote for Chainner-san's baton relay project this summer.