Takeaway
When my friend was dying, I realized the importance of a comforting touch, like holding hands. This physical connection can give comfort to both healer and patient.
Passion in the Medical Profession | March 11, 2024 | 2 min read
By Jonathan McFarland, Medical English Coach, Autonomous University of Madrid
Just before Christmas last year I learned that a good friend was ill and in hospital. She’d been a friend for more than 20 years, and at 88, she still had a strong, fighting spirit, and was resolutely independent. She’d lived alone for as long as I had known her and was determined to stay that way.
Just one month before her admission to hospital she’d staged an exhibition of her paintings. At the opening she was frail and slightly hunched but incredibly happy to see her paintings on show for the first time in many years. I was delighted and impressed by her strength of character.
In the hospital, I often held her hand; at first her grip was strong for a woman of her age. This was proof both of her desire to show me that she was well enough to leave hospital, and a way of showing our love and affection for each other. I left her content surrounded by books and flowers.
She declined quite quickly and even though we still played the grip-game her strength was dwindling; there were no more plans to go home, to have a lunch party, to eat salmon, to paint. She lived for painting as most artists do. Matisse was her model, and her aim was to capture the light. Once she had explained excitedly all the subtle changes of color in the evening sky; it was a beautiful elegy to nature and her passion.
Toward the end she was mostly unconscious but not in pain; she seemed at peace. Occasionally, she broke the silence by calling out to her father or mother. Our handholding had become an act of compassion between one human being and another. It was like a caress to show that she was not alone. Touching her hand highlighted my presence, and even though she was in a morphine-induced sleep, I am sure she felt it.
The pandemic changed everyone’s relationship with touch; it became taboo, like coughing or sneezing in public. We need a renaissance of touch, especially in the context of healthcare. The neuroscientist Laura Crucianelli wrote, “What’s unique about touch, when we set against the other senses, is its mutuality. While we can look without being looked back at, we can’t touch without being touched in return.” I felt that, and I am sure my friend did, even when dying.
“Touch comes before sight, before speech.”—Margaret Atwood, “The blind assassin”
Dedicated to Maja Breton (1935–2024)
This piece expresses the views solely of the author. It does not necessarily represent the views of any organization, including Johns Hopkins Medicine.