‘Join me.’

I walked into the preoperative waiting area one morning, ready to begin my day. Standing outside my first patient’s bed bay, I asked through the drawn curtain if I could enter. Silence. I waited and then called out the patient’s name again. Again, nothing. I peeked behind the curtain. There was the patient standing in all of nature’s glory, arms extended in front of the window—eyes closed.

I stepped back and then heard her say, “Come in, join me.” I felt caught off guard, unsure of what to do. But I was also curious, so I went in.

The patient turned her head towards me and said, “Just stand next to me—the collective mind brings more energy.”

So I did. The view from this patient’s room showed a river running alongside the facility. Like her, I looked out onto the river. The sun was beginning to rise and the sky was a beautiful blend of pink and blue. I closed my eyes and a sense of serenity gently settled over me.

We stood together in silence for just a minute or two. Then the patient turned to me, grabbed her gown, and said, “Now, how can I help you?”

I found that I was smiling as I heard myself say, “You just did.”

Nurturing the inner spirit daily.

After introducing myself, I asked her what exactly she had been doing at the window. It was obviously a meditative moment for her, but I wanted to know more. She told me that she was simply preparing her mind for the day ahead—embracing the quiet and beauty of the moment was a part of her self-care strategy. This patient, a well-spoken woman in her fifties who I later learned was a humanities professor, believed that it was essential to nurture her inner spirit daily. She said that doing so empowered her as person, providing her a sense of strength and calm.

She thanked me for joining her, telling me that the joint experience was spiritually energizing for her. As a result, she felt really positive about her upcoming surgery.

As I left her room, I became aware of the fact that I had a big smile on my face—my interaction with her had left me with feelings of warmth and joy.

Sharing the gift of acceptance and presence.

All of this happened so fast, it took me a bit of time to process. Later, I thought about what I would have missed if I had just walked away and returned to see her later. The dynamic of openness and trust and common humanity would never have been the same.

Reflecting on it, I realized that she gave me something, and perhaps unknowingly, I gave her something as well. Due to our tight schedules and task-oriented mindset, we sometimes miss opportunities to be truly present for our patients. Stepping out of my role and into the patient’s moment and sharing a sense of presence, acceptance, and inclusion was truly a beautiful gift.

Barbara Wukovits, BSN, RN, BC, is director of alternative pain management services in the Department of Anesthesiology, Critical Care, and Pain Management at the Hospital for Special Surgery, New York City. She’s the author of the September Reflections essay in AJN, “My Pocket of Care.” 

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