Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

You Can Do Anything!

By M. Goldberg

I was a twenty-year-old nursing student in 1968, preparing for a

rotation

through the pediatric unit. Compared to cardiac units or the operating

room,

how hard would this be? After all, I'd always cared for and played with

children. This rotation would be a snap. I'd breeze right through it and

be

one step closer to graduation.

was an eight-year-old bundle of energy who excelled in every

sport he

played. Disobeying his parents' instructions, he explored a neighbor's

construction site, climbed a ladder and fell. His broken arm was casted too

tightly, leading to infection, sepsis and gangrene. Sadly, his condition

required amputation.

I was assigned as his postoperative nurse.

The first few days passed quickly. I provided Chris's physical care

with

forced cheerfulness. His parents stayed with him around the clock.

As his need for medication decreased, his level of awareness increased,

as

did his moodiness. When I saw how alert he seemed as he watched me bring in

supplies for a sponge bath, I offered him the washcloth and suggested he

take

over. He washed his face and neck, then quit. I finished.

The next day, I announced he'd be in charge of his whole bath. He

balked.

I insisted. He was more than halfway through when he slumped down and said,

" I'm too tired. "

" You won't be in the hospital much longer, " I urged gently. " You need

to

learn to take care of yourself. "

" Well, I can't, " he scowled. " How can I do anything with just one

hand? "

Putting on my brightest face, I groped for a silver lining. Finally I

said, " Sure you can do it, Chris. At least you have your right hand. "

He turned his face away and muttered, " I'm left-handed. At least I

used to

be. " He glared at me. " Now what? "

Suddenly, I didn't feel so snappy. I felt phony and insincere, and not

very helpful. How could I have taken right-handedness for granted? It

seemed

he and I both had a lot to learn.

The next morning I greeted with a big smile and a rubber band.

He

looked at me suspiciously. Wrapping the rubber band loosely around my

wrist, I

said, " You're left-handed and I'm right-handed. I am going to put my right

hand

behind my back and keep it there by winding the rubber band around my

uniform

buttons. Every time I ask you to do something with your right hand, I will

do

it first, with my left hand. And I promise not to practice before I see

you.

What should we try first? "

" I just woke up, " he grumbled. " I need to brush my teeth. "

I managed to screw the top off the toothpaste, then placed his

toothbrush

on the overbed table. Awkwardly, I tried to squirt toothpaste onto the

woobly

toothbrush. The harder I struggled, the more interested he became. After

almost ten minutes, and a lot of wasted toothpaste, I succeeded.

" I can do it faster than that! " declared. And when he did, his

triumphant grin was just as real as mine.

The next two weeks passed quickly. We tackled his daily activities

with

enthusiasm and a competitive spirit. We buttoned his shirts, buttered his

bread

and never really mastered tying his shoes. Despite our age difference, we

were

playing a game as equal competitors.

By the time my rotation ended, he was almost ready for discharge, and

ready

to face the world with more confidence. We hugged each other good-bye with

sincere friendship and tears.

More than thirty years have passed since our time together. I've

encountered some ups and downs in my life, but I've never let a physical

challenge pass without thinking of and wondering how he would cope.

Sometimes I put a hand behind my back, hook my thumb in my belt and give it

a

try.

And anytime I feel sorry for myself, for some petty grievance or

another, I

take myself into the bathroom and try once again to brush my teeth with my

left

hand.