Rachel’s heart sank, she hadn’t realized just how serious the old man’s condition was. After leaving Ms. Carter’s office, Rachel walked slowly toward Mr. Hamilton’s room, sweat gathering in her palms. Fear gnawed at her.
Yet reading about his cancer also sparked pity in her, maybe that was why he was the way he was. Still, she couldn’t forget how he’d treated other nurses. She had no choice, though.
She opened his door, heart racing. Inside, she saw the old man lying in bed, hooked up to an IV and looking very frail. He glanced at her, and Rachel’s eyes widened.
It’s you! You’re the nurse who helped me get to the bathroom before- she blurted out, startled. Yes, and you’re taking forever to get over here, Mr. Hamilton retorted. He was curt, but Rachel realized she felt less scared than she had expected.
She introduced herself politely. I’m Nurse Rachel, and from now on, I’ll be assigned to you, Mr. Hamilton, she said. I know, I asked for you.
Did you think I’d forget your name? He snapped. Rachel smiled faintly. She began her duties, checking his vital signs, adjusting the IV, observing his skin for any pressure sores, and wiping his forehead with a cool cloth to reduce his fever.
How are you feeling today, sir? she asked, tucking the sheets around him. Heavy. Like I’m drained of energy, Mr. Hamilton muttered, voice hoarse but calmer than she’d expected.
I understand, sir. I’m here to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible, Rachel replied, smiling gently. She prepared his medication, explaining each one before giving them to him.
Throughout the entire day, Mr. Hamilton didn’t scream at her or curse or harm her in any way. Though he remained distant and spoke little, Rachel didn’t sense the hostility other nurses had described. When she finished her tasks, she gathered her supplies and turned to him.
I’ll be just outside, sir, if you need anything, she said, then left the room. Walking down the hallway, she couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in her mind. This Mr. Hamilton was different from the rumors.
That evening, she and Emily left the hospital together, the long day’s work weighing on them. But Rachel’s thoughts lingered on Mr. Hamilton. Emily promptly asked, Where were you assigned? I barely saw you all day.
Your hunch was correct. I got assigned to Mr. Hamilton, Rachel answered, looking at Emily, who gaped at her. Oh my gosh, you survived! Did he curse at you? Hit you? Kick you? Emily rattled off question after question, grabbing Rachel’s arm.
Rachel let out a small laugh. Calm down. No, he didn’t curse at me.
Didn’t touch me. He was cold, but that’s about it, Rachel explained. Are you sure? Maybe he’s just softening you up before he attacks, Emily joked.
Rachel rolled her eyes. He seems grouchy, but I think he’s just dealing with a lot. He’s sick, and he’s got it rough.
Honestly, I feel kind of sorry for him. I guess frustration can make people lash out, especially if they’re in constant pain. Emily gave Rachel a doubtful look.
You’re too nice, Rach. I do hope it stays that way for you. But I was terrified of him, she said, shrugging.
Rachel nodded. She also couldn’t help but wonder why Mr. Hamilton had specifically requested her as his nurse. Days went by, and Rachel was consistently assigned to him.
Though there were moments he got grumpy or snapped at her, Rachel never took it personally. She reminded herself he was in pain and stressed. Instead of arguing or getting offended, she tried to show him empathy, with meticulous care when administering his IV, making sure his medications were on time, and talking to him even when he didn’t respond much.
One morning, as Rachel headed into work, she passed a florist’s stall. She paused, thinking that in all the time Mr. Hamilton had been admitted, no one had ever visited him, and no one had ever brought flowers to his room. Unlike most patients who received visitors and gifts, she wondered whether he had any family.
She decided on the spot to buy a bouquet of orange tulips. At the hospital, she slipped into his room. He was seated against his pillows, staring at the window.
Rachel placed the flowers in a vase on the table. Good morning, Mr. Hamilton. I brought you some tulips, she said brightly.
He didn’t respond right away. Slowly, he turned his head to look at the blooms. He said nothing, yet tears gathered in his eyes.
Rachel pretended not to notice, sensing his vulnerability, and respectfully changed the subject, giving him space to process. On another morning, Rachel walked in to find an unusual heaviness in the atmosphere. Unlike before, Mr. Hamilton appeared deeply troubled, slumped against his pillows, refusing to look at her.
She carried a tray of his prescribed medications, part of their normal morning routine. But before she could speak, Mr. Hamilton swatted the tray aside. I don’t need that, he snapped.
Pills in small packages scattered across the floor, and the tray clanged loudly. Rachel gasped in shock as the pills scattered, and the water spilled onto the bed. She was alarmed, but refused to show panic.
What’s the point of taking those medicines? I know I’m going to die soon, maybe only a few months left. I’m just making myself suffer. Mr. Hamilton shouted, voice full of bitterness.
Rachel stayed silent as she looked at the old man. She didn’t see pure anger in his eyes, but exhaustion, fear, and loneliness. She took a deep breath, walked over, and sat on the edge of his bed.
Mr. Hamilton, I know it’s hard. I know you’re tired, in pain, and scared. None of us knows exactly how much time you have left.
But one thing I’m sure of. Your life isn’t over yet. If you’re still alive and waking up each morning, it means God still has a reason for keeping you here.
She said quietly, and with great understanding. Rachel paused for a moment and looked at Mr. Hamilton, who now hung his head, seemingly embarrassed at his own outburst. I know I can’t make your illness go away, but I want to remind you that you’re not alone.
As long as you’re here, I want you to feel that your life still matters. Rachel continued. A long silence followed, as though Mr. Hamilton were turning over every word in his mind.
Rachel knew she couldn’t change his outlook in an instant, but what mattered was that he’d heard what he needed to hear. Afterward, she quietly gathered the scattered pills, placing them back on the tray, then stood up. I’ll just get you a fresh set of medication, Mr. Hamilton, she said gently, before stepping out of the room.
When she returned, she offered him a new glass of water and replacement pills. This time, he accepted them and swallowed them without a word. Rachel said nothing either, but inwardly, she smiled.
She knew that little by little, she was making a difference in Mr. Hamilton’s heart. That afternoon, while Rachel quietly tended to Mr. Hamilton, she noticed that he seemed lost in thought. He wasn’t frowning or annoyed, as he had been in the past.
Instead, he stared out the window, watching the sky as the sun was setting. She decided to break the silence. That view outside sure is beautiful, isn’t it, Mr. Hamilton? She said, as she carefully adjusted his pillows.
Mr. Hamilton turned slightly and smiled wistfully. I haven’t paid attention to things like that for a long time. Ever since I found out I was dying, I stopped noticing any beauty around me, he said softly.
How come, sir? The sunset today is really beautiful, Rachel commented. Even before I got sick, I never took notice of things like sunsets, Mr. Hamilton replied. I was too busy with everything else.
Things I believed were the most important. But now that I’m here, I see that all those things don’t really matter. All the work, the business, the money, they’re pointless in the end, he said sadly.