“Let me see your hands?”
The request, infused with kindness, caught me by surprise. From behind my harp I held up my hands, palms out at first and then reversing them, looking at them curiously myself wondering what she wanted to see.
Then in a facepalm moment I realized that I should go offer my hands to her. I was too far away, at 6 feet, for her to see whatever it was that she wanted to see.
I went to her and offered my hands, which she surprised me by taking in her oh-so-soft and beautiful and warm hands. The same warmth that lit her eyes must have suffused her hands. My hands were so cold in hers, how could my hands be cold after playing for 45 minutes?
“These hands are blessed,” she said, with a squeeze of her fingers and a little shake for emphasis.
My eyes threatened to leak.
Why can’t I ever find the words to tell my patients that they are my blessings?
Her and her beautiful hands.