He was at the bedside visiting with his comatose wife. She was my assigned patient, a middle-aged woman who had an infection in her brain. When I walked in the room, I realized he was putting on her make up. Very gently, he applied foundation, a little blush, lightly made up her eyes, and finally added some lipstick. He chatted with her while applying the make up telling her about the things at home and other everyday things.
As I examined her, I asked about the make up. He told me she sold Avon before she became sick and always wore a bit of make up. During her illness, he took over her business, temporarily of course, and made sure to come in each day to make sure she looked good. Looking good was important to her. He made sure to tell me she wasn’t a vain woman, she just cared how she looked. Making sure she looked good was a promise he made to her when she first became sick.
I walked out after examining her, allowing them to spend their time together. I thought about how he kept his promise to her. Through his touch, his gentle voice, and his presence, he showed his love. I felt like an intruder for interrupting that intimate moment but, at the same time, I felt lucky to have witnessed such love.
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