JACC: HEART FAILURE
2, 2018
Patient Perspective
Human Touch
The clock moves slowly, but our daughters make it to
the hospital before they take me away to surgery,
and I am really glad. Now that they are here, I am
ready to get this over with, ready to get my new heart.
I tell the girls and my wife, Stacy, goodbye, and try to
reassure them all will be fine. The operating room
is not far away, just a short roll down the hall, and
before I know it, I am strapped to a narrow board,
my arms tied down, various wires and gadgets
attached to me. Three masked women in long gowns
and “shower caps” work busily. One is the anesthe-
siologist, and I assume the other 2 are some sort of
technicians who assist her. Minutes away from being
placed under, I am ready to go, and clearly they are
too. A phone rings and one of the techs answers.
There is a problem.
The doctor says not to give him anesthesia yet,
she reports. Says there has been a delay and he does
not want him under so long. I take that to mean the
heart’s trip to Dallas is delayed for some reason, and
all is still well. Just another wait. Unfortunately,
Stacy, down the hall in the waiting room, is told
simply that there is a delay, and she takes that to
mean maybe the heart was not as good as expected.
Maybe this surgery will not happen at all, she frets,
her frazzled nerves tearing her apart. She knows this
is almost certainly my last chance—days to live at
most, maybe only hours.
For me it’s more of an immediate problem: my
back is very angry. Most days the pain is quite mild
and I do not even notice it. Certain activities can
make it excruciating, however, like lifting heavy
things, pushing a lawnmower too far, sitting in a car
too long, or lying in a hospital bed for 2 weeks
followed by being strapped to an ironing board in an
operating room! In no time, my back is screaming
in pain, and I beg the doctor to untie me and give
me relief.
I cannot move, she explains. This will happen
quickly when it happens, and we may not have time
to do this all over again. Every minute counts. I lie
still and quiet, trying to think about other things,
trying to push the pain away, arching and stretching
in a vain effort to gain some advantage over it.
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ISSN 2213-1779/$36.00
The technicians tend to a few more chores, and then
there is nothing for any of us to do but wait.
The doctor does not leave me there alone, though.
Instead she pulls up a seat beside me and we talk.
It makes the time go by faster and takes my mind, at
least a little, off my back. She seems genuinely
interested in who I am and what I do. She asks about
my family and my work. I sense that chitchat does not
come easily to her, which makes me appreciate
the effort all the more. The delay continues, and the
phone still does not ring. I agonize with my back,
while not far away my wife agonizes with her doubts.
Then the most amazing thing happens. This
well-educated, highly skilled, probably bored and
maybe sleepy doctor reaches out and touches me.
Just 2 fingers on my lower back. She rubs tentatively
and I feel almost instant relief from the worst of the
pain. More importantly, it is a human touch in a cold
sterile room in a cold sterile place, and it somehow
touches me deep inside too. Human kindness.
Compassion. Reaching out to someone in need,
someone she does not even know but who she knows
she can help. She rubs my back for well over an hour.
Instead of lying alone, hurting and worried—I would
not have blamed her for going to another room and
taking a nap or eating a sandwich—I am comforted by
this magnificent doctor. Word finally comes; the heart
is on site. She instantly changes from compassionate
neighbor to skilled doctor. Within minutes I am
out, the surgery begins, and well before dawn it’s
over, and my new heart is pumping blood through my
beat-up body and starved organs.
It all happens so fast, I never even get to thank her
for taking such good care of me, not just during the
operation but as we strangers shared 2 h in a sterile
room, 1 sitting on an uncomfortable stool and the
other strapped to a torturous board. I do not even
know her name, but I will never forget what she did
for me that long night. There’s nothing like human
touch when we are hurting and alone and sick, and
she offered me that without being asked. Science has
proved that touch has the power to lower blood
pressure and reduce stress and produce a calming
effect. Comforting human touch can act as a numbing
agent, even against severe pain. In my case, human
touch made me feel like it was going to be okay.
It chased away my fear and my loneliness. I hope
JACC: HEART FAILURE VOL. 6, NO. 2, 2018
FEBRUARY 2018:174–5
F I G U R E 1 Human Touch
when given the opportunity to do the
for someone else, I will respond the same way.
Not because it’s easy or comes naturally to me but
because there is nothing as powerful as reaching
out to touch someone in need. It can make all the
difference in the world.
The head of the entire heart and lung program, a
full professor at the university hospital, is one of
my many docs. He spends time talking to me and my
family, explaining things, as well as simply visiting
with us. He is a busy man but never appears to be in a
hurry because he knows this part is important too.
Now, after my lifesaving transplant, he knows that in
many ways it is more important than ever to engage
me. Lots of doctors separate themselves from their
patients, using the handy props of the ever-present
clipboard—the all-important “chart”—and the foot of
Human Touch 175
the hospital bed to create a physical separation.
My doc does not do that. Instead he comes around
beside me and enters my space. If a stranger walked
by and looked in, except for the white coat, he would
think the doc was just another visitor. He smiles and
laughs, and we joke with one another. It builds
rapport and trust, and that builds confidence. It all
adds up to a happier and more positive patient,
and that in turn improves prospects for success and
shortens healing times. One day, he sits on the side of
my bed. We visit briefly, and then he does the most
remarkable thing. I do not know if it is intentional or
if he even knows he does it. But this day, as he rises
to go, he reaches down, takes the lump under the
covers that is my foot, and squeezes it! Like my wife
or my mother would. It is how one human being
wordlessly conveys to another that he cares about
him, but more importantly, it sends a silent message
of reassurance: “It is going to be okay.” Human touch
(Figure 1). That incredible, wonderful thing that
same reaches into our very souls. It is not magic nor is it
myth. Science long ago proved its value. We humans
are made to be touched. It makes us feel secure,
connected, cared for. It reassures us, lowers our
blood pressure, reduces our anxiety, and gets us
home faster. In my case, my doc told me he cared,
that he was there for me, and that he would take care
of me. How very incredible.
*John Godwin
*PO Box 9037
Paris, Texas 75460
E-mail: jgodwin@paristexas.gov
https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jchf.2017.09.017
Ó 2018 by the American College of Cardiology Foundation. Published by Elsevier.
Please note: Mr. Godwin has reported that he has no relationships relevant to the
contents of this paper to disclose.