Last week, I finished nursing school on Zoom. For my last semester of college, I “cared” for avatar patients by “interviewing” them with computer-generated prompts. Writing essays on how I would treat patients replaced my usual routine debriefing on how I was treating patients at a New York City hospital just a few weeks earlier. In the last weeks of my training, my craving for patient contact was stronger than ever, a feeling I first recognized during my time at Jakaya Kikwete Cardiac Institute (JKCI) in Dar es Salaam with SACH. In New York, I had become accustomed to not taking up too much space. Patients, like New Yorkers on the sidewalk, liked their bubble. 

At JCKI, when mothers handed me their babies to carry into the catheterization lab, I took pride in holding them closely, hoping to comfort them. I wanted to hug the mothers too, but showing them that their child was in tender arms was how I hoped to channel their calm strength. I quickly learned that with a language barrier, any sense of touch had an amplified meaning. A high-five from a child recovering well was enough to power the team through another long day of hard work. 

By this spring, with my SACH trip a year behind me, I had returned to New Yorker etiquette: being polite and warm but distant enough to make the patient feel at ease. A week before being sent home from school because of Covid-19, I went into one of my patient’s rooms; she had been described as stand-offish by the nurse before me. On the first impression, I somewhat agreed with the judgment of her disposition. I spent a while acquainting myself with her. I moved through her care slowly, allowing her to ask questions: “Why do I need that drug? Can we do this later? I don’t want anyone around me.” I answered calmly, cautious not to cross any lines. I worked hard to show her that she could trust me. I stood back, so as not to crowd her. Eventually, during a physically uncomfortable moment in her care, I held out my hand, almost certain that she wouldn’t take it. She grabbed my hand back, tightly, and I swore I could hear the Swahili, Hebrew, and English swirling around the warm corridors of JKCI.