A tender moment

She is the only acid burn patient currently at ROSE. She arrived one week ago. I first saw her during rounds sitting in the main ward, her face charred and hardened pus on her chin. Her eyes were shut from the scars. There are a some splatters of acid on her left shoulder and left hand, but most of the damage is to her face and ears. She will undergo debridement (removal of the dead skin) and then skin grafting on her face because the scars are too big and too deep.

Her mother and her husband are with her. Her mother’s emotions are effectively covered by her constant smile. Her husband looks sad and exhausted. He sits by her bed, looking at her bandaged face – only slivers for her eyes, mouth and nose. Sometimes he holds her hand. Whenever I walk into the room he quickly walks away and sits in one of the corners. I realize I have never heard his voice. I am mostly aware of his eyes (they always looking puffy, as if he’d been crying) and his tattoos – the ones that men get here to keep bad spirits away. I haven’t seen this many on one body before.

As I’m treating Chan Narey, he watches. And then he picks up his wife’s burned hand and begins to massage it, mimicking what I did. He’s shaking a little bit. I feel a little bit like a voyeur, but I stay in the shadows, watching this tender moment. I walk over and sit beside him. He quickly gives me her hand but I don’t take it. Instead I place my hand over his, and guide his hand as it touches her skin and then begins to move closer to the scars, gliding over the scars, moving into the scars. His hand is soft and picks up what I am doing quickly. I smile and nod and he smiles back. All of this in silence…not one word was exchanged.

Five days after the operation, dressing changes begin. It’s an incredibly painful process and she cries with every millimeter of bandage that is pulled off her face. I hold her hand. I fight my own tears and have to consciously control how I respond to this whole process – at which my conscious screams: it can be done better, differently, less painfully, maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. I bite my tounge until it bleeds. The graft has taken 80%. For the first time I see her eyes open – they are big, brown, moist. She is beautiful – even with her shaved head and blood streaming down her left check and dead skin hanging off the other.