To Be Real

While making my rounds to vital my patients at the beginning of my shift last night, I came across an older, slightly unkempt-looking gentleman who struggled with opening the box lunch container. I helped him pop open the plastic, and as I checked his blood pressure, he asked me in a weary voice if I knew when he could go home. He had asked at least three different people, he told me while shaking his head sadly, but no one had given him an answer.

I told him that it was change of shift, but that as soon as the nurses finished giving report I'd find out what the plan was. I also grabbed him a blanket and a pillow to make him more comfortable. As I turned to leave, he grabbed my hand and thanked me for being "a real person." Patting myself on the back for providing good patient care, I felt happy to be a "real person" who treated my patients with respect and tried not to let them get lost in the shuffle.

It was only during my next encounter with the gentleman that I realized that the patient had a history of psych issues, and thought that 50% of the population were aliens.