By Jim Nichols

Among the most fascinating parts of a human body are hands. Having a young child in the family allows watchers to see learning in action. At birth, the child just flails arms and hands around with no purpose or coordination. Very soon, however, probably in coordination with better ability to focus eyes and track objects, that same child sees items it desires and quickly learns to reach out and grasp them. Even having a child grab a parent’s finger (or hair) is a wonderful experience. Soon, the child is grasping anything it can reach.

Notable in hand anatomy is, of course, our opposable thumb. This powerful finger can be placed opposite any of the other fingers in the same hand and is a characteristic of primates including humans. It allows wrapping around a branch, a tool, or a cello.

There is a great deal of artistry to a human hand. If you have watched the hands of a pianist, a potter, or painter with a brush, you can see a translation of brain thoughts and skills flowing into hands in a creative act. There is great beauty there. 

Watching the hands of others is a form of communication without words.

The patients were in different rooms, but each of them was in the last hours of life. Both rooms were crowded with grieving family and friends. Each patient had multiple tubes for IVs and monitoring cables.

Patient #1 was fully alert and looking around the room. Her hands were wrapped. It is not unusual that a patient’s illness causes them consciously or unconsciously to pull on medical connections and thus dislodge them. To limit this activity, nurses sometimes put large, soft, unfingered mittens on their hands. Patients’ thumbs are held next to their fingers so they cannot grab anything. They certainly serve that purpose, but, frankly, they look almost comical like clown hands.

For this patient, however, the mittens did not stop her from using her hands to express her wishes. The visitors in the room formed a semi-circle. The patient looked at each of them one by one and motioned with her mittened arm and hand for that visitor to come to the bed beside her. Each bidden visitor walked to the bed and embraced the patient and spoke to her quietly. After a couple of minutes, the patient retreated to the circle and the patient’s eyes fell on another person and the mitten waved that visitor to the bed. This marvelous communication went on for quite a while.

Patient #2 was not conscious, but the visitors in the room formed a similar boundary around the bed. In this case, there was visitor exchange over time. Some of them were initially in the nearby waiting room; gradually, a few of them came to the patient’s room while some in the room retreated to the waiting room. 

Notable in this case were not the hands of the patient, but the hands of the visitors. Of particular interest were the hands of two young girls who entered the room twice and then left soon.

Hospitals are scary places for many people; this is especially true for young people. Their faces reveal confusion and fear when confronted with the sight of an ill patient they care about. The flashing lights and alarms occurring in the room and nearby rooms are unnerving. They are worried about the other adults in the room who are in distress.

These two girls, about eight and ten, were clearly sisters. The older was a bit braver and seemed to be taking responsibility for the younger. Each of them held in one hand a brown stuffed bear; their other hands were clasped in the hand of the other. They stood at the bedside, two girls holding hands and two bears. Again, this was a marvelous communication of love, in this case love directed in several directions.

Hands can tell stories. Hands beckon and cause others to respond. Hands can reassure, protect, and comfort. There is clearly something we might call hand language.

I have two and you have two. Let us use our hands to bring peace and care.

Jim Nichols is a retired Abilene Christian University biology professor and current hospital chaplain