I want to share a work experience with you that made me think differently about the simple act of combing/brushing hair.

My university placed me on a urology ward - this is my second week of five - so I see patients with bladder cancer, bowel cancer, prostate & testicular cancer, penilecancer and various kidney conditions that afflict male and female patients equally. A lot of my patients are above the age of 60, and it was yesterday's experience of nursing a gentleman, named Gordon, that opened my eyes somewhat.

Gordon had Parkinson's and an infection in his bladder, which is why he was admitted to the ward. He was 6'1", of a pallid complexion, frail but still mobile using a zimmer frame, and most of his time was spent sat deep in thought, or silence, in his bedside chair. The other male patients in the room tried to make light of their hospital stay by joking with each other and us nurses [me as the student nurse] . Occasionally, they would say a few words to Gordon - more to look out for him and to notify staff if he needed assistance to the bathroom, or food and drink. At approximately 10am, he did require assistance and I was sent to him.

I had to administer personal care, which meant emptying his catheter bag, helping him into a fresh pair of pyjamas and washing and cleaning him. All of this had to be done with Gordon sat in his chair, holding his walking stick with one hand, looking at me forlornly with his deep chestnut-coloured eyes and not uttering a word, or making much sound at all. I pulled the curtain around his bed, so as to give him privacy, then began with the slow and gentle washing of his frail body. Speaking in a gentle tone, I explained to him what I was doing, despite the fact that he may or may not have understood my words. Never mind. Actions speak louder, so I did my best to be as careful as possible. I tidied him up and was almost finished when I remembered to comb his hair. Previously, I'd observed a qualified nurse being quite rough and seeming to scrub a patient's head with an ugly-looking excuse for a comb. I felt quite perturbed when I observed such heavy handedness, so I knew what I felt needed to be done for my patient.


Gordon had fine wispy hair that covered most of his head. I asked him if it was all right for me to comb his hair, and he looked up at me and nodded in agreement. The comb was new, so I picked it up in my right hand and slowly ran it through his fine hair, parting it sideways, as he liked, and taking my time with slow strokes. Those of us who are long-hair fans and who have brushed the long hair of our friends and loved ones know that gentleness is much appreciated, but some short-haired people enjoy it, too. They may have a sensitive scalp for instance, and feel discomfort if someone uses a comb in a brisk fashion on whatever hair they have. As I combed Gordon's hair, he fixed his eyes on me and smiled, and I smiled warmly back at him. Non-verbal communication is difficult to read, sometimes, but I felt satisfied that I was caring for my patient in as dignified a way as I knew how, and I combed his hair a few minutes more. It was a very small and perhaps insignificant act, according to some people, but Gordon's smile stayed with me when I finished my shift and now at almost 2am.

A brush stroke is as an important tool in building a relationship with another person, and I wish more healthcare workers would think about it the next time they brushed a patient's hair for them. Degenerative brain illnesses, such as Parkinson's and Dementia do not excuse a person from denying a patient this tender act of care.