Nivedita Gunturi

My hands that are so accustomed to resting on the wrinkled skin of my aging patients, often in the last moments of their lives, have once again become restless in these times. I reach for a hand, only to remember with a start that we live in a sterile world now. There was a respite, a few bright months here and there where my patients’ confused minds clouded by Alzheimer’s could see my whole face. They met me for the first time over and over again, always recognizing the humanity of my smile.