He had set the alarm on his phone for three-hour intervals. At one o’clock, he walked quietly down the hall and peeked into the patient’s room. If she was resting well, he didn’t want to bother her. “Simone?” He whispered her name. She wouldn’t hear him unless she was awake.
“Come on in.” Her voice was soft, but alert.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I did sleep. For a little while.”
“And now?”
“I’m hungry.”
“But still nauseated?”
“Oh, yeah...”
He hesitated. “Simone...”
“What?”
“I’ve seen acupressure really help in these situations. One of the doctors I worked with in West Darfur was Chinese. He taught me the technique, and I actually used it on half a dozen women in my care.”
“Is there a downside?”
“I’d have to hold your hand for three minutes. Each one.”
A long silence ensued.
Finally, Simone spoke. “Sounds pretty risqué.”
He choked out a laugh and sat on the end of the bed. Even at her lowest points, Simone was still able to manufacture humor. That ability boded well for a difficult pregnancy.
“Well,” he said, “what do you think?”
“I’d dance with the devil if I thought it would make me feel better.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said drily. “Your enthusiasm is duly noted.”
He stood up and moved closer. “We can do this with you sitting up or lying down, whichever feels the most comfortable.” The bizarre situation somehow seemed more acceptable, because it was the middle of the night.
“I’ll stay put,” she said. “Don’t want to make any sudden moves that might tip the balance.”
It made more sense to sit on the bed, but instead he grabbed the small chair from the vanity and positioned it at Simone’s elbow. He wanted the illusion of distance. For the same reason, he didn’t turn on the lamp. The faint illumination from the night-light in the bathroom was all he needed.
Most of this procedure was by touch, anyway. He had learned where to apply pressure. It wasn’t an exact science, but he had practiced enough to feel comfortable doing it.
Now if he could be equally at ease with his beautiful guinea pig, he might come out of this next half hour unscathed. “Let’s do the easiest one first,” he said. Her left hand rested at the edge of the mattress. He picked up her arm, noting that her fingers were cold.
“Will it hurt?” she asked.
He had a hunch that the nervous question was more about him touching he
r than any real fear of acupressure. “It shouldn’t. But if I press too hard, tell me.”
Over the years, he had learned that speaking to a patient in steady, reassuring tones while in the midst of a difficult or painful procedure was helpful. In Simone’s case, the distraction might prove useful for both of them.
Turning her hand palm up, he pressed his thumb to her soft skin. “The spot for this is P6,” he said. “About three fingers above the crease of your wrist and in between two tendons.” He applied pressure. “Okay so far?”
She nodded.