When Visiting the Sick

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Aug 18, 1910

When Visiting the Sick

MEMBERS of a family circle often have strange ideas of entertaining the invalid. Reports are brought to her room of domestic difficulties of all kinds, from “cook’s rank extravagance over butter,” and anticipated trouble with the nursery maid, to “Archie’s growing more careless every day, and really, dear, Charlie is causing great anxiety. Your father looks so worried and troubled, and Meta and Annie are so snappy to the boys at dinner. You are not down-stairs, but safely out of it; so it can’t worry you to know.” But, O! it does; and another gray cloud comes over the already dreary outlook on life. Home appears to be a place of bickering and petty troubles, and there seems no object in trying to get well.

The ideal visitor is bright, but not unfeeling ; cheerful, but not flippant; sympathetic, and still hopeful. She comes prettily dressed and seldom empty-handed—no small attraction for the visited; for no one knows so well as those who have experienced the dreariness of a bed-ridden life how keenly welcomed is anything absolutely unexpected. A few flowers, a new paper, the loan of a book, some home-made dainty,—all seem doubly delightful because unlooked for.

The ideal visitor does not fidget; she does not bump against the bed; she sits facing the invalid, so causing no strain of eyes or position. She does not leave the burden of conversation to the patient; she has something to say, and says it brightly and interestingly. She can gratify the poor derelict with gracious little speeches; tell how her old friends miss her, how glad every one is of news of her. If a little bit of praise creeps in, such as, “I don’t know how you keep so patient and cheerful, and look so dainty always,” will not the praise be forgiven when balanced against the warm glow of pleasure that fills the heart of the invalid?—New York Post.