The Unseen Beauty of Care
For me, few feelings are more wonderful than knowing someone is cosy, comfortable, and loved, and I helped with that.
Theme: The Beauty
Quick Take:
Caring for Milly has reminded me of something I’d almost forgotten - the real reward of helping someone feel fresh, comfortable, and safe.
For me, restoring dignity through simple, everyday acts is bringing a deep, gentle fulfilment.
Care is learned. It’s something I am noticing again and again; as my confidence grows, the awkwardness fades, leaving a deeper connection and a quiet calm.
Learning to Care Again
There’s a depth to caring that doesn’t get talked about much. It’s subtle, practical, and usually happens when no one’s watching. That quiet beauty of care is something I’ve recently rediscovered in Last and Found.
Facing Discomfort
When Milly first started to struggle with things we all take for granted, helping with her personal care was tough. Despite my nursing background, I’d avoid it. It felt uncomfortable and invasive, and just... not something I wanted to do. But ignoring her needs felt wrong too. In the end, I realised that making sure Milly was clean, comfortable, and safe from sores and infections mattered more than my discomfort. It was hard at first, but the more I just got on with it, the more I started to see the grace in it - simple, humble, necessary, and actually, quite rewarding.
Early Lessons in Nursing
I was eighteen when I began my training as a nurse and I was pretty unsure of myself. School hadn’t been a great success for me, and confidence didn’t come naturally. One of the first things I had to learn was how to give a bed bath. I remember how nerve-wracking it felt - so many steps to remember. One flannel for this, another for that. Don’t rush. Don’t make it awkward. Don’t get it wrong. Work around the pain, the drips, the catheters.
What I didn’t expect was how quickly something that seemed so basic became something that really mattered.
It was wonderful to know I could help someone feel safe and respected - not embarrassed or uncomfortable.
As dramatic as it sounds, there was something almost like love in those moments.
Before long, the jobs we did less of as we became more senior -the washing, the bedpans, the commodes - became the things I was actually good at. More than that, they made me feel needed. Nursing gave me something solid when I didn’t yet believe I had much to offer. In many ways, it changed the direction of my life.
Experiencing Safety in the World
I haven’t done bedside nursing for many years now, but caring for Milly has brought all of that back to me. Dementia has taken so much from her, and from us, but it’s also reminded me of what I first discovered as a young nurse.
There’s something incredibly moving about helping someone feel safe and settled again. About seeing their body relax. About knowing that, in that moment, they sense a peace in the world. Milly tries to keep her dignity, and anyone who visits can’t quite believe that washing has become such a complex task - soap in her hand, flannel ready, and she might just stand there, staring. If I’m not with her, she’ll leave everything or try to do it herself and get in a pickle.
This kind of care isn’t glamorous. It’s repetitive, tiring, and often goes unseen. Yet when I have capacity for taking time, I glimpse that quiet beauty.
Care is Learned
I’m also very aware that this kind of care doesn’t come naturally. It takes practice - and a fair few mistakes. Even though I was a nurse, I’ve had to get used to it again.
I remember one of my first times helping someone use a commode. It also involved measuring urine output, which instantly made everything way more serious. I concentrated so hard on getting everything right: the commode facing the bed in case she felt faint, the buzzer within reach, her clothing arranged properly so she’d be dignified if anyone came around the curtain. I checked she was comfortable, reassured her, and then stepped away to give her privacy.
I had barely moved when the patient in the next bed shouted, “Oh my god - it’s going all over the floor!”
I froze. Panicked. Then realised, with horror, that I hadn’t slid the bedpan under the commode seat. It was going everywhere, and the poor lady let out a mortified wail -“Oh, oh, oh” -trying desperately to stop mid-flow.
Learning through Mistakes
What stayed with me most, though, was what happened later. The senior staff nurse - effortlessly calm, clearly having watched it all - asked me about twenty minutes later (after I’d tried to mop up without anyone seeing!) why I hadn’t completed the fluid balance chart. I sheepishly explained.
She paused, then said, completely straight-faced, “Well, you’d better go and estimate the stain on the floor then.”
I think she let me panic for a few moments before she laughed and let me off the hook - kindly, not cruelly.
And that’s the thing.
Care isn’t about getting everything right straight away. It’s about learning, being humbled, being guided, and slowly understanding that dignity isn’t perfection - it’s intention, kindness, and doing it again and again, and getting a little wiser each time.
That, to me, is often the overlooked beauty of care.
Oh, and I never forgot to put the bed pan in the commode again!