Gloves

May 20

By Kate Meyer

When the shift ended
I peeled off my sweaty
Blue rubber gloves
And my finger ends
Were soft and wrinkly,
As if they’d had a long
Relaxing soak. Said no
Healthcare worker ever.
More like tears, blood
And nicotine leached
From my open pores;
Stained with the grime
Of a twelve hour day,
Where the only alcohol
They touched was
Handgel or antiseptic
Wipes, as they disinfected
Surfaces covered in stuff
You don’t want to know.
They fumble for lighters
On chilly days and dream
Of warm gloves, not
Clammy latex. They wash
Frequently and have
Successfully passed an
Online module to teach
Them how, with ritual
Precision; they are suffering
From PPE OCD. Biros slip
Through their rubber-fingers
And slide across keyboards
To track and trace the ward’s
Minutiae and patient facts;
Then they disinfect it
To erase all the evidence. They
Have their fingerprints taken
Every time they draw secure
Keys. They are socially
Distanced; sometimes they
Fist bump in their gloves,
Or wave at other hands
In furtive, once-recalled, gestures
Of solidarity. They don’t
Know themselves anymore:
They have been subjected to
Identity theft; they are naked
And unashamed, minus their
Rings, acrylics or protective
Colouring (they miss shellac
And they are jealous of the
Admin staff who still have
Nail art.) Their nails are blunt,
Rough and their cuticles
Are ragged. They have even
Been shut in doors or had to
Restrain patients, or file
Assault charges. No wonder
They are too tired for
Sellf-care, even with free
Handcream from the Well-being
Team. They think there’s no
Point. No one’s bothered
As long as they adhere to
Regulations. Besides,
They are too busy
Self-testing for Covid with
Fiddly swabs at home and
Worried they infected someone
With their deadly touch and
The finger of blame will be
Pointed at them. My hands
Are typing this now, on my
Phone screen; they are
Enjoying a moment of respite
From their silicone straitjacket.
They are redefining what it
Means to be hands-free,
In case others forget what
Skin is really for; not just a
Barrier but a multi-faceted
Point of contact with life’s
Many surfaces. They get it:
They have to take the
Rough with the smooth;
No applause, just the sound
Of one hand clapping.