The Direct Care Worker Is Going To Bathe The Consumer Fixed Page

Bathing a consumer. That was the phrase in the care plan. Consumer. As if Esther were buying a service instead of surrendering the last shreds of her dignity. Maria hated the word. Esther wasn’t a consumer. She was a retired librarian who’d once danced the tango in Buenos Aires. Maria knew this because she’d found the old photos buried in a shoebox under the bed.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Maria said, kneeling beside the bed. She touched Esther’s hand—papery skin, bent fingers. "We’re going to get you clean and fresh. Then maybe some applesauce?" the direct care worker is going to bathe the consumer

After the shower, Maria wrapped her in a towel the size of a sail. She dried Esther’s hair with her fingers, rubbed lotion into her heels, and dressed her in a clean housedress—yellow, like buttercups. Bathing a consumer

"I know," Maria whispered. "Cold at first. But it’ll pass." As if Esther were buying a service instead

"Remember that tango?" Maria asked as she rinsed Esther’s back. "You and that dark-haired man. His hand on your waist."

No answer. Just the low hum of the radiator and a soft rustle of sheets.

She unbuttoned Esther’s nightgown. The old woman’s body was a map of losses—surgical scars, bruised veins, a mastectomy hollow. Maria worked quickly, respectfully. She soaped a washcloth and started with the shoulders, moving down each arm, between the fingers, under the breasts, the belly, the folded skin of the thighs.