People sometimes ask why patients act out in the hospital. They say it like it’s a puzzle, as if people suddenly forget how to behave the moment they put on a gown. But it isn’t a puzzle. When you’re sick, you lose control of everything. Your body, your schedule, your privacy. Even your snacks become part of the public domain.
I once had a patient who loved little chocolates. Loved them with a devotion that made the whole staff cautious. She kept them arranged on her tray in a perfect line. Each one had its place. She treated that tray like sacred ground.
If someone moved one, the reaction was immediate. She’d let out a sound that carried down the hall. Not a scream, but close enough that people turned their heads. Her eyes locked on the chocolate like it had betrayed her. Then she’d fix her gaze on the person who touched it, and the temperature in the room changed. She didn’t need to explain anything. Everyone understood they had crossed a line.
She’d put the chocolate back exactly where she wanted it and settle again, as if the world had been restored.
To someone passing by, it might have looked ridiculous. To me, it made perfect sense. Those chocolates were the only thing she could control. Her body wasn’t cooperating. Her meals were chosen for her. Her medications were chosen for her. Her sleep was interrupted by alarms and people who needed to check on her.
But the chocolates were hers.
So I learned to work around them. I’d adjust her pillows, check her IV, change her linens, and leave her lineup untouched. She always noticed. She’d give me a small nod, the kind that said she appreciated being seen.
People miss the real reason behind behavior like hers. Losing control changes a person. Simple things stop feeling simple. That row of chocolates gave her a place to stand when everything else was shifting under her. It wasn’t about the candy. It was about holding on to something that stayed exactly where she put it.
I understood that. Most nurses do. When someone is fighting to keep one small thing steady, you let them. You honor it. You make room for it. Because sometimes that tiny piece of order is the only comfort they have.
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50 comments
When you have no real control the small stuff matters a lot.
Thank you, Lynette. That’s so true. 🌸
This makes complete sense. Having control over something, even chocolates gives a feeling of self-worth.
Yes, thank you so much, Eugi. That’s true.
You’re welcome, Kymber.
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This is so profound. It’s true when you are ill and at the mercy of others, you need something…anything you can still control. Thank you for sharing this beautiful story. If I ever get sick, I want you for my nurse, Kymber!
Jan, thank you. You understood exactly what I was trying to say. When you’re sick and everything feels out of your hands, even one small thing you can still control makes a difference. It steadies you in a way nothing else can.
And you’d have been an easy patient to care for. I appreciate your kindness.
Amazing wisdom
Thanks so much, Joy.
Complete sense!
Thank you, Stephanie!
That makes so much sense. I can’t imagine how it feels to not have control of anything.
You’re right. Losing that sense of control is one of the hardest parts of being a patient. When everything feels out of your hands, even small choices matter. It’s a strange feeling, and it stays with you long after the moment passes.
Most nurses I have known also would have understood. I suspect Father has a special place in Heaven for nurses of such understanding.😉
❤️&🙏, 🤠
CA, thank you. I’ve always believed most nurses understand that need for control because we see it every day. It’s one of the quiet truths of caregiving. Your words mean a lot, and your faith‑filled kindness does too.
❤️🙏🤠
I love this story and I understand her too. Losing all control takes its toll. I’ve never been a nurse or a doctor but I’ve seen it. However, it is great that you nurses are able to put up with that behavior.
Thomas, thank you. Losing control takes a toll on people, and it shows in ways that make perfect sense once you’ve seen it up close. Nurses deal with a lot of behavior that comes from fear, not intention, and most of us understand that. It’s part of the job, and part of caring for someone who’s going through more than they can say.
Excellent post and observation .
Thank you, Di. You are most kind.
A touching story, Kymber. What struck me deeply by how you extended grace were your words “When someone is fighting to keep one small thing steady, you let them…” Bless you. You have a kind heart.
Thank you, Suzette. I’m grateful you felt the heart of that moment. Letting someone keep what steadies them is its own kind of care.
Well said, Kymber. You are most welcome.
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Thank you for this, Kymber. I wish my mom would move in with me, but I understand that staying in her own home is the one thing keeping her steady. So I’ll give her some room and keep an eye on her, just in case.
Thank you, Edward. It’s hard when you want to protect someone you love, yet you know their home is what keeps them steady. Your approach shows real care.
You’re welcome, Kymber. I’m trying my best to balance everything out.
Edward, that balance you’re trying to keep is real. Caring for someone while letting them hold on to what steadies them isn’t easy, and you’re doing it with a lot of thought. That effort shows, even when the situation itself is complicated.
Thank you, Kymber. I really appreciate your words.
It’s my pleasure. I truly wish you all the best.
I never thought about it, but it makes perfect sense, Kymber. But if it was me, they wouldn’t be lined up for long. I can’t resist chocolate!
Thank you, Teri. You made me laugh. Her chocolates stayed lined up because she guarded them. Mine would’ve disappeared before lunch.
Ah, yes. I tend to enjoy giving up control while in the hospital, but that’s because it’s usually been short pre-planned visits. The time I went in unexpectedly, my cute pedicure was the only thing keeping my spirits up, esp after the day nurses screwed me over so that I was forced to stay an extra night. I dunno why they disliked me (I tried to be low needs/trouble), but they didn’t hide that they did. The night nurses were sweet and helped reconcile issues so I finally got to go home.
Unexpected hospital days take the fight out of you fast. That pedicure was your anchor. And you shouldn’t have been treated like a problem. I’m glad the night crew helped straighten things out so you could go home.
Thank you for sharing your interesting and informative article Kymber. I learn something new every day.
Thank you, Peter‑James. I’m glad it resonated with you. Nursing teaches you something new every day, too, whether you want the lesson or not.😀
Any patient who had you looking after them was very fortunate, Kymber. 💖
Your compassion and understanding is admirable. 🌹
Thank you, Debbie. I tried to give people what they needed in the moment, and I’m glad it came through. Compassion matters when everything else feels uncertain.🩷🩷
Thank you for this insight to your profession, Kymber. I’ve been in hospital may times over the years and this makes good sense to me. I respect you so much!
Thanks so much, John. You’ve seen enough hospital stays to know how real that loss of control feels. I appreciate your words.
An awesome story and understanding of what true care looks like. I don’t think we are truly aware of how much control means to us. I have been in the hospital several times and I hold on to the Lord. No one can take Him away from me. The only real control I have is my faith in Him. I understand everyone doesn’t believe like I do. This works for me.
Losing control in the hospital hits hard. Your faith steadied you, and I understand that. I have that faith too, and it’s carried me through plenty. Everyone leans on something, and this is what works for us.
Indeed. When you think you might not make it, it’s so out of your hands. It’s the only way I could steady myself.
I hear you. That kind of steadiness matters when everything feels uncertain.
I had a 70-day stint in the hospital when I was in college. It was a result of a horrific auto accident. I remember not being in control anymore, and it was not a good feeling. One day, a nurse brought a gown that had very short sleeves. As a result, my wounds above the elbow could be seen. The normal short sleeves reached my elbow, so there was no problem. I apologized and asked for another gown. The nurse immediately knew the problem and got me a new one. I was so grateful to her for understanding my quirk at the time. Those other sleeves made my heart sink. I guess it was an out-of-control reaction.
Losing that sense of control is one of the hardest parts of being a patient. Your reaction makes sense. That nurse understood what you needed in that moment, and it mattered. Small things can steady you when everything else feels out of your hands.
🥰♥️
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they re afraid of death
i get a new pacemaker every ten years
and a colonoscopy every five
what fun!
Fear of death drives a lot of behavior. You’ve had your share of medical adventures. Pacemakers and colonoscopies aren’t fun, but they do their job.