Clothing Closet

"Wanna go on a mission?"

I about-face and look up at nurse Brian. His graying blond, shaggy hair and thick mustache make him look distinctively like an old English sheepdog.

"Sure."

"The patient in room 29 needs clothes. Let's go over there and examine the situation. You might want to wear a mask."

When paramedics bring in patients, they usually cut the clothing off in order to examine the patient's body without moving it. Or, at least they should. That leaves the patient with no clothes to wear when they're discharged. The Emergency Department has a closet full of donated clothes for this purpose. And, because we serve a large homeless population, extra clothing always comes in handy.

Room 29 smells like urine and blood, even through my sealed respiration mask. I introduce myself and try to smile with my eyes (which just means squinting). I tell him I'm going to find him clothes to wear. I ask what size pants he wears, and then notices that he only has one leg.

"Thirty-three, sweetheart. I wear a size 10.5 shoe too." Ah, singular. Makes sense. I note that it's for his left foot.

Brian jokes about men lying about their waist size. They share a laugh. I tell the patient I'll be right back.

The clothing closet induces claustrophobia in me. It's a humid 5 feet by 5 feet space full of boxes of clothing. Dust flies in the air and sticks to my skin as I dig through the piles. "Please leave the Clothing Closet neat!" "Let's keep this a hygienic experience for everyone!" Obviously no one pays attention to these signs. Certain items are not at all suitable for giving to patients. A tight-fitting summer dress? Sequined satin tank top? Sure, they're cute. But lacking in terms of practicality. I make a note to myself to sort the closet when I have a free moment. I regret not wearing gloves when I start looking through the underwear pile.

I've never really seen the other side of clothing donation. It's always been from my closet to a box. The box to the Salvation Army. But never from the box to a person. I imagine workers distributing clothing to people in need far away. I imagine gratefulness and smiling faces. An ideal world where shame is nowhere to be found, where poverty is easily mended by filling of immediate material needs. Man. I was so naive.

The first time I found clothing for a woman being discharged, she complained that it wasn't a color she liked. It sagged too low in the front. The fabric was wrinkly. I took it back and brought another shirt, one that I spent ten minutes in the stuffy closet picking out. She took it huffily and muttered that there is nothing she has left, could we not even give her suitable clothes? I stepped outside and wondered what I did wrong. It didn't occur to me then, the stinging humiliation of having to accept donated clothes. Of having someone pick out clothing for you and handing it to you like they were doing you a favor. This isn't always the case. But sometimes it is.

I brought back navy blue Dickies for the patient in room 29, a thick black thermal sweatshirt, and also a pair of boxers, and socks. I held each item up for inspection, and asked if he thought it would fit or not. He said without looking that he was sure that every single piece of clothing would fit him, and that he was grateful for them. I only regret not being able to find him a suitable shoe. Brian later told me that he was a homeless man who had jumped in front of a train three times, only to survive three times. The first time, he lost his leg. The second, some cognitive ability. And this time, he said he felt fine. I said a prayer for him after he left, that he would find renewed purpose in his life, and that he would never come back again.

A friend once told me that the charities that compel him most are those that he can see real, person-to-person connections in. That the donations aren't just being used in whatever general sense, but they actually follow from giver to recipient. I think clothing donation can be like that for me, instead of a nameless, faceless, far away center, I'll just bring things to The Hospital. I think it should give me life to personally hand over clothes I actually like and would want to continue to wear, to those who need it more.