hat I Wish Patients Knew
Part 2: From Your Wound Care Sister, Sr Beryl Mouton
Welcome back to our What I Wish Patients Knew series — a few honest thoughts from the people behind your care. This isn’t marketing. It’s not a brochure. It’s simply our way of sharing what we see, what we feel, and what we wish more people understood about healing.
In our last newsletter, I shared my perspective as your plastic surgeon — that the operation is often the easy part, and recovery is where the real work begins. I talked about patience, planning, and why good outcomes come from trust, not speed.
Today, you’ll hear from someone who walks beside you during the most delicate part of that journey — our wound care sister.
Dear Patients,
I see you.
Not just the part of you that’s stitched, dressed, bandaged, draining, inflamed, infected or healing—though I see that in forensic detail, too. I see you. The person behind the wound.
Today, you’re hearing from me.
Your wound care nurse.
Not from a textbook or a podium—but from the stool next to your leg. From the hours of dressing changes, awkward conversations, and quiet eye contact. From the behind-the-scenes conversations I have with your plastic surgeon, and sometimes your family. I’m the one with the gloves, the gauze, and the gut feeling when something isn’t quite right.
So, here’s what I wish you knew.
- I care how your whole person is doing.
Your wound doesn’t exist in isolation. Neither do you. If you’re sleep-deprived, anxious about bills, or can’t find someone to drive you to appointments, that’s going to show up in your healing.
This is not just about skin and stitches. It’s about you — the full you — and I care about all of it. So please, don’t feel like you must hold it together for me. I’d rather know now than try to guess when things go sideways later.
- You are as important to me as anyone else.
Whether you’re the fifth dressing I’ve changed today or the fiftieth this week, you matter. Your story sticks with me. The way you flinch. The way you joke to distract yourself. The way you ask, “Is this normal?” even when you’re afraid of the answer.
There are no “small cases.” There are just human beings needing care.
- I care more than you think I do.
You may not see it, but I carry your outcome with me. In the quiet drive home. In the middle of dinner. At 2 a.m., when I suddenly wonder if I missed a pressure point or should’ve flagged a dressing change with the team.
That’s not drama — that’s diligence. I’m invested. You’re not just another shift. You’re someone I’m rooting for.
- You can be honest about your physical and financial realities.
If you’re struggling to afford supplies or scared to ask a “stupid” question — ask it anyway. I’ve had patients try to re-use bandages, tape things with office supplies, or avoid showers for fear of messing up the dressing.
No judgment here. We can only work with what you tell us. The more real you are, the better care I can give.
- I will walk beside you during this journey.
Healing is not a straight line. You’ll have setbacks. You’ll get tired of the process. You might feel gross, impatient, or like you’ll never feel “normal” again. That’s okay. I’ll still be here.
I may not have the final say on your care plan, but I’ll fight for your best interests every step of the way. And when the dressing comes off for the last time? I’ll probably cheer inappropriately.
- Follow instructions — it’s part of the healing, not extra homework.
Here’s my honest nurse-to-human advice: please don’t improvise. Don’t soak, scratch, pick, skip or DIY your wound care unless you want to see me again a lot more than planned.
I’m not saying this to be bossy — I’m saying it because it works. Good outcomes happen when you follow the plan. It’s boring. It’s repetitive. It’s not exciting. But it works.
- I coordinate with the entire team for your benefit.
When I say, “I’ll check that with Dr Struwig,” I don’t mean I’m lobbing your case into a black hole. I mean, I’m texting, emailing, and speaking directly with the person who operated on you, sometimes even before you’ve left the rooms.
We all talk. We all plan. We all care. Dr Struwig, Amori, myself — we’re constantly adjusting things in the background to keep your care on track.
- Your feedback helps me grow.
Tell me what hurt. Tell me what helped. Tell me if something didn’t make sense. I can’t improve if I don’t know.
And if I did something that made this difficult process easier — please let me know that too. This work is rewarding, but it’s also exhausting. Your words carry weight.
- Your privacy and dignity matter to me.
Wound care can be intimate, awkward, and sometimes deeply emotional. I’ve seen every type of wound, on every part of the body, in every stage of healing. You’re not going to surprise me.
But I’ll never treat your body like a checklist. Your privacy is sacred. Your dignity is part of your treatment plan.
- I don’t “just know this” — I train constantly.
Behind the calm voice and routine dressings is someone who’s still learning. I read, research, attend workshops, ask questions, test techniques. Wound care evolves — and so do I.
What I offer you isn’t just based on experience. It’s built on continuous work because you deserve up-to-date, evidence-based care. Not whatever I learned in 2003.
Healing Takes a Village, But It Starts With Trust
That’s the thread tying our whole team together.
We’re not asking for blind faith. We’re asking for shared effort. We all bring something to the table: the planning, the precision, the behind-the-scenes magic, the human connection. But it only works if you bring your honesty, your patience, your participation.
You don’t have to be perfect. Neither do we. But if we meet each other with consistency, humour, and a willingness to show up, healing becomes something more than just “getting better.” It becomes something meaningful.
Thank you for letting me be part of your story.
I’ll be here with the tape, the tweezers, and the care.
Warmly,
Sr. Beryl Mouton
Next, you’ll hear from the person who keeps the wheels turning: our practice manager. She’s the one navigating referrals, phone calls, bookings, funding approvals, and all the quiet chaos that patients rarely see — but always benefit from. Her insights will show you how healing starts before you ever walk into the room.
Stay with us — there’s a reason we all do things the way we do.
