healthcare textiles & laundry
healthcare textiles & laundry
By Gregory Gicewicz
A Hospital Tour That Changed Everything
Maurice had been supervising production for eight months.
Every day carried the same rhythm— trucks backing into the dock, soiled linens unloaded, washers churning, dryers spinning, folders stacking. Thousands of pieces a day: sheets, towels, scrubs, and those green plastic snap gowns that seemed to flow endlessly through his line. It was good, honest work. Better than most jobs available on the West Side of Chicago.
But to Maurice, it still felt invisible. Anonymous. He managed a system that moved mountains of fabric but rarely saw the people it touched. Then came the hospital tour. The general manager told him on a Friday that he’ d been chosen to visit a hospital the company served.“ They want our team to see where the linen goes,” she said. Maurice didn’ t know what to expect. He’ d never really been inside a hospital beyond the waiting room. He figured he’ d see loading docks, storage rooms— the industrial side of care, not the human one.
The tour began predictably enough. The hospital’ s environmental services manager walked them through receiving and linen closets. Maurice recognized the same blue carts his team loaded every day. It was satisfying, but still distant— the linen was just inventory in a different building.
Then came a surprise:“ Would you like to see the ICU?” the manager asked.
A nurse named Sarah had requested it.“ She wants you to see what you do for us,” he said.“ I think it would mean a lot.”
The ICU was quiet. The lights were low, the air heavy with purpose. Machines beeped softly. Nurses moved quickly but gently. Sarah met them near the nurses’ station— young, kind-eyed, and visibly tired.
“ Thank you for coming,” she said.“ I wanted you to see something.”
She led them to a room where an older man sat in a wheelchair by the window. He wore one of those green gowns. The same kind Maurice’ s team washed, checked, and folded by the thousands.
“ That’ s Mr. Patterson,” Sarah said softly.“ Stage four lung cancer. He’ s not going home.” Maurice felt his throat tighten.“ Two weeks ago, he couldn’ t even sit up,” she continued.
“ Yesterday he asked if he could see the sky.” Through the window, the Chicago skyline shimmered in the afternoon sun.
“ We change his gown three times a day,” she said.“ Always clean. Always soft. It smells fresh. No stains. No holes. You might not realize what that means to someone like him.” Maurice said nothing. He couldn’ t.“ When someone is dying,” Sarah said, her voice steady but trembling,“ dignity matters. Comfort matters. That gown— the one you sent us— it’ s the last thing he feels against his skin. It’ s what his family sees when they come to say goodbye. It’ s part of how we care for him.”
She looked at them, eyes glistening.“ So thank you. For what you do. It matters more than you know.”
The ride back to the plant was quiet. Maurice stared out the window, lost in thought.“ I didn’ t know,” he finally said to his manager.“ Didn’ t know what?”“ That it mattered like that.” The next morning, he clocked in as usual. Same floor, same machines, same endless stream of linen. But it wasn’ t the same.
When the first gown came down the line, Maurice didn’ t just see a piece of fabric. He saw Mr. Patterson sitting by the window, his nurse adjusting that gown with care. He saw a family arriving to visit, comforted that their loved one looked clean, cared for, dignified.
He checked the seams a little more carefully. Folded the sleeves a little neater. Because now he understood— this work wasn’ t just about keeping hospitals stocked. It was about preserving the small, sacred moments of humanity that happen in hospital rooms every single day.
Somewhere in Chicago, someone was wearing that gown. Someone who needed it to be soft. Someone whose final comfort might depend on people like Maurice, unseen but essential.
The washers kept spinning. The dryers kept humming. The rhythm of the plant continued— unload, wash, dry, fold, weigh, load. But Maurice saw it differently now. He wasn’ t just supervising a laundry line. He was part of the chain of care— a hidden but vital link between compassion and cleanliness, between life and dignity. And that, he realized, was holy work.
Gregory Gicewicz is the president and CEO of Compliance Shark, a business compliance platform, as well as past-president of the Healthcare Laundry Accreditation Council( HLAC). He is the author of the new book‘ Clean Linen Saves Lives’ available on Amazon and may be reached at: gregory @ complianceshark. com
nov-dec 2025 • www. healthcarehygienemagazine. com •
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