Mówił łagodnie, poruszał się cierpliwie i jakimś cudem pamiętał ulubioną zabawę każdego dziecka.
Kiedy po raz pierwszy opiekował się Adeline, nie pozwoliła nikomu dotknąć swojej kroplówki.
„Nie lubię igieł” – wyszeptała, tuląc pluszowego królika.
„Ja też nie” – odpowiedział Josh ze współczującym uśmiechem.
Jej maleńkie brwi powędrowały do góry.
“A ty nie?”
“Nie.”
„Ale jesteś pielęgniarką.”
„Wiem. Czy to nie ironiczne?”
Ona zachichotała.
It was the first genuine laugh I had heard from her in days.
From then on, something changed.
Whenever Josh worked, Adeline became a little brighter.
She tracked his shifts on a paper calendar we had taped beside her bed.
Every evening, she asked me to draw smiley faces on the dates when he would be there.
“Tomorrow’s a Josh day!” she would announce excitedly.
If his shift changed unexpectedly, she pouted for an hour before deciding she would simply have to wait one more day.
I appreciated him more than I could express.
He never acted rushed.
He crouched to Adeline’s eye level before explaining anything, asked permission before touching her arm, and celebrated every small victory, whether she finished a meal or completed another chemotherapy session without crying.
Watching him comfort frightened children made me believe people really did choose nursing because they cared.
One afternoon, while I helped Adeline color princesses in a book, Josh stopped by to check her vital signs.
“What are we making today?” he asked.
“A castle,” Adeline answered proudly.
“It needs more sparkles.”
Josh nodded seriously.
“I think every castle deserves sparkles.”
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