Alex was waiting by the elevator in full Santa gear—the beard, the suit, the works. He looked ridiculous and somehow dignified at the same time, which was probably why Grace had dragged him into this in the first place.
The elevator doors opened, the beeping machines syncing to the pulse pounding in my ears. A nurse walked past pushing an IV pole, and my throat went dry.
Different hospital. Different wing. Just focus on the logistics.
I checked the first item on my list:
?Confirm patient list with nurses’ station.
Grace tried to check in with me again, but I was already moving to the pediatric cardiology nurses’ station, decorated with paper snowflakes and construction paper reindeer. A tired-looking nurse looked up as I approached.
“Hi, I’m Connor. I’m coordinating the Santa visits today.”
Her face brightened. “The kids are thrilled, let me grab the list.”
She printed out a roster of patient rooms, marking which kids were awake, which ones had visitors, which ones needed special considerations, and I cross-referenced my schedule.
“Room 412 first,” I said when Grace and Alex caught up. “Six-year-old, post-op from valve replacement two days ago. Parents will be there. I’ll knock, make sure they’re ready.”
Grace squeezed my arm. “Thank you for this.”
I nodded, checking my watch. “Five minutes, then we need to move to 415.”
I knocked on room 412, confirmed with the parents, then stepped back to let Alex and Grace enter, lingering in the hallway.
I couldn’t go in there. Couldn’t watch a kid in a hospital bed with monitors beeping. Couldn’t smile at the hovering parents and pretend everything was magical when I knew exactly how fast everything could fall apart.
So I focused on what I could control.
I confirmed the next patients were awake and ready for visitors. By the time Alex and Grace emerged from room 412—the kid’s laughter echoing behind them—I had rooms 415 through 418 mapped out and ready.
“Next is 415,” I said. “Seven-year-old girl, cardiac arrhythmia, grandmother is with her. She’s requesting a photo, so I’ll take that.”
Grace started, “You don’t have to—”
“I’ve got the camera.” I held up my phone. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. But it was manageable, and that was enough right now.
We moved through the department with mechanical efficiency. I stayed in the hallways, coordinating with nurses, checking schedules, managing the timing. Alex and Grace went into the rooms as laughter, squeals of delight, and the occasional “Ho ho ho” boomed through the walls.
Pulmonology was worse. More beeping, more monitors, more parents with that exhausted fear in their eyes that I remembered too well.
Three inches to the left, Connor. The angel needs to be higher.
Grace found me at the nurses’ station. Her voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. We’re ahead of schedule by six minutes.”
“I’m not asking about the schedule.”
“Oncology is next. I’ve confirmed rooms 612 through 617 are ready.”
She touched my wrist, forcing me to look at her. “You don’t have to do this. We can handle the rest.”
“I said I’d help.”
“I know. And I appreciate it. But…” She glanced back at the room where Alex was currently making some kid laugh like crazy. “This can’t be easy for you.”
