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When I was finally discharged, I felt stronger, though still fragile. As I gathered my belongings, I stopped by the front desk.
The staff exchanged puzzled looks. They pulled up schedules, reviewed assignments, and double-checked records. After a few minutes, one of them looked at me gently.
“There wasn’t a male nurse assigned to your room during your stay,” she said. “Only rotating female staff.”
Healing often brings moments we can’t fully explain. I decided not to dwell on it. I focused on getting better, on returning to my life.
Weeks later, while unpacking at home, I reached into my hospital bag and felt something folded inside one of the pockets. It was a small piece of paper, creased and worn.
