CaptainOrange

While on one of my regular visits to the Royal University Hospital’s Paediatric Ward, I was asked by the recreational therapist, Kelsey, if I would do a storytime for a child named “H.” Of course I would. That’s the entire purpose of being there, after all. All smiles  and sitting up in bed, H is a bright child of six. Her hand (which has recently been shattered) is wrapped in gauze and held in a splint reaching to her elbow. I’ve been doing visits like this for quite a while now and I quickly go into my usual routine. I’m silly and disarming. We wear finger puppets (H can only wear them on one hand), sing songs and read some pop-up books. I make a lot of “mistakes” while reading and H quickly corrects me. I fall over constantly. I’m afraid of all the beeping noises in her room and all of the scary things in the books. H laughs at me for being afraid—especially of the lion finger puppet. She is interested and engaged—one of the easiest story times I’ve had in weeks. Then the nu...

I've been back for a while. I just didn't have the heart to post this last page because of the Mosque shooting that took place a couple of days after my return. It's hard to tell people about my trip of a lifetime when the place I visited and which brought me so much joy is in anguish. FWIW, here is the final page of my thoughts on the trip. and the link to my trip photos , one last time.