"Nurses are angels in comfortable shoes" —Unknown

"Sybil, I need you."

Sybil looked up from her coffee and her stack of charts to see her co-worker, Edna, staring at her impatiently. "What's the problem?" she asked immediately, getting to her feet, ready to jump into whatever situation apparently needed her help.

Edna shook her head and rolled her eyes. "This patient's father is asking for a new nurse to draw her blood. Apparently I'm not doing it well enough or some rubbish like that. He's insisting I find someone else to do it for me."

Sybil furrowed her brow in confusion. "Were you having trouble finding a vein?" she asked, trying to keep her voice delicately. Edna was new to the pediatrics ward and might not be sure of the way things worked yet, but Sybil didn't want the nurse to misunderstand and think that she was doubting her ability to do her job.

Another eye roll. "The kid's got toothpicks for veins. So yes. And we've got a major case of helicopter parent going on. He said that he and his daughter have a "two-stick rule" and that if a nurse can't get a vein in two pokes, they get someone else. Rubbish if you ask me."

Now she understood. Sybil nodded, more sympathetic towards the patient and her father than to Edna. "A lot of parents have that rule. It's a like a deal they make with their children, to make the whole hospital process easier for them. You see it especially with young ones, and cancer patients who need to have lots of bloodwork done. Who's the patient?"

Edna faltered a moment. Sybil's opinion of the women plummeted as well. Forgetting a patient's name was one of the worst things a nurse could do in her book. "Lucie," she said finally. "Lucie Branson. Six. Non-Hodgkins lymphoma."

Sybil winced. "Poor thing," she said softly. "Is Elsie around?" Elsie Hughes, Sybil's boss, was the head pediatric nurse and a favorite among both patients and parents. But Edna shook her head.

"She's off today, remember? Come on, Sybil. I can't go back in there. The dad's not so bad, honest—unless you can't live up to his standards."

"Okay. I'll do it. Would you like to observe?" Sybil's tone was casual, but pointed. Edna didn't take the hint.

"Nah, I'm starving. I'm going to hit up the cafeteria quick. Want anything?"

"No, I'm fine," Sybil said quickly. Edna shrugged and handed Sybil the girl's chart before walking towards the staircase. Sybil double-checked the patient's room number before making her way down their, knocking lightly on the doorframe to announce her entrance. A broad-shouldered man she assumed was the patient's father immediately stood up, looking anxious. In the bed, wearing a robe with Queen Elsa from Frozen on it, was a pale little girl with light brown hair that matched her father's. She looked pale and tiny lying in the bed, and Sybil wondered if her short hair—just below her chin—was a fashion statement or the process of growing out hair after chemo. "Hi. I'm Sybil," she said softly, holding out her hand towards the father.

"Tom Branson," he said by way of greeting, shaking her hand.

"And this must be Lucie," Sybil continued, prompting the tiniest of smiles from the girl. "I heard we were having a bit of trouble finding a vein."

"It was taking too long, and Lucie was getting upset," Tom said immediately. "What's our rule, Lucie?"

"Two sticks," Lucie said obediently.

"Exactly. And that nurse, Edna, just wasn't listening. That's my daughter's arm, not a dart board."

"I understand. We don't want this to hurt anymore than it has to, right, Lucie?" The girl nodded emphatically, and Sybil smiled. "Let's just take a look…did Nurse Edna explain how all of this works?"

Lucie shook her head, and Sybil smiled. Sometimes, explaining to a kid exactly what was going to happen was just the thing they needed to calm them down. Over the next twenty minutes. Sybil explained what the butterfly kit did and exactly how the blood was going to be drawn, and what they were going to do with it after. When she finally got the needle in (in one try), she had Lucie happily chatting about Frozen and so distracted she hardly even felt it (though Sybil did notice her squeeze her father's hand).

"There we go, Lucie, you're all done. I'll just get this sent off to the lab. You were so brave, you know—you and your daddy both." She smiled and winked at Tom.

"Can you be my nurse all the time?" Lucie asked. "I like you better. Can she, daddy?"

Tom glanced between Sybil and his daughter. "I don't know, love. We'll have to wait and see."

"I'll see what I can do," Sybil said quickly. She had taken a shining to this sweet girl and her father, and she was reluctant to leave them already and return to her other patients. "How does that sound?"

"Okay!" Lucie said happily. "Daddy, can I have a juicebox?"

"Of course, love. I'll be right back."

Tom followed Sybil out of the room, sighing in relief. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you so much for understanding."

"I've met a lot of parents in your situation, Mr. Branson. Believe me, I've seen it all. You've got a very brave girl in there."

"Believe me, I know it." He glanced back at his daughter, pride shining in his eyes. Sybil was suddenly aware of how striking they were…

"It must be hard," she ventured softly. He nodded. "Has your wife—"

His jaw clenched just slightly. "She's not in the picture."

Now things were starting to make sense in Sybil's mind. "I see. I'm sorry."

"No, it's better this way. But it can be hard sometimes, going it alone."

Sybil smiled, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. He looked up at her. "Well, you're not alone now. I'm on your side, Mr. Branson. Whatever you and Lucie need, I'll be ready to fight your corner. I promise."

Tom smiled—the first genuine, relaxed smile she had seen from him so far. "Thank you…Sybil."