That had never changed.
But loving something did not prevent it from becoming difficult.
On the afternoon of December 3, Rachel was reviewing medication schedules when the hospital volunteer coordinator approached the nurses' station.
"Rachel, do you have a minute?"
Rachel looked up.
"If it's actually a minute."
The coordinator smiled nervously.
"I received an unusual request."
Rachel sighed.
"Unusual how?"
"A motorcycle club wants to visit on Christmas Eve."
Rachel stared.
"A motorcycle club?"
"Forty members."
Rachel slowly set down her pen.
"Forty?"
The coordinator nodded.
"They want to dress as Santa Claus and bring gifts."
Rachel looked toward the pediatric corridor.
She imagined forty loud motorcycles outside the hospital.
Forty strangers in heavy boots.
Forty men walking into rooms where children needed quiet, privacy, and protection from infection.
She shook her head.
"Absolutely not."
The volunteer coordinator hesitated.
"They haven't asked to enter any room without permission."
"Forty people cannot simply walk through a children's ward."
"They know that."
Rachel raised an eyebrow.
"They do?"
The coordinator nodded.
"The man who called was very specific about following hospital rules."
Rachel remained skeptical.
"What's his name?"
"Big Jim."
Rachel stared.
"Big Jim?"
"That's what he called himself."
"That sounds reassuring."
The coordinator laughed despite herself.
"He said his real name wasn't important. He was calling on behalf of the Iron Hearts Motorcycle Club."
Rachel leaned back in her chair.
The name sounded familiar.
She had seen motorcycle clubs organizing charity rides before.
Some raised money for injured riders.
Others supported veterans or community causes.
But forty bikers inside a pediatric hospital seemed like an unnecessary risk.
"What exactly does he want?"
The coordinator opened her notebook.
"That's the strange part."
She read aloud.
"He doesn't want a general list of toys. He wants to know each child's age, favorite color, favorite animal, hobbies, interests, and whether they prefer quiet visits."
Rachel's expression changed slightly.
The coordinator continued.
"He asked whether any children have sensory sensitivities. Whether certain gifts would be inappropriate. Whether visitors should wear masks, gloves, or protective clothing in particular units."
Rachel frowned.
"Did he?"
"Yes."
"And he understands we cannot share personal details with strangers?"
"He said we should ask families to opt in, and provide only the gift preferences they approve."
Rachel studied the notebook.
The coordinator turned another page.
"He also asked whether some children might prefer a present left at the nurses' station instead of meeting a visitor."
For a moment, Rachel said nothing.
Then she asked, "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why does he need to know so much?"
The coordinator looked down at her notes.
"Because he said something I thought you should hear."
Rachel waited.
The coordinator read slowly.