“Hold it right there!” I froze mid-step, pinned by a blinding beam of light. The voice behind the flashlight echoed in the hospital stairwell. “What are you doing here?”
I tugged nervously at my hat. How would I get out of this jam? I knew I looked ridiculous—or worse, suspicious—in my Santa suit, complete with curly white beard, heavy black boots and ample padding to hide my decidedly un-Kris Kringle-like 21-year-old frame.
It was Christmas morning, just after midnight. I wasn’t looking for attention. The whole point of this get-up was to sneak into the hospital. It had seemed like a perfect disguise.
“I’m waiting,” the voice said. The flashlight lowered, and I could make out a scowling uniformed security guard, his left hand on his radio.
I had to tell him the truth. “It’s my wife. She’s in the surgical ward and…”
This was our first Christmas as husband and wife (we’d married just five months earlier). December 25 was also Carol’s birthday. I had our celebration all planned. Instead we’d ended up at the hospital.
Correction. Carol had been here for the past three days, recovering from an emergency appendectomy. Me? Thanks to Nurse Krause, who seemed to take particular glee in enforcing the rules, I’d been sent home every night at nine on the dot, when visiting hours were over.
I hated being separated from Carol, especially the night before Christmas. At home, staring at our humble tree, I remembered the Santa suit I’d worn for the holiday program at the school where I taught. That’s when I hatched a new plan.
I explained this all to the guard. “Come with me,” he said. He led me straight to the nursing station—and my nemesis. Nurse Krause took a long look at me, her posture as stiff as her starched uniform.
“Why, Santa,” she said, “you’re just in time. We’re about to give out the presents. Follow me.” Behind her was a laundry cart filled with toys. What choice did I have? First we went to Carol’s room. My wife stared at me in disbelief.
Then the three of us, Nurse Krause pushing Carol in a wheelchair and me pushing the cart, went from room to room in the pediatrics ward.
I felt like a fraud. But the children—the few who were awake at that hour—gazed at me in wonder, their eyes wide, as if they were afraid to even blink for fear I’d vanish.
At each stop Nurse Krause selected a toy and handed it to me. I tiptoed to the patient’s bed and laid the gift inside the bed rail. I had to admit, the more gifts I gave out the more I got into it.
In the room at the end of the hall, a young boy—he looked about six—lay ramrod straight in bed, his eyes closed, his head heavily bandaged. Nurse Krause pulled me aside.
“This is Robbie,” she said. “He and his parents were in a car crash two days ago. His father didn’t survive. His mother is in a coma. She’s in the room across the hall from your wife’s. It has been difficult for Robbie. I thought you should know.”
She handed me a teddy bear, the last gift. I crept into the room, praying that I wouldn’t wake him.
The drapes were open and the boy’s bed was bathed in the glow of the lights that decorated a tall spruce in the courtyard. I was gently setting the bear beside him when his eyes blinked open.
“Santa!” Robbie said.
“Uh…hello there, Robbie. Merry Christmas.”
“What are you doing here?”
Again, that question. Again, I struggled to think of a reply. “Well…I go to hospitals to give presents to children who can’t be at home. But shouldn’t you be asleep? I can’t finish my deliveries when children are still awake.”
Robbie nodded. “I know, but I just can’t sleep.”
Nurse Krause was straightening Robbie’s covers, and I could feel her glaring at me. I had to get out of there.
“Santa, can you grant wishes?”
Think, I told myself. “I try to make wishes come true,” I said. “But my elves can’t always make all the toys children want.”
“You don’t have to make a toy for me,” Robbie said. “All I want for Christmas is for my mom to wake up.”
I glanced at Nurse Krause for help. She just shook her head. I didn’t want to make Robbie feel worse, but I couldn’t blithely say his mom would be fine either. I stared out the window, trying to buy some time. What should I tell this little boy? I wondered.
Outside, a sparkling light caught my eye. Maybe… “Robbie, I think that job is too big for Santa,” I said carefully. “But I know who you can go to for help.”
He perked up.
“Can you see the star on top of that tree?” I asked, pointing out the window. “That’s the Christmas star. The wise men followed a star like that to find the Baby Jesus. God put the star in the sky to guide them and give them hope. But his help is there for you too. You just have to ask and believe.”
Robbie smiled. “Thank you, Santa. I’ll try,” he said softly. He held the bear to his chest and fixed his gaze on the star.
I shuffled out of the room. Carol took my hand. “Good answer, John, but…”
“It’s all right,” Nurse Krause said. “When all else fails, hope is the best medicine.”
If someone as tough as Nurse Krause believed that, it had to be true. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
We went back to Carol’s ward. The door to the room across the hall was ajar. I glimpsed a young woman—Robbie’s mother—lying in bed motionless, a maze of tubes and wires running from her body.
“Will she recover?” I asked.
“We don’t know,” Nurse Krause said. We got Carol back into her bed and I kissed her goodnight. For once I was glad to be going home. I was exhausted. At the door I glanced back. Carol’s head was turned toward the window. She too was looking at the star.
I returned to the hospital at 11:00 a.m. Carol was sitting up, looking so good it was hard to believe she’d had emergency surgery just a few days earlier.
“Merry Christmas,” I said. “And happy birthday, sweetheart.” I’d brought her presents and she was just about to open them when Nurse Krause barged in.
“Sorry, but you’re going to have to step out for a while,” she said to me. “I have to change your wife’s dressing before she can go home.”
“Home?” Carol said.
“That’s right,” Nurse Krause said. “When I told the doctor the lengths your husband had gone to to sneak into the hospital, he agreed it was best to send you both home. John, if you want to be useful, go and find a wheelchair.”
I followed Nurse Krause’s orders—would anyone dare not to? In the hallway I stopped short. The room where Robbie’s mother had been…the bed was empty. A nurse was stripping the sheets. No! Why had I fed all that stuff to Robbie about the star?
I walked away fast, my head down. When I looked up, I was outside the pediatrics ward. With a heavy heart I pushed through the door. The corridor was filled with kids playing with the toys Santa had brought. I didn’t see Robbie. I went to his room and peeked in.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, legs dangling, arms gesturing excitedly. Beside him, in a wheelchair, holding his new teddy bear, was his mother.
“Santa brought him,” Robbie exclaimed. “He was here last night. He talked to me. He told me about the star of hope. And I hoped and prayed for you to wake up…. And it came true.”
I couldn’t hear what his mother said but I saw her hands tighten around the teddy bear and a tear trickle from the corner of her eye.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Nurse Krause. She motioned me away from the door. “About two hours after you left, she came out of her coma,” she said. “She’ll be here a few more days while we run some tests, but she’s going to be fine.”
I wanted to hug Nurse Krause but I thought better of it. Instead I took one last look at Robbie and his mom. Finally I knew why I’d been sent here. And by whom.
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