474

474.

I'm leaving that on its own line because I keep looking at that number, and I can't believe it's true. The pile of unmarked pink sheets is so small now that it actually seems possible that we can do this, that every one of these people will have someone praying for them from a world away.

They're almost all I think about these days. The last nine patients were discharged this morning while I sat at my computer, writing e-mails to all of you about the ones who never made it onto the wards. I stopped by A Ward before they left, and Josee shrieked my name, hugging me as we pretended to cry about our parting. I didn't actually cry until I left the ward and was back in my room, staring at the pile of pink sheets again.

We reshaped Josee's foot. We fixed Maurius' lip and Aissa's cheek. We built Tani a lip and a nose. We did so much. And there is so much left to do.

Thank you standing in the gap with us. For being the link that's going to hold us to this place long after the ship sails away.

On Thursday, I'm going to head off on an adventure around the world, carrying these names with me. I'm praying I can leave behind all six hundred sheets, each one with a little black dot in the corner.