My days recently have been anything but joyous because my terminally ill husband has been in and out of various hospitals about eight times (different symptoms and/or treatments each time) in the past three months and then spending a fortnight in the local hospice. He came home on Wednesday and had a scheduled appointment with his oncologist on Friday. As a result of his oncologist's assiduousness, he is back in hospital because he has blood clots in one of his lungs.
The joyous bit is that a volunteer driver who had taken him to the hospital appointment was waiting to collect him to bring him home when the consultant rang me to ask me to bring "pyjamas, toothbrush and Mr absent's favourite teddy bear". That made me smile, but what brought tears of gratitude and joy was that the lovely driver immediately offered to collect me, drive me to the hospital and then wait to drive me home. She was so kind and generous with her time, having already done the 30-minute drive with Mr absent and pushed him to his appointment in a wheelchair.
She chatted gently and kindly to me in the car (I don't drive) and never asked a remotely inappropriate question. I felt as if I had made a lovely new friend.