I really admire medical people. They have a great sense of

Hear, O children of remembrance, the words of Neve McIntosh, who spake with reverence and awe: “I really admire medical people. They have a great sense of humour, and they just have to get on with it.” In this short phrase is hidden a wealth of truth, a hymn to those who bear the heaviest burdens of humanity. For she exalts the medical people, the healers of body and spirit, who walk daily among suffering and yet choose laughter, courage, and perseverance.

The meaning of her words lies in this paradox: that those who dwell closest to pain often become the most skilled in finding light. The doctor, the nurse, the healer—surrounded by blood, disease, and death—learns not only the art of medicine, but the art of endurance. Their sense of humour is not frivolity, but a weapon forged against despair. It is the spark that keeps the darkness at bay, the balm that soothes their weary souls even as they tend to others. And beyond laughter lies an unshakable truth: they cannot linger in hesitation; they must get on with it, for life itself depends upon their steadfastness.

Consider, my children, the tale of Florence Nightingale, the Lady with the Lamp, who in the grim barracks of the Crimean War walked among the dying soldiers. Surrounded by filth, disease, and hopelessness, she did not collapse beneath despair. She worked tirelessly, and with her came a spirit of order, light, and even warmth. It is said she would offer not only bandages, but words of encouragement, a smile to pierce the misery. In her, we see McIntosh’s truth made flesh: the healer who must simply “get on with it,” finding strength in duty, humour, and compassion.

The origin of such admiration is found in the human heart’s recognition of sacrifice. For though society exalts its warriors and rulers, it is the healers who stand quietly in the shadows, fighting battles not with swords but with steady hands and unyielding will. McIntosh’s words remind us that these people are not cold machines, but humans themselves—who must laugh to keep from breaking, who must persevere when the weight of countless lives rests upon them. Her tribute is not mere praise; it is a recognition of their unseen heroism.

Let us not mistake this as sentiment alone. To admire medical people is to confront our own duty to emulate them. For though we may not wear their white coats, each of us will one day face moments of trial, when despair threatens to overwhelm. In such hours, we may choose as they do: to laugh when sorrow presses, to act when hesitation tempts, to carry on when retreat whispers. Their way is a map for all humanity, showing how to walk through suffering with courage.

The lesson is luminous: do not falter before hardship. Like the healers, anchor yourself in humour and perseverance. Even when the task feels unbearable, take the next step, speak the next kind word, bind the next wound. For resilience is not the absence of pain, but the decision to keep moving forward despite it.

Practical action lies before us: honor the medical workers among you, not with empty praise but with gratitude and support. Learn also from their example. In your work, in your family, in the trials of life, carry a spirit of resilience. Laugh when you can, for humour is medicine. Act when you must, for hesitation is the enemy of life. And above all, remember: you too can “just get on with it,” and in so doing, you mirror the nobility of those who heal the world.

Thus, O heirs of tomorrow, let McIntosh’s words be etched upon your hearts. Admire, yes, but also imitate. For if the healers, surrounded by the gravest of trials, can laugh, endure, and persist, then surely so can you. To live with humour and perseverance in the face of hardship is the truest medicine of the soul.