Dr. Jimmy Shad

My son had been tired and pale for months. We'd seen a couple of doctors who thought it was just a phase. Dr. Jimmy Shad was different. He actually sat on the floor with my boy to play while asking me questions, and something about that casual chat seemed to click for him. He ordered a specific blood test others hadn't. It turned out to be a rare type of anemia. He explained it all with a drawing on his notepad—way better than medical jargon. We finally had an answer.

Our daughter needed her tonsils out. Honestly, I was more of a wreck than she was. The day of, Dr. Shad popped his head into the waiting room before the surgery, gave her a thumbs-up, and said, 'See you in a bit, champion.' That was it. No big speech. The procedure was straightforward, and his check-in the next morning was quick but thorough. He remembered she liked mangoes and told her she could have some in a week. It was just a routine thing, but he made it feel normal, not scary.

The hospital itself was a big part of the experience. We're from out of town and the parking garage was completely full, which stressed me out. But a security guard saw us circling and actually directed us to a staff lot, saying 'For the kids, it's okay.' Inside, the nurses at the front desk were laughing with a teenager about his bandage design. One even walked us to the right clinic when I looked lost. The place was busy, sure, but people there actually looked up from their computers.

What I'll remember most is how he talks to my child, not just to me. My daughter is shy and clams up with most adults. Dr. Shad doesn't force it. He'll talk about her school bag or her water bottle for a minute first. He examines her teddy bear's 'heartbeat' before hers. Last visit, she had a shot, and she cried—of course. He didn't just say 'all done' and leave. He waited a second, then said, 'That really stinks, huh? Want to tell the sticker chart how mean it was?' She nodded, and the tears stopped. He gets it.