The soles of his feet were devastated by the Kaposi sarcoma, but in my group of students we established a relationship that was so special that we were almost in tears when we had to rotate.

With Armando we would laugh, sharing everyday events; he enjoyed telling us about his treatment, he played music, and patiently and trustingly he would show his feet to every student I assigned to him. His progress was our progress, his joy was our joy, his pain was our pain, and he was overjoyed when he was able to move from the bed to his chair. He soon enabled to us to forget his diagnosis and we were able to concentrate on the human being he is. 

One of my students spontaneously set about painting a pomegranate of the Hospitaller Order of Saint John of God on his bandaged foot, and when I saw this gesture and the significance of this symbolism, my heart was moved and my thoughts went back to the significance of what Saint John of God meant to me in my teaching work. I remember a play being performed on his life when I was at school depicting the way his spirit was transformed when listening to the preaching of Saint John of Ávila.

I feel that the spirit of Saint John of God is present whenever we look into the eyes of a patient, because their look commits our soul and inevitably leads us to the sublime memory of the madman from Granada, accompanying us in all we do.