Daniel had been disappointed too many times to trust anything on paper.
So before he gave it to anyone else, he tried it on the patient he was most worried about.
Mary, 72.
First a laminectomy. When that didn't hold, a spinal fusion.
Two years later, the heaviness in her legs was worse than before either surgery.
Her surgeon wanted to extend the fusion to the next level.
"I don't want to go through a third surgery," she told Daniel.
"You're my last hope before they operate again."
He asked her to write one line every morning, before she got out of bed.
Day 1. "Got up. Less heaviness. Less stiffness. Maybe it's nothing, but I noticed."
Week 1. "Picked up the paper without thinking. Halfway up, I realized what I'd just done, and I stood there on the porch and cried."
Week 2. "Slept through the night again. Fourth night in a row. Haven't touched the gabapentin since Tuesday."
Day 30. "Walked to the end of the street and back without stopping once. My body finally feels like my own again. Two surgeries didn't give me this. Thirty nights did with this did."
When he read me her last entry over the phone, he went quiet for a moment.
"Ingrid, in fifteen years, I have never seen anyone come back this fast."
After Mary, he gave it to 46 more of his hardest cases.
Some were trying to avoid surgery.
Others were also living with a surgery that didn't hold.
Within those thirty nights, almost every one of them was doing better.
Easier mornings. Longer walks. Fewer bad days.
Seven of them called their surgeon's office to postpone.
This was not his xpatients learning to live with their pain.
This was them getting their lives back.