If there was an association for the most compassionate, altruistic and loving healthcare professionals, then Simmy would undoubtedly be its lifelong president.

Simone was larger than life but not in an expansive manner. Humble, discreet and tactful, she’d hover around and make things better. You knew you could always rely on this smart and colourful nurse who collected owls and turtles.

As a dedicated professional, she taught me the tricks of the trade in the corridors of St Luke’s Hospital: taking blood, which professor to shadow during ward rounds and even which clinic brewed the best espresso. I loved her most because she aced at letting me off early to go to the gym.

 Simone was heavily involved in setting up the local Thalassaemia Association, being a thalassaemia sufferer herself. Her illness necessitated many stints at hospital to top up her blood and she had her spleen removed to boot. From an early age, Simone knew what suffering was all about. Yet, she soldiered on. She never gave up.

Armed with a glowing heart and radiant smile, she insisted on reaching out to those in crisis – both physical and psychological. I can recall countless occasions when she went beyond her call of duty. She once drove all the way to hospital in the middle of the night to get fluids to rehydrate an intoxicated patient.

She’d ensure that suicidal and abused patients brought in by the police to the crisis team were safe and settled before retiring, counselling them over a mochaccino. On yet another occasion, she held the hand of a woman who had been beaten by her partner, refusing to leave her side until she slept.

Her mission was to heal. Her motto was being compassionate. She insisted on accompanying the downtrodden through their suffering.

Simone also helped me introduce a new treatment locally which was met with a bastion of scepticism from colleagues. Together with fellow clinic manager Michela Mifsud, they single-handedly revolutionised the way we see and treat mental ill-health. These two were indestructible. They treated endless queues of ailing patients, sometimes until 2am, while valiantly answering the barrage of questions associated with this technology.

Simone travelled with us to London where the girls trained with the pioneers in the field, becoming the first (and best) TMS administrators in southern Europe. She took this challenge with gusto and helped make the clinic an instant success up until this very day. Ever so loyal, she was always there for you. Her mind buzzed with ideas to improve the service.

The incurable insomniac, she’d send e-mails and texts, replete with an avatar, to help others in the dead of night. She was a woman you could rely on and a person who really gave from the heart. Her smile, her compassion and her love enveloped those she met. No patient ever left the clinic without a smile after seeing Simone.

With Michela, she excelled in playing pranks on the psychiatrist. Such was her respect for others that she brought toothpaste, mouthwash and perfume to work to ensure that said psychiatrist didn’t get a whiff of the nicotine she enthusiastically inhaled – her only little habit.

Simone then became ill.

Unsurprisingly, she faced her crisis with dignity. She remained compassionate and selfless until the very end. She blessed so many people with her love over the last six months, despite her being paralysed from the belly downwards. The courage this woman had and the humility with which she faced her pain and illness are exemplary.

She never, ever, ever, ever despaired for fear of upsetting her beautiful family. Her faith in God was unprecedented, praying daily for the needy. She insisted on asking about our patients’ health before I could even get the chance to ask her how she was feeling.

Simone knew how to love and knew that suffering for others is the most noble form of love. She loved her magnificent family. She adored her bright nephews and was a super-cool child-like grandma, rolling on the floor with Sam and Kai who had a blast whenever nanna was in the house. On her oncology bed, she always clenched ‘Owli’, an owl soft toy which Sabrina, her late little sister, had given her.

She was furthermore bereft of her bubbly dad who also passed recently. Her spouse Ray, a senior nurse and gentleman, her dedicated and heavily pregnant daughter Serena, together with her frail, doting mum, loving siblings and relatives refused to leave Simone alone for a second. The love and care in this family is the stuff of legends.

I could say so much more about Simmy but perhaps the best eulogy is to thank her for teaching us how to love and give until it hurts.

Simmy you touched everybody with such love and compassion that it is impossible to forget you. Simone, thank you for showing us what matters in life and to always believe that there is good in each and every one of us.

Given the innumerable virtual posts and calls, our patients are both shaken and grateful. They have been blessed to know you and so have we. It has been an honour to work with you and know you. Simone, until we meet again, continue to guide us to make people better just as you did. We love you Simmy and always will – pranks and all. Bye for now Simmy. See you later.

Dr Mark Xuereb