[over a montage of scenes showing organ-donor boxes being delivered to operating theatres, Jac Naylor's voice lists the names of the patients who received an organ from her]
Jac Naylor: [voiceover] Mary Lewis, 49, dinner lady, pancreas. Felix Peterson, 63, retired headteacher, lung. Ahana Ismail, 16, spleen. Robert Latchford, 22, medical student, kidney. Ali Bevan, 48, corneas. Ellen Brennan, 35, full-time mother of four, liver.
[over a montage of shots of doctors and nurses carrying on doing their jobs, many still in shock at the news of Jac's death]
Jac Naylor: [voiceover] It took me a long time to find a place I belonged, somewhere to call home. It wasn't with my mother, or the carers she dumped me on when she walked out of my life. It certainly wasn't with any man. It was when I first walked into a theatre and breathed in that rarefied air, realising my hands could save lives. I knew then, on day one, I'd found my place in the world. Somewhere I belonged. This is what the NHS means to us. Not a badge on a cabinet minister's lapel. Not a number down the side of a bus. It's a nurse missing her break to sit with a lonely patient. A surgeon grinding out a 15-hour op. The sound of sirens coming to the rescue. Thursday night applause floating across the rooftops. It's all of us doing the best we can in impossible circumstances. It's something to believe in. It's home.