Twenty-year-old Austin Marine scrunched up his forehead and thought. Tomorrow would be his 21birthday, and he would spend it at UNC Children's Hospital. His family had made extensive plans for an extravagant 21birthday party at home, since doctors had been telling Austin for years that he'd probably never reach the age of 21.But now the party wouldn't happen, because he was in the hospital yet again. One of the nurses helping take care of him, Elsie Ruehle, asked Austin a very simple question. If he couldn't go home to have his party, what could be done to make his day special?"You could getto come visit me," he said. It was one of those far-fetched requests, like a pony or a trip around the world.It was the afternoon of Feb. 4, 2019. North Carolina was scheduled to host NC State the next day, Austin's 21birthday.The game was slated for 8 p.m. Carolina had a team shootaround at 3 p.m. and a pregame team meal at 4 p.m. And just after lunch, after he'd finished his classes in the Kenan-Flagler Business School, there wasat the hospital, stopping by to see Austin Marine."Luke came in and sat right down and just started talking to Austin," says Austin's father, Jimmy. "He was so genuine and friendly. You could tell he was doing it because he wanted to do it."Austin has made a habit out of doing the impossible. When he was diagnosed with mucolipidosis II, doctors told his family he wouldn't walk, talk, or attend regular school. He's done all those things. And he's also received a birthday visit fromAfter he made Austin's 21birthday wish come true, Maye went out and scored 31 points and 12 rebounds, and never once mentioned how he had spent his afternoon. Until after the fact, evendidn't know his standout senior had spent the day of the game at the hospital.By itself, this would be a very nice story. Carolina star visits hospital, connects with big fan, has huge game against in-state opponent.That's not the story. The story is that none of this is unusual.is as familiar in the halls of the UNC Children's Hospital as some of the doctors and nurses who work there. Maybe you've read about Maye's friendship with Yash Krishnan, and how Maye went to lunch with Yash the day after Maye hit the game-winner against Kentucky in 2017. What you might not know is that Maye brought teammates Kanler Coker, Justin Jackson andto visit the Children's Hospital clinic on the Friday after the Tar Heels won the national title one week later.Monday, play in front of 76,168 fans in Phoenix. Tuesday, fly home across the country to be greeted by a Smith Center full of adoring fans. Friday, take the trophy to the Children's Hospital for an unannounced visit with the kids. Just a normal sequence of events for Maye, who has also visited on multiple game days. Two days after he put up 30 points and 15 rebounds at Cameron Indoor Stadium this season, he was back at the Children's Hospital, making his rounds. People who know him say they never ask him to do anything on Friday mornings before lunch, because that's when he likes to stop by the hospital."The people who meetthrough the Children's Hospital might be first excited because they get to meet a basketball player," says Dr. Patrick Thompson, a pediatric hematology and oncology specialist at UNC Children's Hospital. "But they quickly fall in love withthe person. He is so mature. It's amazing to me that at 21 or 22 years of age, he is so open to thinking about other people. When he visits with patients, the visit is never about Luke. It's about the patient and the family and connecting with them in whatever way they want to connect."On the dozens of visits Maye has made to the Children's Hospital during his four years at Carolina, it's not unusual for him to meet a young basketball fan, attach a basketball hoop to the back of their bathroom door in their hospital room and shoot a few baskets—if that's what the patient wants to do. There are those who know him as a basketball star, and he's worldwide enough that he's been recognized on the streets of Paris.But sometimes sick kids and their families don't need a star. They just need a smile. It's not unusual for Maye to spend entire visits never mentioning basketball, and instead talking about Winnie the Pooh, or playing dominos, or discussing his faith or high school sports.Maye has an innate ability to immediately tell what a sick child needs from him. Maybe they do want to talk about the Tar Heels, like Yash. Or maybe they just want to tease him about his artwork skills, which were once subpar but have made substantial improvements. You knew he'd been working on his free throws. But did you know he's improved as a finger painter, so he can better relate to kids at the clinic?"I'm not sure Luke even realizes how much he brightens their day," says Meghan Fox, a Child Life Specialist for Pediatric Hematology-Oncology at UNC Hospitals. Along with, who continues to be deeply involved with the Children's Hospital, Fox is often Maye's liaison to kids who might benefit from a visit. "When Luke comes by, it reminds the kids that there's someone out there who is thinking about them, who is willing to dedicate his time to them."Here is a secret: UNC Hospital does not treat only Tar Heels. Duke fans get sick, too, and even an occasional NC State fan. That's how Maye met Tucker Marrow, who was diagnosed two years ago with leukemia. Everyone in the Marrow family is an NC State fan. Loves the Pack, wears red to the games, makes the little wolf sign with their hands.But they love—love—The first nine months Tucker was battling leukemia, the Marrow family was at the hospital three times per week. They'd regularly encounter Maye at the clinic, often withor Tar Heel tennis player Will Blumberg or other Carolina student-athletes in tow. Everyone understood the irony, of course. Here was Maye, who has made a habit of tormenting the Wolfpack basketball team. And here was (former) State fan Tucker Marrow, a nine-year-old who simply knew Maye was a cool tall guy who cared about him."Luke towers over the kids, but he has such a gentle nature," says Christina Marrow, Tucker's mother. "He always has this kind and compassionate smile. And I love how even with everything he has going on, he's always seeking to serve and encourage others."And that's far more important to a nine-year-old than points or rebounds. The Marrow family was recently at an NC State event and was having their photo made with Mr. Wuf, the Wolfpack mascot. Tucker refused to be photographed with the wolf. Luke wouldn't have approved, so Tucker stood to the side while his family had their photo taken."As Wolfpack fans, we respect him so much," Christina says. "And on the court, we fear him."You probably don't know Dr. Andrea Hayes-Jordan. Let's put it this way: she's thein the world of pediatric oncology and pediatric surgery. The Chief of Pediatric Surgery at the UNC School of Medicine and Surgeon in Chief at the Children's Hospital, Hayes-Jordan hasn't just seen everything in the field—she's invented some of the field. In the course of writing this story, four separate people independently described her as "a rock star of medicine."So she's not easy to impress, and she deals with some of the most difficult cases in the entire hospital. Last month, she was treating a teenage boy, a basketball player who just the day before had learned he had a very rare form of cancer that will require extensive treatment. Fewer than 100 people in the nation have similar tumors. The child had dozens of tumors in his stomach, but was most heartbroken about the fact that his illness meant he could not play basketball for at least a year.The day after the diagnosis was delivered to the patient and his family, Dr. Hayes-Jordan stopped by their hospital room to discuss the upcoming treatment. When she opened the door, she foundsitting next to the bed, chatting away with the teenager and looking every bit like a member of the family."When I walked in, my patient had a huge smile on his face," Dr. Hayes-Jordan says. "I don't think Luke fully knew just how important his visit was to this particular patient. That child has a hard row to hoe in his future, and he isn't going to have a huge support network. And there was Luke, who was making eye contact with everyone, and smiling, and putting everyone at ease. It was phenomenal."Maybe you have to have sat in that room, where none of us want to sit. You have just received terrible news, and you feel completely, totally alone. You're the kid, and you're afraid but don't want to admit it. Or you're the parent, and you're petrified but can't show it.And through the door comes not just number-32 for the Tar Heels, but a friendly face who just wants to talk, who cares that you're struggling and wants to make sure that for these few minutes, you're not alone. Someone out there, in the outside world that keeps turning while children and their parents are fighting incredible battles inside the walls of the Children's Hospital, knows you're in here, and they care.It is important that you understand that not all of these stories end happily. Austin Marine has been transferred to an inpatient hospice facility. Not long ago, Maye met and spent extensive time with an older teenager in intensive care whose body was riddled with tumors. Maye and the patient spent extensive time discussing their faith—and then he went back for a second visit, just to check on him. After the patient passed away, his family told hospital staffers that it wasn't, the basketball player, who made a big impression on him—it was, the person."It's one thing to cruise through the clinic and see the kids," says Dr. Thompson. "That's very, very important, but it's a different experience to go see some very sick people and open yourself up to the possibility that you're going to see them in pain. Luke just sees it as what he's supposed to do. It's an opportunity to do good, and he does it."This will sound familiar to you, of course. What was it Dean Smith always said? "You should never be proud of doing the right thing. You should just do it." Dean Smith would like, who contributed exactly nothing to the writing of this story. Not because he's uncooperative. But because he doesn't think it's a story, and because he doesn't visit the Children's Hospital to get attention. He does it because he believes it's the right thing.It's important to understand that these stories aren't finite. Today there are Austin and Yash and Tucker. Tomorrow, as much as we wish there weren't, there will be others. The stories and the cases are endless. And so is Maye's willingness to help, to the point that in addition to him never turning down one of Fox's requests, it's often Maye who initiates contact with her, wondering if there are any patients at the hospital today who might benefit from a visit."He has a huge heart," says Kendra Koetter, a Carolina volleyball player who has dated Maye for over a year. "He loves the people around him really hard. He's so much more than a basketball player. He's one of the best men that I know."will play his last game at the Smith Center tomorrow. He will leave Chapel Hill in a couple of months having made my life better and your life better because he made a jump shot against Kentucky and had 30 and 15 at Cameron and won a national title.Butwill also leave Chapel Hill in a couple of months having done something even more impressive: he made the lives of complete strangers better because he cared more about them than he did about himself.Blumberg is a close friend of Maye's who has been part of numerous hospital visits. He is a Carolina student-athlete, the 2018 men's tennis ACC Player of the Year, an All-ACC Academic performer.He is asked what fans tomorrow night should know when Maye walks to center court to receive his final ovation at the Smith Center.," Blumberg says, "is everything a Tar Heel should be about."To find out how you can get involved with the UNC Children's Hospital, click here