been installed to make you breathe—it was one thing for everyone to make an informed decision about not putting tubes in in the first place. It was another thing, after that, for family members to agree on disconnecting them.
“Does everyone agree?” I asked. The other thing about DNRs was that anyone could tell you to ignore them—from a wife or firstborn, right on down to a distant cousin. Anyone who had any need for closure could say stop, and pull the brakes on the death train.
“The nephew is recusing himself. The daughter is undecided. We’re having a family conference tomorrow. I suspect they’ll want to hold off until the full moon.”
“Shitty way to spend the day after Christmas,” I said.
“Shitty way to spend the next eight hours,” Gina said, giving me a glare.
She was right. We would spend the night keeping him keeping on, but not have much room for error. If he crashed and we did extraordinary things to save him—all our good work might be undone tomorrow. And who knew how long he’d hang on afterward? We would drive his body right past death’s station, and who knew when the next stop would be? I’d seen people with DNRs continue living for weeks, not just days.
Or if he did die, and the family hadn’t come to a resolution yet, they’d be looking at us firmly. People experiencing sudden tragedy usually wanted someone to blame. Couldn’t punish death or fate, but you could definitely punish staff.
“This is the latest MRI from this morning.” Meaty flipped open a folder on the table, revealing a brain scan. I didn’t need to be a neurologist to know that it wasn’t right. A huge white spot took up space where normal brain matter should be. “After the accident and bleed, there’s no room in his skull for anybody to be left home inside there. But not everyone in the family is ready to hear that. Got it?”
“Guards at the door. Shaky DNR, bad bleed. Got it,” I said.
Gina put her hand out, like we were in a high school football huddle. “One two three, don’t get mauled. Goooo team!”
I could get behind that. I put my hand on top of hers, and we pounded them together onto the table.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I gathered supplies for any and all assorted tasks we’d have to do tonight while Gina got report. Pleths, dressing change kits, biopatches, line labels, one of everything, putting them into a pillowcase like a demented Santa. Less running around if things went bad—and with all these extra supplies, I’d be better able to exploit any opportunity I had to get some blood.
I realized I should have felt bad about it, or at the very least torn—but were-problems were not my problems. Jake and Dren were. Besides, how much harm could one drop of blood really do?
As I rounded the floor, I spotted something near Winter’s door, in addition to the nurses exchanging report outside. A small black wolf curled up in the doorway, tail-to-nose. It had a puppy look about it, with too-big feet, too-fuzzy fur, and copper-yellow eyes. Beside it, taped to the wall, was a handwritten note that said,
“Oh, my God, it’s a wolf puppy!” Its eyes opened up and focused on me.
“It’s a wolf
I waited until they left and set down my supply bag. I crouched down to see it better, without touching. “It’s the cutest thing ever, Gina.”
“The cutest thing that can bite your face off.” She looked down at the small wolf. “No offense.”
The wolf closed its eyes again. Gina had enough experience to treat the wolf like a person. I didn’t. I’d have to get over that. But the cute was making it hard. I looked over to Gina and opened my mouth.
“Don’t ask to pet it. That’s rude,” she said, without looking up from Winter’s flowsheet.
“Damn you and your telepathy.”
Gina made a face at me. “Get ready to go in.”
We suited up. I felt weird having a wolf puppy watch me from the doorway while I kept a rifle with tranquilizer darts aimed at its relative inside. Now that it was standing, I could tell that it was a little taller than knee height.
“How’s things?” I asked Gina while the wolf’s ears tracked us both.
Gina didn’t answer, but she gave me a thumbs-down, hidden from the wolf’s line of sight.
I walked closer to the pumps—I could see we’d gone up on his blood pressure medications—and that a new one had been added, because the old ones weren’t working well enough. His sedation was much lighter too.
“Mr. Winter, can you hear me?” Gina said loudly, right to the side of the bed. She shook him a bit, then did a sternal rub, checking for response to pain. He didn’t move. “Mr. Winter?” She looked to me, gave a half shrug, and went on with her assessment. The wolf in the doorway watched with intelligent eyes, sitting on its haunches. I wanted to talk to it, and bit my tongue. Having a wolf out here was a brilliant ploy. We—or at least I—would say all sorts of things in front of it, treating it like a pet or an animal, not a person. And wolves were probably better at reading people—I was sure it’d known from Gina’s stance how poorly Winter was doing, even before she’d said anything. A relative might rationalize away a nurse’s actions, desperate for good news, but a wolf would know better, I figured.
“Junior! What are you doing here?”
The hoodie-wearing were whom I’d already met twice today rounded the corner, looking sternly at the wolf puppy. The puppy startled up to all fours, seemed excited for a second, then tucked head and tail down at his approach.
“Did your mother say you could stay like this?” he asked.
The wolf puppy looked to the note, taped on the door.
“I am calling her to come get you.” The puppy made a whining sound. “You’re not in trouble. She should know better.” He stepped away to make his call.
The wolf looked to Gina and me. Gina shrugged. “Sorry, kid.”
He came back around the corner. “Your mother’s on her way. Do you have any clothing to wear?” The wolf lowered its head. “Well, hopefully she’ll remember.”
“We have scrubs,” Gina offered.
“Can you take him and go get some?”
Gina looked from me, to Winter, inside the room. “Sure. Edie, stay here.”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”
Gina left the hall, the wolf pup padding beside her. Now would have been a perfect blood-getting chance, only the other were was still out here, in the way. He sat down in Gina’s vacant chair and set his elbows on his knees. “I guess you know I know he’s here now, right?”
I gave him a weak smile. “Yeah.”
“I’m Lucas.” He put his hand out, and I shook it.
“I’m Edie.” I wanted to look through things and do some work, but I didn’t want to do anything wrong in front of him. Visitor-guards made me self-conscious. “Are you going to be here all night? Guarding him?”
He half smiled. “Is that what they’re calling it? We call it a vigil.”
“Ahh. Sorry.” There was silence filled by the hissing of pumps, the inflation and deflation of the sequential compression device on his one good leg.
“Do you think he’ll get better?” Lucas asked, after a time.
I inhaled, then paused before speaking. Breaking people into bad news was a process, like drawing a new swimmer out into the deep end of the pool. Sometimes people had to be confronted with it repeatedly before it sank in.
“Your silence says it all.” Lucas snorted.
“I’m not a vet,” I explained. “I’m only a nurse.”
“He’s a man now, not a wolf.”
