Harvest

'Time?' Mary gave a resigned laugh. 'What do I need time for? To lie here another week, another month? I'd rather have it done and over with.'

Abby took Mary' s hand. It felt like bones wrapped in parchment, no flesh at all. 'Let's take care of the pain first. If we do that, it could make everything else seem different.'

In answer, Mary simply turned on her side, away from Abby. She was closing her off, shutting her out. 'I suppose you want to listen to my lungs,' was all she said.

They both knew the exam was merely a formality. It was a useless ceremony, the stethoscope on the chest, on the heart. Abby went through the motions anyway. She had little else to offer Mary Allen except this laying on of hands. When she was finished, her patient still lay with her back turned.

'We'll be transferring you out of the SICU,' said Abby. 'You can go to a room on the ward. It'll be quieter there. Not so many disturbances.'

No answer. Just a deep breath, a long sigh.

Abby left the cubicle feeling more defeated, more useless than ever. There was so little she could do. An absence of pain was the best she had to offer. That, and a promise to let nature take its course.

She opened Mary's chart and wrote: 'Patient expresses wish to die. Will increase morphine sulphate for pain control and change code status to do not resuscitate.' She wrote the transfer orders and handed them to Cecily, Mary's nurse.

'I want her kept comfortable,' said Abby. 'Titrate the dose to her pain. Give her as much as she needs to sleep.'

'what's our upper limit?'

Abby paused. Considered the fine line between comfort and unconsciousness, between sleep and coma. She said, 'No upper limit. She's dying, Cecily. She wants to die. If the morphine makes it easier, then that's what we should give her. Even if it means the end comes a little sooner.'

Cecily nodded, a look of unspoken agreement in her eyes.

As Abby started towards the next cubicle, she heard Cecily call out: 'Dr. DiMatteo?'

Abby turned. 'Yes?'

'I… just wanted to tell you. I think you should know that, well. .' Nervously Cecily glanced around the SICU. She saw that some of the other nurses were watching. Waiting. Cecily cleared her throat. 'I wanted you to know that we think you and Dr. Chao did the right thing. Giving the heart to Josh O' Day.'

Abby blinked away an unexpected flash of tears. She whispered, 'Thank you. Thank you so much.'

Only then, as Abby looked around the room, did she see all the nods of approval.

'You're one of the best residents we've ever had, Dr. D.,' said Cecily. 'We wanted you to know that, too.'

In the hush that followed, a pair of hands started clapping. Another joined in, then another. Abby stood speechless, clutching a chart to her chest, as all the SICU nurses burst out in loud and spontaneous applause. They were applauding her.

It was a standing ovation.

'I want her off the staff and out of this hospital,' said Victor Voss. 'And I'll do whatever the hell it takes to accomplish that.'

Jeremiah Parr had faced numerous crises during his eight-year tenure as president of Bayside Medical Centre. He'd dealt with two nursing strikes, several multimillion-dollar malpractice suits, and militant Right-to-Lifers rampaging through the lobby, but never had he faced such outright fury as he saw now in the face of Victor Voss. At 10 a.m. Voss, flanked by his two attorneys, had marched into Parr's off.ace and demanded a conference. It was now close to noon and the group had expanded to include Surgical Residency Director ColinWettig and Susan Casado, the attorney representing Bayside. Calling Susan was Parr's idea. As yet there was no talk of any legal action, but Parr couldn't be too cautious. Especially when dealing with someone as powerful as VictorVoss.

'My wife is dying,' said Voss. 'Do you understand? Dying. She may not survive another night. I lay the blame squarely on those two residents.'

'Dr. DiMatteo is only in her second year,' said Wettig. 'She wasn't the one who made the decision. Our Chief Resident did. Dr. Chao is no longer in our programme.'

'I want Dr. DiMatteo's resignation as well.'

'She hasn't offered it.'

'Then find a reason to fire her.'

'Dr. Wetfig,' said Parr, calmly. Reasonably. 'We must be able to find some basis for termination.'

'There's no basis at all,' said Wetfig, stubbornly holding his ground. 'All her evaluations have been outstanding and they're all on record. Mr Voss, I know this is a painful situation for you. I know it's only normal to want to lay blame somewhere. But I think your anger is misdirected. The real problem lies in the shortage of organs. Thousands of people need new hearts and there are only a few to go around. Consider what would happen if we did fire Dr. DiMatteo. She could lodge an appeal. The matter would go to higher review. They look at this case and they'll ask questions. They'll ask why a seventeen-year-old boy didn't get that heart from the beginning.'

There was a pause. 'Jesus,' murmured Parr.

'You understand what I'm saying?' said Wettig. 'It looks bad. It makes the hospital look bad. This isn't the sort of thing we want to see in the newspapers. Hints of class warfare. The poor getting the short end of the stick. That's how they'll play it up. Whether or not it's true.' Wettig looked questioningly around the table. No one said a thing.

Our silence speaks volumes, thought Parr.

'Of course we can't allow people to get the wrong impression,' said Susan. 'Outrageous as it may seem, even the appearance of human organ deals would kill us in the press.'

'I'm just telling you how it looks,' said Wettig.

'I don't care how it looks,' said Voss. 'They stole that heart.'

'It was a directed donation. MrTerrio had every right to specify the recipient.'

'My wife was guaranteed that heart.'

'Guaranteed?' Wettig frowned at Parr. 'Is there something I don't know about?'

'It was decided before her admission,' Parr said. 'The match was perfect.'

'So was the boy's,' countered Wetfig.

Voss shot to his feet. 'Let me explain something to you people. My wife is dying because of Abby DiMatteo. Now, you people don't know me very well. But let me tell you, no one screws me or my family and gets away with-'

'Mr Voss,' interjected one of his attorneys. 'Perhaps we should discuss this in-'

'Goddamn it! Let me finish!'

'Please, Mr Voss. This isn't in your best interests.'

Voss glared at his attorney. With apparent effort, he broke off his attack and sat back down. 'I want something done about Dr. DiMatteo,' he said. And he looked straight at Parr.

By now Parr was sweating. God, it would be so easy just to fire that resident. Unfortunately, the General wasn't going to play ball with them. Damn these surgeons and their egos; they resented anyone else calling the shots. Why was Wetfig being so stubborn about this?

'MrVoss,' said Susan Casado in her silkiest voice. Her tame-the-savage-beast voice. 'May! suggest we all take some time to think this over? Rushing into legal action is seldom the best course. In a few days, we may be able to resolve your concerns.' Susan looked pointedly at Wetrig.

The General just as pointedly ignored her.

'In a few days,' said Voss, 'my wife may be dead.' He rose to his feet and regarded Parr with a look of contempt. 'I don't need to think this over. I want something done about Dr. DiMatteo. And I want it done soon.'

'I see the bullet,' said Abby.

Mark redirected the light beam, focusing it on the posterior reaches of the thoracic cavity. Something metallic glinted back at them, then vanished behind the inflating lung.

'Sharp eyes, Abby. Since you spotted it, you want to do the honours?'

Abby took a pair of needle forceps off the instrument tray. The lungs had expanded again, blocking off her