Mel jerked his thumb in the direction of the tabletop behind him. Kilburn walked over and scanned the list. He shook his head as he realized that every conceivable class of antibiotic had coursed through Parminder’s veins. And yet the infection still marched up her arm unabated.

Once Mel had finished the dressing, Kilburn approached the bed and took a closer look at Parminder Singh. Though dark skinned, her complexion had turned sallow. Her swollen eyes were shut and the muscles around her mouth fasciculated in tiny spasms. Her other arm, though untouched by infection, had swollen as well, likely secondary to massive amounts of IV fluids. Kilburn knew the patient suffered from overwhelming sepsis or blood poisoning. She couldn’t last much longer in this condition, but he saw few additional treatment options. “I’d like to give her intravenous gamma globulin,” he said. “Also, I think we should try activated protein C.”

Mel cocked his head. “Really?” he said in surprise.

“We’re clutching at straws here,” Kilburn sighed. “I’ll go put the orders in the computer.”

He had just finished removing his gown and scrubbing at the sink outside the room when a turbaned man carrying a baby approached. The baby cried and squirmed, but Gurdev Singh’s eyes showed far more distress than his son’s. “You are the doctor of my wife?” he asked in a frantic Punjabi accent.

“One of them. I’m Dr. Kilburn.”

“What can you tell me of her?”

Kilburn looked into his eyes. “She is extremely sick, Mr. Singh.”

Gurdev nodded violently. “But she will get better soon?”

Kilburn shook his head slightly. “Mr. Singh, I don’t know that she will.”

Gurdev began to hyperventilate. His shoulders shook. His eyes went even wider. “But, doctor! Our baby, Harjeet.” He pulled the boy off his shoulder and held him out to Kilburn. “Who will take care of him?”

Kilburn swallowed. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Gurdev slung the baby back over his shoulder and took a step closer. He reached out and grasped Kilburn’s shoulder, applying slight pressure. “Doctor, you must make Parminder well again.” His high-pitched voice cracked, and he squeezed harder. “You must. You must.”

The ICU clerk—a middle-aged woman with a kind, grandmotherly face—rushed over to join them in the hallway. “It’s okay, Gurdev. Give me the baby.”

As Gurdev let go of Kilburn’s arm, the clerk reached up and took the baby from his arm. She put Harjeet over her shoulder and rocked him to quiet in a matter of seconds. “Come with me, Gurdev. Let’s put the baby down for a nap.”

Kilburn mouthed the words “thank you” to the heroic clerk as she led Gurdev off to the family conference room. He stood in the middle of the hall and watched them go. His heart sank. He never felt more useless in his life.