Dani shuts the door behind Brett and heaves the sigh of an adolescent who has accidentally brushed up against the cutest boy in class. I am grateful Brett hasn’t responded to her overtures, but how long can that last? Especially when one’s girlfriend is so un-sexily rotting away in a coma.

Dani ejects Arrowsmith and puts the Enya CD back on and waltzes about my room straightening up, throwing away tissues and paper cups as if she’s had a party. What I wouldn’t give for a nanny-cam.

The pain in my stomach sharpens and my belly swells tighter like a balloon. Is this jealousy? A stim-reaction? A delay of my pain reflex? Has Dani poisoned my breakfast? My stomach feels like a volcano erupting and my heart beats faster and faster.

Beepbeepbeepbeep.

Ringringringring.

Dani turns to the monitors and gasps. “Oh my God.” The blinking red lights flash in her eyes.

She hesitates, then dashes into the hall.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM

4:15 A.M

DAY 22

Rain pounds my window. A piece of tin, loose from a corner of the frame, pings with a fast drip-dripping rhythm that counters the slow, steady drops of blood going into my arm. The transfusion is replacing the buckets of blood I lost when the stitches in my spleen ruptured, causing me to go into hypovolemic shock. According to the attending surgeon, were it not for the “swift” actions taken by Nurse Dani, I would have been a goner. My pal Dani. I am uncomfortable with this new twist in our relationship and suspicious of Dani’s dash out the door when it would have been far “swifter” to reach over and press the call button.

Half an hour earlier, Pierre stopped by to empty my bag of stomach fluid, check on the progress of my transfusion, and make several notes on my chart.

Pierre’s no saint, but I trust him more than the others. He pays close attention to my vitals and is always professional with my care. I’ve decided to give him the picture of Brett as a present if I make it out alive. That is, providing he doesn’t steal it first.

Now, Nurse Florence rushes in, panting, a plastic scarf tied under her multiple chins. Her orange raincoat is snapped neck to knees over her pink-hearted uniform, her white shoes squeak from the water lodged in rubber soles. She circles my bed, zeroing in on the inside of my elbow, and stops to examine the adhesive strip that covers the needle of my newest IV.