The Deal in a Wedding Dress
Not because I still owned half the city, but because every nurse, tech, and resident in this wing had watched me live in this room for seventy-three days straight and knew I would tear the walls down with my bare hands before I let her die.
Dr. Patel burst through the door in jeans and yesterday’s ponytail, eyes wild.
“Neutropenic fever,” she snapped, scanning the chart. “ANC less than a hundred. We’re completely blind. Bacterial, viral, fungal; could be anything.”
“Then treat everything,” I growled.
“We are.” She scribbled orders faster than the printer could keep up. “But her pressure’s tanking. We’re starting levophed if she drops below 90 systolic.”
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