Doris shook her head. She was young, just 27, but had been a nurse long enough to know the truth. “She’s gone, Doctor.”
He laid a hand on the dead child’s head. Doris saw it shake. She had once asked him if he got used to the pain and death. “The day I get used to seeing children die is the day I leave medicine forever.” “Sometimes the Lord gives us miracles, Doctor. Sometimes he
takes the little ones home,” Doris said. “It’s time to let go.”
“There was nothing more I could do,” Dr. Wall said. A tear formed in the corner of his right eye. “Five months of treatment and we end up losing her.”
“You did everything right, Doctor.” She placed her hand on his. “Remember, the first rule of medicine is that patients die. And rule number two?”
“You can’t change rule number one.” He nodded.
“I’ll get a gurney.” She stood up and rubbed the small of her back. “You okay?”
“I just want to stay with her a few minutes,” he said as the light over the bed began to flicker. He looked at Doris Powers and then up at the bulb. She smiled.
“If you’re up there, child, how about fixing that thing, would you?” she asked with eyes to the ceiling. The bulb went dark, flickered again, and returned to a bright, steady light. They both smiled. “See that, Doctor Wall?” the nurse said. “She made it.”
*****
In the lobby, the party atmosphere turned to dread, at least for those old enough to know what was happening.
The guest of honor stretched her neck to see what room was causing all the commotion—her old room. That’s what she’d feared. A pit formed in her stomach. She was so frightened for her friend that she wanted to scream. She wanted to run back to her room and help. Tears leaked from her eyes as her mother pushed the wheelchair faster toward the exit.
The linoleum floors of the hospital appeared to gleam with enthusiasm about the little feet that now walked their pathways