Early the next morning, I went in to check on Ziggy before the attendings' meeting. His bathroom door was open and I could hear him inside. "Ziggy? Are you okay?" I walked in and found him with his head in the toilet.

He nodded and flushed, rolling to sit on the bathroom floor. "This chemo shit doesn't play around." He ran his hand through his hair and smiled. When he brought his fingers back in front of his view, they were covered in strands of his hair. He looked dismayed.

"Don't worry," I told him. "Hair grows back."

"I should go ahead and shave it now. It's all going to fall out soon anyway, right?"

"Probably. You can hang onto it for as long as you want, but I think you'd look pretty hot bald."

His lips twisted into a grin. "Don't toy with my vanity. I'll shave my head right now."

I sat next to him on the floor to give him some company. He rested his head on my shoulder. I drape my arm around his neck and stroked my hand over his damp forehead and hair. He breathed deeply as I did. His head grew heavier the more he relaxed.

I decided it was fruitless to keep second-guessing our comfort level with one another. Mostly, I think, because I enjoyed his company as much as he seemed to enjoy mine. What was the point of stopping something that harmed no one?

"So . . ." I started to say. "I guess this isn't a great time to ask if you're hungry."

He laughed until he was in tears.

I went with Theresa to the status meeting, but zone out through most of it. We had two new patients, one of which was causing everyone grief. Mrs. Robson, who would forever be Mrs. Robinson in my mind instead, contracted a rash following a facelift. They were unsure whether it was MRSA or something less dramatic. Either way, she was quarantined and it was making her very unhappy. Poor Theresa had to cover her after she fired both Tiffany and Denise and thrown objects at two of the medical assistants.

She sounded like a peach.

"We are short-staffed as it is," Dr. Smith explained. "Theresa, are you able to cover her without causing an issue?"

"It would be best if we could borrow Nurse Brennan part-time."

"I still need her priority for Mr. Ziegler," Dr. Mathews spoke up for me. "His treatment is going to start getting more aggressive this week, and I believe he may require near-constant attention."

"That amount of time on a single patient seems extreme," Dr. Smith challenged him.

"If it is working for the patient, that is all I care about. Until Nurse Brennan expresses any complaint or fatigue, I would rather keep things the way they are." He looked at me. "Do you agree?"

"Yes," I squeaked. I see Dr. Smith rolled his eyes. "But I think I can balance both patients today, if that would be helpful."

"It would," Smith grumbled.

When the doctors left, Theresa was smiling like a mischievous kid. No doubt because I would be taking Mrs. Robson off her hands. Not two seconds the call button went off for her room. I put on my gloves and mask and went down the hall to her room. "Is everything okay in here, Mrs. Robin—Mrs. Robson?" I scolded myself for slipping up.

"No, of course it isn't. I pushed the call button over two minutes ago." I said nothing, knowing she was nowhere near done. "The food is atrocious, the service is completely unprofessional, and... Who are you?"

I walked over to her bedside and looked over her vitals. "I'm Nurse Brennan. I'll be helping Nurse Diaz."

"Well hopefully you'll be more capable than she is," she said with a huff. She pushed her hair back and I saw the oddly shaped pocks at the underside of her ear. It probably wasn't MRSA. Probably being the operative word.

Dr. Smith had her on an intensive combination of steroids, antibiotics, and an experimental anti-fungal. None seemed to be working yet. "You're due for another dose of antibiotics. Can you tell me if you have been feeling any better since your last round?"

She said, "No," and nothing else. Whatever.

I administered the dosage into her IV and looked back at her. "Well, can I do anything for you in the meantime?"

"You can bring me a decent salad."

"A salad?"

"Yes. No iceberg, no imitation bacon bits, or any other poison. I want a real salad with kale, almonds, avocado . . ." She kept listing things, but I blocked her out while putting her notes into the computer. At no point did she request anything that was actually within my job description. "I'm a human being. I deserve to eat like one."

"Of course you do. I will have food service bring you something very soon." I walk out and exchange a look with Theresa.

"Isn't she just a peach?" she said. I leaned over the counter to grab my phone and gave her a short laugh. "What are you doing?"

"Ordering the Queen her salad."

Theresa shook her head at me. "You are too nice to people. If you keep giving everything to every patient, you're going to go insane."

"Was that a compliment?" She gave me a noncommittal grimace. I took that as a yes.

I was at the station for all of six minutes before the call button lit up again. I sighed heavily but stood to do my job.

I walk in and didn't "I would like some water, please," she says. She seemed short of breath.

"I'll have someone get you a fresh pitcher."

"I don't want tap water," she said, then took a breath. "I want sparkling or mineral."

I ignored the fact that she is treating me like a restaurant server and look at her closely. She looks a bit sweaty, and her breathing is still a little shallow. "Mrs. Robson. Are you feeling all right? Any shortness of breath?"

She looks over at me and blinks a few times. She starts to look confused as if she doesn't recognize me. I take her vital and it was just as I assumed. Her blood pressure was up and her oxygen sitting right at 96%. "I'm going to have Dr. Smith come by, alright?"

"Will he bring the water I asked for?"

I sighed. "No, but your salad is almost here. I'll go grab that and see what we can do about your mineral water, okay?" She eyed me and for a moment I expected her to thank me. But, that didn't happen. She turned her attention back to her TV without another word. I rolled my eyes as I left her room.

I went back to the station and paged Dr. Smith. Surprisingly, he showed up a few moments later. "Yes?"

"Mrs. Robson looks a little short of breath. Her blood pressure is elevated and her oxygen is sitting a little low." I handed over her chart and he looked it over. A curious hum was his only reply. He walked off with her chart, leaving me alone.

My phone pinged with an alert that the Postmates driver was arriving soon.

Downstairs, I stood on the curb outside and looked for the car. When a few minutes passed, I started to agree with Theresa. Fetching someone else's lunch like an office intern? Maybe I was doing too much. I contemplated eating the salad myself when the car pulled up.

"Thanks so much!" I told the driver who could not possibly be older than sixteen.

He smiled just as my pager started beeping. I pulled it out and my heart dropped. "Shit, shit, shit," I said to myself. I snatched the food from him and sprinted through the lobby to the elevators.

When I made it, I tapped the button over and over. I was in too much of a rush to wait, so I turned and run to the stairs instead. I climbed up them as fast as my legs would take me. I tore open the door to our floor and ran down the hall to the room. Once inside, I stopped abruptly, dropping the salad onto the floor.

I stared at her body in shock. "Time of death, 15:42," Dr. Smith said before bumping into my shoulder as he walked out of the room. Did he think this was my fault?

I went over everything again in my mind. Had I missed something? Did I give her the wrong medication? Theresa covered her with the sheet. "What happened?" I asked her. "Did I do something wrong?"

She shook her head no. "She was fine, then she coded. It wasn't in response to the medication." That did little to ease my upset. "Sometimes people just want to go and there is no stopping them," Theresa reminded me.

"Yeah," I agreed, but it didn't ease my guilt.

After the dramatic episode, I took some time to myself. I showered in the changing room, scrubbing myself until my skin was raw. After years of working in hospice, I didn't let much of this job get to me. But still, I baby every patient I can, sacrificing myself to give my 110% all the time. I hated reminders that I could give someone my all only to watch someone have to lose their loved one anyway. I got redressed and tried my best to shake it off.

I get back to the station, and I am still numb. Theresa seemed a bit bothered as well. It took me a moment to realize it was for a different reason. Music wafted down the hall from Ziggy's room. I recognized the end of one of my favorite songs by The 1975 and fade into a Misterwives song.

"Please tell him to turn that down," Theresa grumbled.

"Yes, ma'am."

I went to Ziggy's room, stepping in time with the upbeat tempo. He grinned as I walked into the room. "I figured you'd show up for my playlist."

I couldn't help but smile. I swayed to the lyrics of Decide to be Happy, appreciating the accidental perfection of the song's sentiment. "I do love this song, but I'm supposed to ask you to turn it down." He frowned and reached to do so, but I grabbed his hand. "You know what? Fuck it. Dance with me," I commanded.

Taking his hands in mine, I started to dance and hop around to the music. Ziggy laughed at the sight but joined me. We both moved our bodies together like idiots to the beat. I wrap my arms around his middle and pulled him into a hug as we danced. He hugged me back and we swayed together to the music.

I rested my cheek against his chest and a wave of emotion washed over me. I hadn't lost a patient since I came here. It hurt. While it wasn't something I could control, it still felt as if I was doing too much and not enough. I couldn't go back and change it. All I could do was keep moving forward and be happy for all the good things that would outweigh the bad.

I let him go when the chorus hit. We both sing along, laughing at ourselves as we do.

After a while, Theresa walked in and peered at us. We both smiled at her before continuing on with our little dance party. She gave in and joined us, and we both cheered. Ziggy pulled her to him and they danced together.

I felt my stress melt away.