Dennis was in the fourth bed on the left. When I joined the firm he had already been there some while. Every ward round, the collective morale of the team would sink when we came to his bed. After weeks we still didn’t know what was wrong with him. From his pillow, Dennis regarded us with truculent challenge.
Every week his long frame was a little thinner, his look a little more withering. He seemed to be willing himself to deny us the satisfaction of a diagnosis and the reward of seeing him recover.
One afternoon the cardiac arrest bleep went off. Fourth bed on the left.