Thursday, September 3
Day 8
Tim spent the night sleepless at Ellis’s side, one hand monitoring his pulse constantly. By dawn he was noticeably worse, pulse feeble and skin of a livid cast.
Can’t put it off any longer, Tim thought wearily. He tried to push from his mind the last time he’d performed such a surgery on a child, of fighting desperately to keep life in his patient, and failing. The boy had died there beneath his hands.
