Free Donor 23 by Cate Beatty Page A

at her.
    “I’m Jules Chin. I’m the new resident, assigned here in Cardio-Pulmonary. Supposed to observe and assist.”
    Melnick nodded his head, “Oh, of course. I’m Dr. Melnick. And this is Dean Garcia. He’s the benefactor’s sports trainer.”
    As she set up, Melnick turned to the pink-haired nurse, “Can you ensure all these reports get sent to Dr. Oxman?”
    “Right-o, doctor. His office’s a couple floors up, isn’t it?” she replied.
    Chin had read the report on this case. The Cardio-Pulmonary Department was her preferred field of practice, but she soon learned many of the cases were donations and—even more distressing—almost every donation resulted in the death of the donor. Yesterday, she assisted at the tax of a heart from a three-year-old. Chin carried the child’s heart to a bowl of ice. She paused at the cooler. As Chin held the heart, the warmth spread through her hands. Finally, she placed it in the ice, and steam rose, as if it was one last gasp of the child.
    Last night, she joined a nurse for a drink. The nurse, Ellie, was a five-year veteran of Cardio-Pulmonary. Over a glass of wine, Chin opened up and asked her how she handled it. Ellie had assisted in hundreds of major organ donations.
    “This was my first one,” Chin explained.
    “If you have a problem with it, why’d you pick this as your area?” Ellie asked.
    Jules swirled her wine, “I have a heart problem—a pacemaker. So I’m interested in it.”
    “Why?”
    “Oh, I had a virus as a teenager, and it settled in my heart. Caused an interruption in the electrical impul—”
    “No,” Ellie was perplexed, “I mean why have a pacemaker? Why not take the heart from your donor?”
    Jules made a sound of disgust, “I just didn’t.”
    Ellie took a drink of wine and shook her head, unable to understand. “Well, so today was your first assist at a heart tax? Your first one. Look, it gets easier. Just don’t think about it. Whatever you do, don’t keep count.”
    Now, Chin stood next to Melnick as he ordered Joan to disrobe. Joan hesitated, looking at the trainer.
    “Did you hear me?” Melnick said testily, “Take them off.”
    Seeming to understand Joan’s unwillingness, Chin asked, “Is the trainer going to leave while she undresses?”
    Melnick was annoyed.
    “No,” he said flatly.
    Joan got undressed and tried to cover herself with the paper gown. She set the rose on the exam table beside her. Dr. Melnick set his note pad on the table, bumping it against the rose.
    “What’s this?” he asked, not caring, and he tossed the flower onto the floor in the corner.
    For the rest of the afternoon, they trundled her from room to room, where she underwent a battery of tests with a multitude of machines. One machine was like a coffin, and she had lain motionless within, while a light beam passed repeatedly over her. Another had tubes hooked up to her chest and head, and all Joan had to do was lie comfortably on a bed for a while.
    At one point she ran on a treadmill, while more wires dangled from her chest. Her leg throbbed again—pulsated. Sweat poured down her. She didn’t complain but kept running.
    Joan’s mouth fell open when Garcia said at one point, “Let’s speed it up.”
    Melnick nodded at the pink-haired nurse, who pushed a button on the treadmill, increasing the speed. Chin hovered near one of the machines, but she stared with concern at Joan. “Dr. Melnick, I think we should give her a rest.”
    He monitored her heart rate on a machine and said to Garcia, “Look, here.” He pointed to the readout. “Put it up another notch, nurse.”
    Joan winced as the nurse increased the speed.
    Soon, Chin said forcefully, “Doctor, I think we should end the test.”
    The pink-haired nurse raised her eyebrows and looked at Chin with surprise and disbelief. Chin was standing up to Dr. Melnick. Melnick was Our Governor’s physician. It wasn’t a new resident’s place to correct a physician, let alone one of his