Page 494 of End Game

Gap open.

Potassium temporarily high because everything is in the wrong place.

Fluids first.

Then insulin.

Repeat labs.

Replace electrolytes as they shift.

Watch the heart.

Close the gap.

I know the sequence.

I've stood exactly where that medic stood and explained to terrified families that DKA is serious but treatable.

I've said, “She's where she needs to be.”

I've said, “They're doing exactly what they're supposed to do.”

I've said all the right fucking things.

None of them mean anything when the patient is my wife.

“She's responding appropriately so far,” the physician continues. “Her pressure is improving with fluids. She's protecting her airway. We're starting the insulin infusion once we've confirmed her potassium trend, and she'll need ICU-level monitoring.”

ICU.

The word hits harder than DKA.

Maybe because DKA was already obvious.

ICU makes it official.

I look at Cami.

Her eyes are closed.

Her fingers are still curled loosely around mine.

“Okay.”

The physician watches me for another second.

Finally acknowledges the uniform and the badge.

“You know what we’re watching.”

“Yeah.”

“You also know this is going to take some time.”

I almost laugh.

Not because it's funny.