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jerking of his free leg. Again Lynn had to suppress the almost irresistible urge to reach out and shake him awake. For the briefest moment she felt a twinge of anger, as if Carl were doing this on purpose.
    “Deceptively peaceful,” Michael said.
    Lynn nodded. Tears again threatened. She tried to think objectively about what might be going on in Carl’s brain. She watched as Michael took out his penlight. After raising both of Carl’s upper lids, he shined the light alternately in each eye. “Pupils are equal and maybe sluggish, but both react. Nothing to ‘fatmouth’ about, but it is something. At least the brain stem is still working.”
    Lynn nodded again but didn’t speak. As a defense mechanism she thought about the doll’s eye movement that the neurology resident had shown her, and its implications.
    “Vital signs are normal,” Michael said.
    Lynn followed his gaze up to the monitor. Everything was as it had been earlier, including the oxygen saturation, at 97 percent.
    “All right,” Michael said, lowering his voice and looking across at Lynn. “So far, so good.” The busy nurses seemed indifferent to their presence. “Let’s mosey over to the central desk. And try to relax, girl! You look like you are about to rob a bank.”
    Lynn didn’t bother to answer. She tolerated his mildly disrespectful language just as he allowed her to call him “boy” on occasion. It was only when they were certain no one else was listening that they used such slang. It was another sign of their closeness and shared understanding of discrimination.
    The circular central desk was usually dominated by the duo ofthe head nurse, Gwen Murphy, and the very capable long-term clerk, Peter Marshall, who had been around so long he felt proprietary. From their neurology rotation Michael and Lynn remembered both of them as efficient and professional and very helpful. At the moment only Peter was present. As usual, like all ward clerks, he was on the phone, but he raised his eyebrows questioningly as he gave them a once-over. At the moment Gwen was apparently occupied elsewhere.
    Under the lip of the surrounding countertop were flat-screen monitors displaying the readouts of the vital signs of each patient. Lynn’s eyes went directly to 8. Everything was normal. On top of the countertop was a rotating chart rack.
    “Hey, dude,” Michael said to Peter as a greeting, evoking a roll of the eyes on Peter’s part. Not giving him a chance to respond, Michael turned his attention to the chart rack, which he gave a deliberate spin. He stopped it so the slot for cubicle 8 was facing him. Without the slightest hesitation Michael withdrew the chart, grabbed a couple of chairs, and pulled them off to the side. He motioned to Lynn to take one, and he sat in the other. He opened the chart and rapidly leafed through to the anesthesia record.
    As Michael was doing this, Lynn watched Peter out of the corner of her eye. As Michael had anticipated, he seemed to ignore them, at least until he finished his current phone conversation. Then he said, “Hey, can I help you guys?”
    “We were told to check out the anesthesia record on Vandermeer,” Michael said. “And we got it right here. Thanks! Take a look, Lynn!”
    Michael positioned the chart so that Lynn could see. There was a handwritten note by the anesthesiologist, Dr. Sandra Wykoff, as well as the three-page printed version done by the anesthesia machine. They read the handwritten note, which was thankfully easy to read in contrast to a lot of notes that they had had to read by doctors in hospital charts over the last couple of years:
    Healthy 29 year old Caucasian male in excellent health scheduled for anterior cruciate repair of right knee under general anesthesia. Anesthesia machine function checked both manually and automatically. Some pre-op anxiety. Pre-op medication Midazolam 10mg IM at 7:17 am with good result. Patient relaxed. Intravenous catheter placed without difficulty.