A Desperate Choice

I walked into room 302 and found my patient's husband injecting something into her IV line.

He froze. I froze. The monitors beeped steadily between us like a ticking

clock. His eyes weren't panicked, they were determined. She had weeks left,

maybe days, all pain and morphine dreams. He whispered her name like a prayer.

My hand hovered over the call button, my nursing oath burning in my chest like acid.

But I saw their wedding photo on the nightstand, fifty years compressed into one desperate

moment. I could save her from him or save her from suffering. My finger trembled.

Would you have pressed that button?