Deacon
It was nearly eleven o'clock, and I was exhausted. But then again, what else was new?
The day had been a long one, but not a bad one. We were three weeks into real life for the oncology wing here at St. Agnes Memorial Hospital-the realization of a dream I'd had for years-and real life wasn't always pretty. The patients occupying the rooms on this floor were all seriously ill. Each one was facing pain, incredible suffering and possible death. I never forgot that, not for one minute. They deserved the best we had to give them, even when that meant sacrificing time, energy and any kind of life outside these walls.
That was why the telephone call I'd gotten late this afternoon was such shitty timing. The last thing I needed was someone else telling me that I was needed-desperately-t
