Vance looked up from the numbers over his small wire-framed glasses, and his forehead smoothed out.

He allowed himself a brief, quiet smile.

“Her blood gas readings from six o’clock are the best we’ve seen,” he said.

I held my breath, afraid to move my arms from where they were folded over my surgical bandage.

“What does that mean for her settings?”

“It means her lungs are doing real work now,” Dr.

Vance said, tapping his thumb against the hard edge of the aluminum clipboard.

“We’re dropping her oxygen blend to twenty-six percent, and if she holds steady through lunch, we’ll start weaning her off the machine entirely.”