He was moved to a private room, awake, hollowed out and exhausted, alive because the wife his family had spent six years belittling happened to be the most qualified person in the building.
There was no drama to the actual saving of him, and I have always thought that is the part people misunderstand about medicine.
In the stories, a life is saved with a shout and a shock and a heroic gesture.
In reality it is quieter and far more devastating than that: a life is saved by someone correctly reading a page of numbers at three in the morning and calmly ordering the right thing instead of the wrong one.
No electricity, no heroics.
Just the right read, and then the patient, uneventfully, not dying.