Sensing Light Read Online Free PDF

was Proctor, the private school Eva attended. Its tuition was eroding her savings, and her ex-husband Daniel refused to help. He believed private schools were politically incorrect.
    A middle-aged nurse, a good ten years older than Gwen, asked, “Can I help you?”
    â€œI’m Dr. Howard from Health Center 3.”
    The nurse gave her a disinterested, faintly disapproving look.
    Is it my appearance, Gwen wondered. Hair too long, dress too short for thirty-five? She was proud of her trim, tennis-toned body. A pretty face, too, she’d always been told.
    â€œA patient of mine is here. Larry Winton.”
    The nurse pointed to a red-haired man in a white jacket seated on a stool. He was watching a heart monitor.
    â€œWinton is his.”
    Gwen studied Kevin. What gorgeous green eyes, she thought. He could be cute if he lost twenty pounds. She halted further fantasy. He indeed was too young for her. But this reminded her of another plus in doing of a residency—so many opportunities to meet men.
    As Gwen approached Kevin, she saw he was exhausted.
    â€œHi, I’m Gwen Howard. We talked about Larry Winton yesterday?”
    Kevin immediately brightened. He stood up and offered his hand.
    â€œIt’s great you came by. He hasn’t had any visitors.”
    â€œThat doesn’t surprise me. He’s kind of a loner.”
    Kevin looked at his wristwatch.
    â€œHe’s going to be bronched soon. You want to see him now?”
    â€œSure,” she said, her pluck fading again.
    Kevin led her to Larry’s room. She slipped past him, rolled a stool to the head of the bed, and sat down.
    Larry had a vacant expression. With each inhalation, the hollows of his neck retracted and he lifted his shoulders. To the uninitiated, he might be meditating or practicing yoga. The sad irony, Gwen knew, was that no one, not even the world’s greatest marathon runner, could sustain this level of breathing work for more than a day or two.
    â€œHi, doc,” he said, his words echoing inside the oxygen mask. “What’re you doing here?”
    â€œHe called me,” she said with a nod toward Kevin.
    â€œWhat do you think? Is it TB?”
    â€œMaybe,” she said, trying to sound hopeful.
    Larry looked skeptically at her, then at Kevin.
    â€œI don’t know what it is,” Gwen confessed. “I am so, so sorry this happened.”
    â€œNot your fault, doc. I fucked up. Blew off your advice. Shoulda got my ass here sooner. Don’t worry. They’re doing all they can.”
    â€œI know they are,” she fervently agreed.
    Larry’s smile was fractured by the curved, translucent shell covering his mouth. Gwen bit her lips and turned away. In the doorway, she saw two people in white gowns and masks. They hovered there like wraiths. Behindthem stood a middle-aged Asian-American man wearing a sport jacket and tie. He was frowning.
    Herb apologized for being late. Kevin handed him the most recent arterial blood gas results. Herb glanced at the numbers, checked the oxygen flow valve by Larry’s bed, and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.
    â€œTime to go,” said Kevin.
    Larry recoiled.
    â€œThey do this every day here,” Gwen murmured. “You’ll be OK.”
    While Larry was being moved to a gurney, Kevin introduced Gwen to Herb.
    â€œWhat do you think?” she asked, struggling to tamp down her anxiety.
    â€œNot TB,” Herb answered. “Though I’ve been wrong about that before. Hypersensitivity pneumonitis, cocci, sarcoid? It could be anything. Let’s hope the bronch washings tell us something, at least a clue as to whether steroids might help.”
    Gwen liked the self-deprecation, but he sounded pessimistic. Laying crepe was what they called it when she was an intern.

VIII
    T HE PULMONARY FELLOW AND medical assistant transferred Larry to a recliner chair and proceeded to ignore him as they sorted through boxes of