Where My Pulse Ended

I faced Hank's sneers, fighting the icy dread inside.

I replied, "You're reading too much into it. I'm just over pneumonia and wanted to give a little something back with a blood donation."

Then, I shot back, "You, with your fear of blood, why aren't you chilling in the break room instead of stirring up drama here?"

Hank went sheet-white at that.

In my previous life, I kept his faint-at-the-sight-of-blood secret all the way to my grave. I covered for him, saying he had trauma and could not do surgeries. I even pulled strings with my dad's old contacts to keep him in the hospital, saving his reputation.

He did not have an ounce of gratitude. He teamed up with an intern and sent me to my doom.

Hank was speechless, his face beet-red.

I shoved past him and declared, "Two hundred milliliters, rare blood type, Rh-negative!"

Before the staff could even react, there she was, Shirley.

"Dr. Ferguson, I get that you're mad about Hank and I, but you don't need to donate blood to win his attention. That's not love, it's just pity," she said, rolling up her sleeve without a care in the world.

I did not waste a second and took my place on the donation chair.

Since we were hooked up to a blood exchange system, if I drew blood from her, it would be my body taking the hit.

I was curious to see if she would end up light-headed from anemia if I started to draw my own blood.

The dark red liquid continued to pour out, but I could not take my eyes off Shirley.

Right then, a bunch of folks who had been my patients before recognized me. They were all praising me, saying I had the heart of a true healer, not just with my top-notch medical skills but also with my willingness to put myself on the line.

It was supposed to be Shirley's turn to give blood, but I ended up snagging the limelight. She was seething with anger, yet she bit back her fury and feigned concern for me.

"Dr. Ferguson, you're looking a bit pale. It's great to have a big heart, but don't push yourself too hard just to make a name for yourself."

I just smiled lightly.

"It's only two hundred milliliters, not like you, who gave a whopping six hundred milliliters this morning. You really can't donate again today. If anything goes wrong, the hospital won't be able to handle the fallout."

I had let slip her earlier donation on purpose, hoping the staff would step in and stop her from going for round two, giving me an out.

As expected, Shirley was rattled.

However, other than that, she did not show any sign of feeling unwell.

Even when it seemed like no one was shocked that she had already donated 600 milliliters that morning, she started waving her arm, telling the staff she wanted to donate again.

"I can still donate blood. Come on, take some more from me. Dr. Ferguson has led by example. We, the younger ones, can't back down now. Every extra milliliter we give could mean another chance for a patient to pull through."

With that, she grabbed a syringe and began to handle it single-handedly.

I could not help but shout, "Have you lost your mind? You've already given blood today!

"If something goes wrong, everyone here will be in hot water. Don't make a mess and drag everyone else into it! If you really want to help the patients, you should hit the books and brush up on your medical knowledge, not gamble with your health."

My voice was firm and filled with conviction, but next to me, Shirley was in a frenzy to grab the spotlight.

The crowd started buzzing with chatter. Shirley glanced at Hank, hoping for some backup, but Hank, paranoid about people discovering his queasiness at the sight of blood, pretended not to notice.

As the blood bag neared the 200-milliliter mark, Shirley was cool as a cucumber. I could not stand being upstaged, especially after all the pain I had been through before.

I clenched my teeth and told the nurse to take another 200 milliliters.

However, when it was all over, I was as white as a sheet, while Shirley looked as though she had just come back from a brisk walk, with not a hint of paleness.

Some Good Samaritans helped me to a cafe nearby. I was running on fumes, so I wolfed down the bread from the donor's goodie bag. It was not until I felt a bit better that it hit me: donating blood was a one-way street.

In other words, Shirley's donations drained me, but mine did not touch her.

A shiver ran down my spine.

I had to keep Shirley from donating again until I figured out what was going on.