Abby hesitated. The General watched her. So did everyone else. The humiliating silence was punctuated only by the whoosh of the ventilator.

Dr. Wettig glanced imperiously at the circle of residents. "Is there anyone here who can help Dr. DiMatteo answer the question?"

Abby's spine straightened. '! "I can answer the question myself," she said.

Dr. Wettig turned to her, his eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"The… pupillary changes — the extensor posturing of the limbs — they were high midbrain signs. Last night I assumed it was because of the subdural haematoma, pressing downwards on the midbrain. But since the patient hasn't improved, I… I guess that indicates I was mistaken."

"You guess?"

She let out a breath. "I was mistaken."

"What's your diagnosis now?"

"A midbrain haemorrhage. It could be due to shearing forces. Or residual damage from the subdural haematoma. The changes might not show up yet on CT scan."

Dr. Wettig regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he returned to the other residents. "A midbrain haemorrhage is a reasonable assumption. With a combined Glasgow Coma Scale of three…" He glanced at Abby '… and a half," he amended, 'the prognosis is nil. The patient has no spontaneous respirations, no spontaneous movements, and she appears to have lost all brainstem reflexes. At the moment, I have no suggestions other than life support. And consideration of organ harvest." He gave Abby a curt nod. Then he moved on to the next patient.

One of the other residents gave Abby's arm a squeeze. "Hey, DiMatteo," he whispered. "Flying colours."

Wearily Abby nodded. "Thanks."

Chief surgical resident Dr. Vivian Chao was a legend among the other residents at Bayside Hospital. As the story went, two days into her very first rotation as an intern, her fellow intern suffered a psychotic break and had to be carted off, sobbing uncontrollably, to the loony ward.