I’m walking the halls of my hospital, every so often peeking into patients’ rooms. My tan volunteer smock is too big, even though it says SMALL on the tag. It brushes against my thighs as I walk, the happy pins and flair buttons on my pockets tapping together. I glance dutifully into each room for a moment before moving on. There’s one room on the hall that is dark. Outside the door is the Do Not Resuscitate signal; a single laminated card. The card is purple like the hands of someone who has been eating fresh blueberries, like the lips of someone who can’t breathe.

The call bell at the desk rings. I pick it up--Nurses’ Station, how can I help you?

It’s from room five. The patient on the other end talks loudly into the phone. I’m startled; most of them whisper. “Can I have some fresh water please!”

I nod as if she can see me. “Yep, I’ll be right there.”

I smile as I hang up the phone.

I swing out of the nurses’ station, making my way toward room five. Room five is the dark room, the purple blueberry room, the room in which the patient has agreed that if she stops breathing tonight, they won’t come with paddles and respirators. They’ll come with doctor’s paperwork and a body bag.

I walk into the room. Usually DNR patients are older, seventy at least. The woman who meets my eyes as I walk into the room can’t be more than fifty.

I smile at her. “Water, right?” I step over and retrieve the plastic hospital-issued water jug from her bedside table.

“Yeah, just...yeah, thanks. Water. Please.” She nods kind of frantically.

Armed with the plastic jug I swing out of the room, headed toward the nourishment room. It feels like a long way away.

Dump the old water, ice, new water, more ice, more water. It tumbles into the jug and then I yank it away, shoving a cap onto the top. The ice shuffles around in the cup as I trot back down the hallway. I swing into the room and present it to the woman in the bed. She reaches out, takes it, takes a sip, then another. She’s drinking like someone who ate salted peanuts ten minutes ago and hasn’t had anything to drink since.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” I chirp.
She doesn’t answer, just keeps drinking. “Ahh, that tastes so good.”
I smile, and walk out of the room.