Page 478 of End Game

Another graph.

Another thing I could theoretically check.

At some point, though, I've been diabetic long enough to know when I have enough information to make a reasonable decision.

Right now, I do.

I turn onto my side.

The Pod sits high enough on my buttock that I can feel the edge of the adhesive when I settle into the mattress, but nothing pinches or stings.

My phone screen lights again.

261

I consider setting another timer.

Then remember I am literally wearing a device designed to alert me if this changes significantly.

Four other people are following it.

Griffin has probably looked at my graph from the ambulance approximately fourteen times today while pretending he hasn't.

I'm covered.

I change the settings on my Dexcom app, so it will still alert me if I dramatically go up, but won’t keep me up all night if I stay pretty much where I am.

For the first time since the UTI started, my whole body feels heavy in the good way.

The room is cool.

My bladder doesn't hurt.

My last thought before sleep is that tomorrow I am going to make Dex stop calling ketone testing the stabby blood thing.

Probably.

Maybe.

It is unfortunately kind of accurate.

Then I fall asleep.

Chapter thirty-eight

Critical Condition

Griffin

The problem with bad calls is that they don't end when the patient leaves your stretcher.

Your body doesn't know the difference between we're done and we survived it.

Mine definitely doesn't.

An hour ago, I was half inside a crushed SUV with one knee braced against twisted metal and both hands trying to keep a man from bleeding to death while fire worked around us to cut the driver's side apart.

There was a point where I stopped hearing anything except instructions—theirs and mine.