Worsening signs.

The author’s flight path circled the globe

The cabin of the Learjet is dark, the heart monitor a metronome over the drone of the engines and pulse of the mechanical ventilator. I’ve been watching my patient’s cardiac rhythm, with ominous hackles rising on the back of my neck while my partner naps. Over the course of the journey the man’s inherent tachycardia has slowly shifted into a sinus rhythm that might seem like normalization on a paper medical report, but feels wrong. After all, this patient is dying. He is returning to Egypt to die amongst family after last-ditch cancer treatments in America have failed.

“Not on this flight,” I think to myself. “Not until Cairo.”

The plane banks as it descends into the Newfoundland night. The cabin vibrates with turbulence; St. John’s may be the most easterly North American fuel stop, but its position on the Atlantic all but guarantees unpredictable weather. The lights of the town sparkle below as my partner rouses, pops his ears, and stretches.

“Look at his heart rate,” I say, quietly. “Pressure’s okay, though.”

“Yeah,” he says. There’s an unspoken accordance between us. We’ve flown together enough—been trapped in small planes for countless hours, evaluating and collaborating—that […]