Twenty-Seven
Tristan listened closely to the latest update from the nurse, who relayed it in rapid Spanish that Tristan understood more easily now. They were going to try taking him off the intravenous blood pressure medication and see how he did.
“You’re unhooking it now? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“If his blood pressure goes up too much, we’ll either put him back on this medication or try another.” He rattled off the name of the medication. Tristan made him slow down and say it again so he could look it up later.
From the bed, Victor spoke in English. “Stand down, Tristan. They’re doing a good job for me.”
“I know that.” But were they doing such a good job because Tristan was there, hounding them? That was the question that kept him here. That, and feeling close to his fat
