Mackenzie didn’t know the man laying in the bed of room 217, or why she felt so compelled to stick around after seeing him wheeled in from the operating room.<br/><br/>It had been a shock, when the doctors had pushed the gurney out the door and THROUGH her body. She had spent the last four hours pacing the hallway outside this strangers room, overhearing the doctors and nurses throw around words like “transplant”  and “perfect  match”<br/><br/>Mackenzie didn’t need someone to spell out the obvious for her. She was dead, and she didn’t know how she felt about that realization. A mixture of confusion, anger and sadness swirled around in her head leaving her wanting for a distraction.<br/><br/>When the nurse breezes past her and into the room she followed, making herself comfortable in one of the reclining chairs off in the corner.<br/><br/>“Well, Mr.Wright. Everything looks good. Vitals are normal. How’s your pain? Any difficulty breathing? Experiencing any side effects from your medication?” She asked before returning the stethoscope to its place around her neck.