PART ONE12:00 a.m.The remaining hours of her life dripped away in synchronization within a finger-smudged IV pouch that hung alongside her bed. The bag was already half-drained. A background orchestral of machinery worked in melodic rhythm, rising and falling with each pitchy tone, no one piece more important than another, but each part playing perfectly. Each shift in my back-wrenching metal chair created a trill racket. Just another instrument to the orchestra that stabbed through the monot...