We were sceptical that he would survive the night.
His coughing had become severe, and his oxygen levels were dangerously low.
The elderly guy kept saying the same word through parched, chapped lips, despite the nurses’ requests that we keep the room calm and serene: “Murphy… Murphy…”
We initially believed it to be a human, either a son or an old wartime friend. Leaning forward, I enquired politely who Murphy was.
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