The registrar with a young medical student in tow wore an undecipherable expression on his face.  “Are you looking after the patient in cubicle two,” he enquired.  I acknowledged that I was.  “Well I think you might have closed the curtain,” he snapped.  I evidently looked confused.  “Well she is dead,” he said bluntly.  A rock landed in my stomach.  My patient was dead and I hadn’t noticed.  Worse still her daughter was sitting at the foot of the bed oblivious to the unexpected demise of her parent.  I raced into the cubicle, my worst fears realised as I gazed at the half open, lifeless eyes, the ashen skin, the head tipped slightly back in an attitude of everlasting peace.  I touched her hand wondering if the body had gone cold.  As I did so she opened her eyes fully.  “Could I have another blanket dear,” she said.