Aaron is better today. The fever slowly retreats, and by morning he’s a perfect 37C (Multiply by 9/5, then add 32 for last century’s Fahrenheit units.)
Part of better is how he looks. Better, of course, is relative. Not relative to last Tuesday morning, 8 days ago, when he looked like Aaron. Looking that far back is as imprudent as looking that far forward. Relative to yesterday is our point of reference. A little less puffy, his swollen-shut eyes not quite so distended, his skin not quite so sallow, the sores not quite so raw. But if you look past the cyborgian tangle of tubes and wires protruding from every natural and inflicted orifice of his body, he looks better.
The other part of better is the numbers. There’s lots of numbers, pages of parameters that are measured, compared, studied, and assessed. The doctors stare and scribble and question and comment. What does this number mean? But what does it REALLY mean in light of this other number? And what does this other number mean in light of such-and-such a drug, chemical, or procedure?
Bottom line, the numbers say Aaron is possibly just slightly better, so the doctors are pleased.