onto a stretcher and whisked me into
a treatment room, where they inserted
an IV and attached me to monitors. I
could hear bleeps and beeps and peo-
ple assuring me I was in good hands.
“What is happening to me?” I asked.
My voice sounded like an old phono-
graph record spinning too slowly. The
words seemed heavy and thick. I saw
Pat standing in a corner, fear in her eyes.
The next thing I knew, my clothes
were being removed. My pants came
off. My arms rose above my head and
my shirt slipped off.
“Aren’t you a lucky man?” a nurse
said to me. “You’ve got five women
undressing you.”
I laughed and agreed, but it was
dawning on me that my movements
were no longer voluntary. The lights
dimmed. Pat kissed me on the fore-
head and departed. I was alone.
I remember nothing else about thata number of ministrokes since this
morning. If that’s the case, the likeli-
hood of being struck by a larger stroke
is very high.”
He told us someone would be along
as soon as there was a free bed. Pat
sat beside me working on a crossword
puzzle while I squirmed in my seat. I
remember trying to find a comfort-
able way to sit, something I suddenly
found extremely hard to do.
Then the light started to disappear.
Close in on itself. Into a tunnel.
Soon there would be no light. There
would be an absence. Of everything.
Of everyone. Of Pat. “I’m dying,” I
said. I was terrified.
DIAGNOSIS CONFIRMED
I could hear Pat calling for help as I
slowly slid to the floor. Then the room
filled with intense white light. I was
surrounded by people who hoisted me
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