Now, as Bruce awoke in the middle of the night and heard none of the usual reassuring hospital sounds, the hospital seemed like an ominous and lonely place, evoking fear rather than hope. The silence was intimidating, providing no immediate explanation for his sudden wakefulness. Bruce felt himself inexplicably paralyzed by a sensation of acute terror.

As the seconds passed, Bruce’s mouth became dry, exactly as it had been after his preop medication five days earlier. He attributed this to fear, as he continued to lie perfectly still like a wary animal, his senses straining for any disturbance. He’d done the same thing as a boy after awakening in the night from bad dreams. If he didn’t move, perhaps the monsters would not see him. Lying on his back, he couldn’t see much of the room, especially since the only illumination came from a small floor-level night-light behind his bed. All he could see was the indistinct juncture of ceiling and wall. Silhouetted against it was the magnified shadow of his IV pole, bottle, and tubing. The bottle seemed to be swaying slightly.

Trying to dismiss his fears, Bruce began monitoring his internal messages. The big question loomed in his mind: Am I all right? Having been rudely betrayed by his body by the heart attack, he wondered if some new catastrophe had awakened him. Could his stitches have split? That had been one of his fears immediately after the operation. Could the bypass have come loose?

Bruce could feel his pulse in his temples, and, despite a clamminess to his palms and a somewhat disagreeable sensation in his head that he associated with fever, he felt okay. At least there was no pain, particularly not the crushing, searing pressure that had come with the initial heart attack.