Tentatively Bruce took a breath. There was no stabbing knifelike pain although it seemed to take extra effort to inflate his lungs.

In the semidarkness, a throaty, phlegm-laden cough reverberated within the confines of the room. Bruce felt a new surge of fright, but he quickly realized that it was just his roommate. Perhaps Mr. Hauptman’s coughing had been the sound that had awakened him, Bruce thought, feeling a modicum of relief. The old man coughed anew, then noisily turned over in his sleep.

Bruce entertained the idea of calling a nurse to check Mr. Hauptman, more for the opportunity for Bruce to speak to someone than because he thought there was a real problem. The truth of the matter was that Mr. Hauptman coughed like that all the time.

The disagreeable feverish sensation became more intense and began to spread. Bruce could feel it in his chest like a hot liquid. The concern that something had gone wrong on the “inside” reasserted itself.

Bruce tried to turn to locate the nurse’s call button that was looped through the side rails of the bed. His eyes moved, but his head felt heavy. Out of the corner of his eye he saw quick, staccato movement. Looking up he could see his IV bottle. The movement he’d seen was coming from the rapid running of his IV. The drops in the micropore chamber were falling in quick succession, and the night-light glinted off the liquid with an explosive sparkle.

That was strange! Bruce knew that his IV was only being maintained for emergencies and was supposed to run as slowly as possible. It should not be running quickly. Bruce could remember having checked it as he always did before turning out his reading light.

He tried to reach out and find the nurse’s call button. But he couldn’t move. It was as if his right arm had not gotten the command. He tried again with the same result.