The florescent lights of the emergency room shined down around me. A curtain hung on small chains from a track on the ceiling. I held your hand and tried to say “I don’t feel so good.” I felt a dull ache grow in my chest and the room started to sway. I heard the box behind my head give out a wildly beating tone and I let my head fall back.

What happened next was weird. It was like I was standing above the bed, watching what was going on. I saw people rush in and drop the back of the gurney down. That young man, Dr. Dow, and a bunch of nurses came rushing in. They stuck a tube down my throat and started squeezing a bag. Was that my throat? It looks like me, but I’m not there, I’m here. They surround the gurney and bring something they called a “crash cart” in. I heard them say something about V-tac and saw them apply some big sticky pads to my chest.

I saw you standing in the corner, your hands to your mouth, and silent tears washing your face. I wanted to comfort you. To tell you …

Then I saw a light.