I was in the hospital for several days. It was my first time as a patient, staying overnight.

Things are happening quickly. Yesterday I had my first meeting with the cardiac surgeon.

This was only my second “procedure,” but I’m already feeling less anxious about being in the hospital. Things are starting to feel familiar: wristband, birth-date quiz, silly gown, needles (one in each arm this time), and long periods of waiting and wondering what comes next.

When I checked in at the front desk, they put a wristband on my left arm, and from that point on every person I encountered asked me to verify my name and birth date. I got it right every time.

I was caught between two levels of consciousness, starting to wake up but still dreaming. I was not yet aware of where the dream world ended and the real world began.  All I knew was that I couldn’t breathe, and I was suffocating.

A couple of weeks ago was the one-year anniversary of the date I found out that my heart is defective, and to celebrate I went in for another echo-cardiogram. Yesterday the cardiologist called to talk about the results. It wasn’t what I was hoping to hear.

I’ve been a pretty healthy guy for most of my life. Perhaps I didn’t deserve to be; I was a smoker for many years, and a drinker for even longer. But I’ve never had any significant health problems, and I stay pretty active. My parts are all original.