He woke up.

He couldn't tell if it was morning or not. The room was bright. The little he could see of the outside hallway - through the glass panel in the door - was bright. But there was no outside window. There was no clock he could see. He was awake, but what time it was - what day it was - he couldn't tell.

He would have to wait for someone to come in.

He looked around. He could move. He'd even been out of the bed the previous night(?) but he was comfortable just lying here. White walls. Machines with blinking lights. Soft hums and beeps. He settled on watching the window in the door. It was almost like TV. People walking by. Singly, in pairs, in groups. Not all at once, but often enough to keep his interest. Occasionally, someone would glance in.

After a while - how long? who knew - someone walking by glanced in and reacted. A nurse, he thought. She stopped and stared. Then opened the door a little. She smiled. He smiled back.

"You look great, Mr. Hughes. They told me the procedure went well, but I can really see the results. Congratulations." He nodded, still smiling. She left.

Two nurses came in. He found out that it was 6:00 AM, Wednesday, the 26th. Now he felt better. He knew when he was. They checked his vitals, made note of the machine readouts, and said they'd bring him some beakfast. They said , "You look great. You've got some color back." He looked at his hands but didn't see any difference.

(It happened a lot throughout the day. People stopping, staring, smiling. "You look great." People he didn't know. Even some people visiting other people. They'd seen him before, and reacted to his "after". Pretty cool, he thought. He wanted to ask why they said that, but he was embarassed. He also got a lot of  "You have a lot to be thankful for."s, since tomorrow was Thanksgiving.)

They had him back in the chair for breakfast - scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice, decaf coffee. It was good.
They gave him meds on and off, and told him they'd start teaching him what he'd be taking for the rest of his life. He joked, "No problem. At least I have a rest of my life."

They came back and said they were happy with his progress, and that he didn't need to stay in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit anymore. They were going to move him back to his room on the Cardiac Floor. They sat him up in a wheel chair, and disconnected some more tubes and wires. There was a slight problem when they removed a line and blood shot out in a stream, but the nurse acted quickly and he didn't panic. He said, "That was kinda cool!"

They took him back to a room he recognized - his room - where he'd spent a couple of weeks prior to the "procedure". His stuff was here. His books, his clothes, his watch and phone, his pictures of his daughter (the nurses said pictures would make his stay in the hospital easier). He was "home".

His "regular" nurses came by as their shifts allowed. Again with the "You look great."s. He didn't mind. He liked these people. They got him settled in, and hooked up to a different set of machines. He still had 3 tubes in his chest, for drainage they said. It would take a few days before they could take them out and the dressing around them needed to be checked constantly.They said someone would be by to arrange for some physical therapy work. He was fine with that, just not today. Today he was a little tired.

His family came back. They had been coming every day since he'd been admitted in late October. This part of his family - his immediate family - consisted of his ex-wife and their daughter who was almost 25 now. Once or twice his ex-mother-in-law came, and a couple of times his sister and older brother came out from New York, but every day he could count on his ex-wife and daughter - his family. They talked, sometimes they ate together, they watched his TV with him. Family.

They left at 9:00 PM when visiting hours ended. He knew they'd be back the next day.

He tried to read but had no interest. At a little after 10:00 he put on the TV to watch the news. He hadn't seen the news in a few days. He liked to know what was going on. They were covering a funeral service for some reverend in Newark who'd apparently been killed a few days previously.
"Getting shot in the head doesn't hurt as much as you'd think."
"What?..Who?..Who said that?" He looked around but the only light was right behind him and where the TV was. The rest of the room was dark.
"It's just me, Mr. Hughes. Jesse..remember. From last night?" A figure moved out from the shadows to his right by the door. "Hope I didn't startle you."
"Jesse? From last night?" He looked at the figure, dressed in hospital scrubs, white coat, and surgical cap. "Right. Right. I remember. You were in the room."
"That's right. I stopped by to check on you then. That's what I'm doing now."
"You were saying something about being shot in the head?"
"The reverend. The one on TV. The one the funeral was for. He was shot in the head."
"Really? And it doesn't hurt? How do you know?"
"I know. Once you're brain dead, you can't feel anything so being shot in the head is painless."

Just then, the night nurse came in to take his vitals and give him his pills. Jesse faded into the shadows in the room.
"Here you go, Mr. Hughes. You're evening meds. I see you have the TV on. Watching the news?"
he tried to look around her, but couldn't. He said the name, "Jesse?"
"Who, Mr. Hughes? Oh, you been watching the funeral, I guess. Big news in Newark for sure. The Reverend Jesse getting shot like that. Too bad. I seen him preach last year. He was good. Made sense. A real shame. Nice send off, though." Efficiently, she finished her readings, noting everything on her clipboard.
He couldn't say anything. He had questions. Words swirled around in his mind, but he couldn't put them together. Jesse? Reverend Jesse? Who?
"Do you want the TV on, or can I turn it off for you?"
"Off? Yes. Turn it off. Please."

She did, and she left. He lay there in the dark. Had he imagined Jesse? Had he watched the news segment, then dozed a little and dreamed him up? But he saw him last night, didn't he?
"Don't try to figure it out, Tim. It's complicated." Jesse was there, just beside the door. He came closer. "And, No, you're not dreaming."
"But how? I mean, the nurse didn't seem to see you, did she?"
"No. She didn't. But you do, and there's a reason for that, but this isn't the time. You need to be stronger."
"I don't understand. You said you were Jesse. Are you related to that Reverend? Is that what this is about?"
"Sort of. If I tell you, you won't believe me. There's always someone who doubts." He came closer, and took off the surgical cap. Turning his head, he showed Tim the gaping hole where the bullet tore through. "And it really didn't hurt. Trust me."
"Who are you? How is this possible?"
"Soon, Tim. A couple of weeks. You need to get stronger first. Trust me, I will explain this. Now, get some sleep. Oh, and Happy Thansgiving."
He faded back into the shadows.

Tim Hughes lay back - his mind filled with questions - and slept.

Nothing....Nothing....Then....
Sense..A Sense..A Sense of Nothing.
Consciousness. . Conscious of Nothing..Aware of the Nothing..
Dark. The Nothing is Dark..A Thought..
He Thought the Nothing was Dark.
He Was.. He Was Again.. He Was in the Dark.

"Eyes", He Thought. "I have Eyes. I Feel my Eyes. My Eyes are closed. If I open my Eyes, maybe it won't be Dark."

He concentrated on his eyes. He wanted to open them. It was all he wanted. It took Time... It took All Time... Then..

.BRIGHT LIGHTS!!!
SHUT THEM!!! SHUT THEM!!
Too late..

Someone saw..
Sounds..Noises.. Voices... All came rushing in.


"He's coming round." "He's waking up." "He's.. he's back with us." "Mr. Hughes? Can you hear me? Mr. Hughes?"

He was back.
And the nurses around him were busy moving machines and taking out tubes.
"Nod your head if you can understand me, OK Mr. Hughes?"
He nodded.
"Good. Good. Don't try to talk. We're gonna have to take out the breathing tube first."
They drifted in and out of his field of vision. Always smiling. Competent. Efficient. Capable.
He tried to think. To remember. All he could find was that early in the morning (Today's? Yesterday's?) they came in and said they had a donor. The rest was a blur of activity until he was taken to the prep room, then...Nothing.

Until now. Now they were taking the breathing tube out. He was breathing on his own. The nurses like that. He liked that the nurses liked that.

They took him to a room. They were still doing things to him. He saw his family. They were crying, but happy. He liked that they were happy. But..

He needed to think. To remember. To know why he was here.

Here was obviously a hospital. He guessed that he'd had an operation. But what?
"We're gonna leave you alone for a while now, Mr. Hughes, but you're in the CIC and the duty nurses will monitor you from the desk and can check on you through the door window. Get some rest."
They all left. He was alone. He liked that he was alone.

He closed his eyes. It came to him slowly........

His heart. His heart was giving out on him. It had come on quickly. Diagnosed in July, he had been admitted to the hospital in late October and put on the transplant list on November 18th.
November! It was November. And today was Monday.. or Tuesday? The 24th or 25th.
They'd had a donor in the morning so that must mean that he'd had the transplant. He had a new heart. He felt himself smile. He liked that he smiled..that he had a new heart..that he remembered. That he was HE, again.

He rested. The nurses came back. They got him out of the bed and into a chair. They gave him food - some kind of broth, decaf coffee. It was good.

His family came back. They talked a little. Mostly they just sat and nodded and smiled. He did, too. It made him happy.

Everyone left. He slept. Then the phone rang.

The phone was on the wall to the right of the bed. It was pretty insistent, for a phone.
It was a struggle, but he reached it. His daughter had called the desk to check on him, and they put her through. He liked that she'd called and he could talk to her, even if it was a struggle to hang up the phone after.

"Pretty impressive."
Someone spoke. From near the foot of the bed.
"Who..who's there?" He could just make out a figure there - a man dressed in scrubs, with a white jacket and one of those surgical caps.
"Sorry if I startled you, Mr. Hughes. It's just me...Jesse. Just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Jesse? I don't remember any Jesse. Were you on the surgical team? I didn't get to meet them, I think."
"No. Not part of the regular team, but I was there. And I'm impressed by how you got on the phone. Looks like you're doing pretty good."
"Thanks...Still tired....A little confused. Maybe you could help fill in some of the details."
"Not right now, Mr. Hughes. You need you rest. Just get some sleep. I'll be back before you leave."

Tim Hughes shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep.