I awakened alone after heart-valve surgery. Beyond the perforated white ceiling tiles, Seattle’s sky was gray; three chairs stood against my hospital wall, all vacant.
Turning my heavy head hurt. An IV ran into my arm, a clip gripped my finger, leads crossed my chest beneath the gown, and a nearby monitor showed a steady green rhythm.
“Hello?” I rasped through a painful throat. A nurse arrived about a minute later: roughly twenty-five, with pink scrubs, a dark ponytail, and a badge marked KAYLA, RN. She glanced between the medical