As real time progresses (for my time as of now feels endless), I can sense more and more the ache erupting from my chest. My fingers twitch, my eyelids flutter, and I see a needle and wiry thread and before I can attest, I descend from consciousness again.

There is a bright light shining in front of me, I assume that I still lie on the operating table. But then I feel the starch sheets and cotton bandages. I try to open my eyes, and fail several times before I can make out the whiteness of the hospital ‘mood’ lighting. Sleep has glued my eyes together, I rub my face of the sleep and drool which has collected. I was unaware that I drooled.

I can feel hands on my body, a guise glowing angelically, buzzing about my bed, to careful to be a nurse, and as well, too caring to be.

“Adam?” Her voice is ethereal, whoever she is. “Adam, can you hear me?” I nod my head, and moan as a thousand pins of pain prod at my wits. Who was this woman?

“The surgery was a success! Your father would have been there if he could , but you know him, busy, busy, busy!” I finally manage to focus on this ecstatic creature, and recognize her as my fathers’ secretary; Avelia.