Perhaps there were those who were lonely in the hospital, yet I seldom felt so myself. Having my parents throughout the majority of the day, augmented by patients that one would inevitably begin to recognize and the friendly staff of doctors and nurses, I lacked no conversation. The hospital was quite populous. At night though, when the bustle of the day had diminished and the corridors fell silent except for the rumbling of an occasional cart, and the muffled steps of the nurses performing their nightly rituals or answering a patient's light, I would often lay awake and think of my home far away or watch the people hurrying along the sidewalk below my window, disappearing into a car or stepping from beneath a street lamp into a pool of darkness. How I longed to be out there. . . to feel the breeze, cool on my face, and hear the faint scraping of my footsteps resounding on the cement sidewalk. . . All other desires were overshadowed by the wish to be free, to live as one was intended to live, unhampered by tubes and needles; once I was released I wanted never to return. Evening was often characterized by a slight melancholy, a stab of homesickness, perhaps; yet I knew that mourning for that which one does not have was a pointless, self-destructive endeavor, and I would focus my eyes on the present, resolutely determined to face each challenge as courageously as I possibly could. I welcomed each new dawn, thinking it to be the start of one less day in the hospital. I was used to the routine now, every aspect a natural part of this temporary form of reality. One day, for amusement, I decided to count the pinprick holes on my thigh, which attested to their receiving a ritualistic shot both morning and night; I came up with a total of 32 in one leg alone, equalling 16 days. It was no great wonder that my muscles were rather stiff and inflexible for this was quite separate from acupuncture, especially on the few occasions when the needle was a trifle dull. Every day one of the doctors would call on me, asking how I felt. "Fine" was always my automatic response; but for the tube in my nose and no breakfast tray to look forward to, I had no complaints. My incision was healing quite well, and with the new IV, I was relatively capable of anything, within reason, of course. I was becoming stronger, and oddly enough, gaining weight. This latter fact seemed to please the doctors and they would smile, saying my IV solution was like eating a steak dinner each evening. "No offense" . . . I said, "but I'd rather enjoy the traditional kind!"