For ****'s sake, Carol. My heart just stopped for a little. I’m not dead yet.
“Oh, Frank...”
*Don’t ‘Oh, Frank’ me. I’m perfectly fine, see? Just help me get my boots on.

Being in the hospital is a lot like being in prison, but with more fluorescent lights and the constant smell of death and tongue depressors. I want to go home, but I can’t seem to move my legs. Or my arms. Or anything. I want to scream at the ******* who keeps messing with my IV, but I can’t find my words. I think she’s starting to get the hint thanks to the speedy and steady beeping of my heart monitor and my amazingly high blood pressure. I have to go. Now.
They say I may never make it out of here. To hell with them. There’s nothing I want more than to sit in my recliner, open a cold one or five and watch the Big Blue beat Brady one last time. Heh, the look on his face when we ruined their perfect season. Still one of the greatest sights in my lifetime.
“Hello, Mrs. Rosecrans.”
Oh, Jesus Christ. Not this airhead again. Don’t you talk to my wife.
“Dr. Wasser, he looked at me today. He’s there. I see it. Are you sure?”
“Based on the CAT scans we’ve taken, the possibility of him waking up is very, very slim.”
“But he looked at me...”
“It was just a reflex. Look, if I pinch his skin, I’m not getting a reaction.”
What is the matter with you? Going around pinching people who can’t yell back... I wish I could give this guy a piece of my mind right about now.
“Okay. So, what can we do?”
Her voice is shaking. I want to tell her that there’s nothing to worry about.
“At this point, we would need you to start coming to a decision.”
The room goes silent, and I can hear my barely beating heart sink.
I don’t want to die here.