Wake up and preparation are but a faint memory of that day when “cardioversion” was scheduled. We were at the hospital outpatient center by 7:30 a.m., and taken swiftly into the procedure room after signing all the required forms. Among my companions were uncertainty, an attempt at emotional distance, a bit of fear and anxiety, but each was packed as neatly as I could muster within my pocket of faith and trust. The prep nurse was a delightful young lady with two small children who had moved to the area to be near her father and stepmother. Her husband was so grieving their previous home in Panama City that they were in the process of finalizing their move back to Florida. She facilitated my comfort as best she could while securing an EKG and the necessary hookup to the heart monitor showing pulse and blood pressure. Inserting the needle for the IV was a bit more challenging as the first site started to swell immediately. An apt apology and a resignation that this was a part of the day’s journey created the space for a successful second attempt. While the nurse was securing the final diagnosis of atrial flutter, the CRNA arrived and introduced himself before securing answers to questions already rendered upon check in. I posed the question as to his residential background and learned that he had grown up in the area, had graduated from a well known college in the State and was married to a pharmacist at the hospital who was also from the local area. They have one son in his freshman year in college not far away, and they have a farm on which they raise goats with intentions of acquiring beef cattle. He shared with me that they were looking to buy some more land, perhaps in the county in which we live in North Carolina. I gave him a couple of locations that I know have been for sale just before the Cardiologist arrived. The Cardiologist and I commiserated on the excellent talent of the young folks in the recent performance of Godspell, the musical we both attended the previous weekend. As he placed the “electrode” pads on my chest and back he reflected how good the comedy performances were at the same theater. The anesthesiologist suddenly arrived and introduced himself as the nurse anesthetist informed me that the “propophol” was being administered. I jokingly said “I guess it’s time to say good night.” At first I only experienced an odd taste, and then the heavy weight of sleep descended upon me. In what seemed like only seconds, I was slowly waking to an empty room except for the young nurse who was telling me that the procedure had not accomplished its intended end. The Cardiologist had four times stopped my heart to then “shock” it back to what was hoped to be a normal rhythm. All four times my heart returned to its previous fluttering state. My blood pressure was exceptionally low and as soon as it began its ascent to a reasonable state of normal, I would be allowed to leave. My left shoulder felt as if it had been hit by a semi. Where the pad was located on my chest, about the size of one’s hand, the skin was tender and raw. I felt completely exhausted as I put on my clothes and was led to the waiting car so lovingly driven by Ray. The Pensacola bound nurse handed me the “after procedure” instructions along with an appointment date for the follow-up visit to the Cardiologist. Exhausted and thankful for being alive we sped away from the hospital to arrive at home for an afternoon of recuperation. Tucking the question of “what next” in the bag of gratitude, this Parkinson’s palpating patient laid down for a long afternoon nap!