An alarm? An instrument malfunctioning? Darkness swallowed my mind and confusion consumed my thoughts. Something was pumping moist sand into my lungs. I popped to the surface like a buoy from the bottom of the dark ocean, cold sweat on my forehead. Only the ringing remained.
It's the phone. I'm in bed. The clock on the radio showed that it was ten after four in the morning. I took a moment to recalibrate my systems before answering the phone. A call that early in the morning could have only meant one thing, so it was worth the extra ring to make sure my head was screwed on right. I took a deep breath before reaching over. Despite my best effort, I still somehow managed to knock over the glass of water on my bedside table as I groped for the receiver.
"Hello?" I said, a hint of irritation spicing my voice.
"Dr. Zohar? Good morning!" It was the cheerful voice of Mike Silverstein, our fourth year resident. A part of me was refreshed by his early morning blast of happiness. The larger part of me figured it had no business anywhere near me at four a.m.
"Morning, Mike." I coughed to shake the grogginess out of my throat. I didn't make much of an effort to be polite about it, either. Why the hell so early again? This is the third stupid call tonight! I detached myself from my wife's warm body and took a deep breath.
"Sorry to wake you up," Mike continued, oblivious to my discomfort. "I have a nice case for you. Are you up? Can I continue?"
I stretched before answering, no doubt filling the phone with a loud primal sounding groan. "Go ahead."
I listened with my eyes closed, my left hand scratching my balls periodically. Years of practice had taught me to produce a mental image of the case under discussion through the voice on the other side. Yes, a case—not a patient yet. He'd only be a patient once we'd had our personal encounter.
"Fifty-five-year-old male. Smoker, drinker. Myocardial infarction two years ago, no congestive failure, no medication—oops, he's on aspirin..."
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