SUNDAY NIGHT . HOTEL . LOMBARD ST
I'm staying in an older hotel whose rooms have windows that open out to the cool night air. I need no other luxury that this tonight.

I said goodnight to Colleen after we watched "60 Minutes" together. Oh, does she ever want to get out of the hospital and go home, even though physically she's feeling decidedly better. Today was simply one day too many; for me as well. Our mental readiness for tomorrow's procedure is a pale cousin to the readiness we arrived with last Wednesday. This is simply fatigue, however. We feel a confidence in the new pacemaker that wasn't quite there for the cardioversion. The stops and starts, the waiting and days of preparation, all the blood sticks and IVs, the potassium and magnesium drips that burn, the constant interruptions and random intercom noise that makes sustained quiet impossible, the sedentary hours spent day after day in a bed no longer crisp, the indignities of having to use a commode so your every output can be measured, the confinement, the stale air, the hospital room windows that can't open to the outside--all this, in spite of the kindest of nurses and hospital staff--all this, is simply wearing to the hardiest of spirits.

I'll keep you posted as tomorrow unfolds. Know that Colleen has not just one but two Hopkins teams at her back. Dr. Hiroshi Ashikaga is the cardio-electrophysiologist who will perform tomorrow's procedure. He's come to Colleen's room to speak with her more than once and other members of his team have stopped by as well. Colleen's pulmonologist Dr. Mathai, about whom you've heard much by now, is the primary architect of her care. Members of his team have come by every day to see her.

Postscript on Dr. Mathai: This is one tall, dark-haired, handsome dude. On Friday, he walked into Colleen's room wearing, under his white coat, the most amazing pair of bright green pants; I also noted he wore no socks.