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It is August, 2008. I stand in the shower, stupefied, immobilized for ten, maybe fifteen minutes under a mad stream of tepid water I cannot seem to pull myself away from. It has been two months since the procedure. The 10-inch vertical scar on my chest is healing beautifully; my doctor sees no reason to extend my cardiac rehab further. Soon I will be fit for normal life again. Soon there will be no manifest symptoms. As I stand in the shower I watch the water swirl down the drain, hoping large swaths of emotions for which I do not have words yet get washed away too, hoping  I will never have to deal with them again. It is a warm Sunday afternoon in August, and everything that does not get washed away is just starting to sink in.