So she's not out of danger yet. Laura mostly slept, but two times she tried to rouse. Once, when she heard Anton talking, and once when I kissed her hand.

I'll return later this afternoon to the hospital. Anton's now knocked out by the heavy medicines needed to relieve his terrible burns, and is sleeping.

Whatever happens, I'll keep you informed. I can't do otherwise. I am the recorder. It's what I do.

I played a bit of Everquest and read e-mail while Anton slept. About 1:30pm, I could wait no more, and went over to the hospital. I sat with Laura over an hour, growing more anxious by the minute. No, the cardiologist had left no word.

The nurse assured me she'd call as soon as she knew anything, and I headed out the double doors towards home. I was surprised to find a most welcome sight on the other side. Our friend Kat came to visit Laura. We went back in so she could see Laura.

We visited with Laura's sleeping presence briefly, and then found a quiet area of the hospital in which to sit and talk. We talked a good long while, until I felt human again. It was a lovely gift.

Soon, it was nearing time to pick up Julia, and Kat needed to fix food for her parents, whom she tends. Food! I needed to think of such, as well. If it were not for the pancakes Dinah brought us earlier, I wouldn't have eaten all day. I needed to make Anton something, if he was awake, as well.

I nuked some beef and cheese burritos for us, before rushing off to get Julia. After returning with Julia, I gave them both time, before going to the hospital again. Fortunate, it was, that, because at 6:00 o'clock, the phone rang. It was the cardiologist, at last. He felt Laura definitely needed the defibralator, for without it, her irregular heartbeats would soon cause her to have another heart attack, this one surely fatal.

So THAT decision was easy. However, Tucson wasn't possible. Laura's old cardiologist there doesn't do this type of operation. Okay, Phoenix, it was. No long after, the nurse called, ''Get a bag ready with things you'll need for three to five days, the helicopter will leave in one to two hours!''

This gave me about two minutes before my work place closed down. One of the counter girls gave me the home number of the manager, and I was able to tell her what was going on. I figured I should be able to return to work by the following Monday.

Then began the mad dash for supplies: clothes, vitamins, notepads, crossword puzzle books, and so forth. I also included a pull-over dress for Laura and slippers for when she will be released.

Julia took me the short way to the hospital, and carried my heavy suitcase. Anton stayed behind, as he was expecting Cynthia anytime to pick him up.

When we reached Laura's room, a smiling Sally greeted us, and we had a nice visit before our other friends showed. They were having a healing circle after Laura and I left. I could feel their strengthening energy, as the night wore on.

The paramedics showed up, and they very carefully transferred all of Laura's tubes from the hospital's machines to smaller, portable machines. They save the oxygen hook up for last, to preserve the amount in the tank. I noticed the smaller respirator was quite noisy. I worried for a moment that it was not equal to the big box, but demissed the irrational thought.

We were loaded onto an ambulance, and I was puzzled. ''I thought it would be by helicopter? You're going to drive us to Phoenix? I asked and was assured the van ride was only to the airport.

The helicopter awaited us, and I was ushered into the small plane first. My seat was directly to the right of the captain's seat. Oh, the array of fascinating dials and levers before me. ''Don't touch anything,'' the captain warned. However, there was one control I could touch, that of the air nozzle.

I spent quite a while looking at those controls, 'lift', 'altitude', 'longitude' . . . There were at least a dozen circular dials before me. I told the pilot of how my Mother would love this flight, ''She's got a special scanner so she can hear the arrivals and departures from O'Hare airport. She knows every type of plane and the safety statistics on each of them . . .''

He asked if I had a similar love of flying. I explained I'd only flown once before, on an 'air bus', which, indeed, except for the unusual view out the window, and lack of frequent jerky stops and starts, felt the same as any ground-bound bus.

''This, I expect, will not feel like a bus-ride,'' I declared, really quite excited. I'm not quite like my Mother, but when that 'bird' began its ascent, it was thrilling. Up high, above the ground below, yes, THRILLING. When the view outside grew dark, I returned to examining the plane's interior.

After a while, the pilot said of the large growing light area in the distance, ''That's Phoenix, Chandler is to the left, and the small nearer path of light is Gila Bend.

The light area grew to a massive swarm of lights, a fascinating mosaic of sparklies. As we slowly descended, I could see the tiny little cars on the little roads below, and the building tops. It reminded me of a scene from an old computer game we used to play called Sim City. I watched it all, in complete fascination.

Then we hovered over a large area that was not covered with little lights. This was our landing area, and we began descent with more directness. Finally, we were grounded, and the man in front of us waved his directing cones, crossing them in front of his chest when it was time to fully brake.

I was almost disappointed it was over, ''Laura, you've missed one hell of a ride by sleeping through it,'' I addressed the quiet supine form behind me. I felt happy, looking forward to the time Laura would be up and around, with her little heart helper inside her. ''She won't get dizzy and anxious, as she senses her heart doing odd things anymore,'' I smiled to myself, feeling grateful Laura would have another chance.

Then, we were ushered onto another ambulance. The driver asked about the flight. ''Very smooth,'' I replied. The pilot, however, had assured me, had there been storms, it wouldn't have been so smooth.

We arrived at ''Good Sam's'', and I followed the troop of paramedics up an elevator to the eleventh story. They showed me the waiting room, and said it would be a while before they transferred Laura to their own machines.

I settled in to eat some pretzels and drank some water. It was a DOLLAR for a bottle of water, compared to 50 cents for a can of iced tea in Yuma! Too tired for a journal entry, I none the less tried, for my thoughts raced, but gave it up.

I laughed at Leno's jokes, coming out of the TV ahead and above me. Then I drowsed through the news, and woke to find a couple of pillows by my side. I found myself getting sleepier and sleepier.

I saw Laura briefly, but was too tired to do anything but kiss her hand and stumble back to the waiting room. No one else was there, and I was too weary for false dignity. The waiting room was only equipped with chairs, and no sofas. I had asked the nurse about a door labeled 'SLEEP ROOM', but she said it was for a physician who needed sleep. Okay, I could do the floor!

Waking with a full bladder, I found two flannel sheets besides me, and curled up in them, after the bathroom visit. When I awoke the second time, it was 6:00am, and went it to sit with Laura awhile. I was concerned that she was cold, as she only was covered with a thin cotton sheet. But they said she was running a slight fever. Her hand felt warm, however, so I didn't worry.

I was then shoved out during the shift change, and took advantage of that time to eat. Very restorative, the scrambled eggs, sliced ham, hash browns and fruit were. I also got orange juice and iced blackberry jasmine tea. The tea is for sipping while writing.

It's about 8:30am now, and a sleeping Laura awaits . . .

There are no poems in me, however. A gentle faced older man, still with black hair, prehaps artifically so, came in and listened to Laura's lungs. I could tell he has the heart of compassion, as he smiles. ''Blessings on him,'' I thought, as he wandered out, determining what the next course of action must be. Still, there is no cardiologist.

We wait, and wait. This is the waiting game. I must have news before I call anyone. We wait.

I set my pen and paper down, and looked out the large oval window beside me, taking in the view of the wide and tall Phoenix city landscape. The immensity of the big city overwhelmed me. I was glad not to be in the streets below, and returned to looking at the back of Laura's head, and waiting.

She is peaceful as she sleeps. I will be peaceful as I wait. There are some large hands guiding this. I will wait.

This isn't happy news, at all. I wait, feeling rather scared. Laura's told me of the final prospects of her conditions, ''Either pneumonia or an heart attack,'' she had grimly revealed, after a thorough web search. They will lessen her sedative to see how aware she is.''Breathe, Joan, breathe,'' I remind myself.

Also, I may go over to his house to sleep tonight. It would be better than a hard waiting room floor! And I could use email and leave messages with our friends, as well. I can't stand for people not to know what's going on.

The hospital room has a TV. It's been set to TNT. I haven't bothered to change the channel, though the low voices are oddly comforting, as were those of the TV last night. We'll just take one day at a time . . .

They can't get a pulse on her right finger. The machine beeps to alert the nurse of this. It's cold in this room. Laura's feet were cold, so I asked if I could put Laura's slippers on her. They brought some easy to slip on socks, instead. She still trembled with cold, so I gave her the flannel sheet I'd had wrapped around myself.

Even the nurse admits it's freezing. Another flannel sheet was brought to me, and I wrap it around myself, having already layered myself in two shirts.

A lady called, asking info, ''What is Laura's religious preference?'' ''Agnostic,'' I answered. Addresses were given and I returned to my chair.

I am in waiting mode. I must surrender myself to whatever fate has in store for us. I hope and pray. I can't make demands, though. I know that. I am grateful for what I have been given. I take a deep breath, and another. I wait.

But no doctors have been by since one doctor explained the importance of getting rid of Laura's infection. They can't do the operation, as that would only result in more infection, once a foreign object was inserted. So hopefully, the antibiotics will do some good soon.

I'd hoped her fever was going down, but now her forehead has broken out in a cold sweat. Laura was always especially concerned, should she develop a cold sweat. The infection could be bad.

While I was in the waiting room, sent there while Laura's bed was being changed, the phone rang. It was for me. Our friend Richard had taken an ardous effort to find Laura, and had called at every hospital in Tucson, looking for her. Based on the last journal entry he'd seen, that's all he had to go on. He then tried a few hospitals in Phoenix, but there are so many in such a large city. Finally, someone at the Yuma hospital admitted her location.

I was so glad to hear from him. he will let everyone he has an email address for know what's going on. I feel so frustrated not to have such contact, and understanding the popularity of those hand-held devices that can connect to the web.

Meanwhile, Laura's forehead, though not as drippy, still feels clammy. ''102F temperature,'' the nurse revealed, once I expressed my concern over the clammy forehead.

I finaly got around to figuring out the TV. The controller is a small hand held device, with a tiny speaker in it. Only three buttons are on it, one to control volume, one to change channel, and one to call the nurse. But I didn't know that's what the large red button was for, as I pushed it a couple of times, trying to change the channel without results. However, a nurse's aide soon came running.

That respirator is REALLY noisy now! It's so hard to look at Laura, and not be able to communicate. I HATE feeling so helpless. I want to know what's going on with her. Is she fighting? Is she aware enough to fight?

What's going on? External stimuli, fever up, fever down, that's all we have to go on. ''Laura, I miss you! Come back from whereever you are!''

However, there is no answer but the raspy and irregular sounds of oxygen being pumped.

I saw a doctor standing near our room, and went out to ask him, ''What's going on? How long is she going to be in this state?''. The infection seems at best at a stand still. They reduce the amount of work the breathing machine does a little bit, and just that much exertion wears Laura out. It is at these times she sweats worse.

My poor, damaged baby! They can't tell me based on what we know know, what the prognosis is. It's just such a battle for Laura, and I fear she will not win it. The doctor admitted this is a very rational worry.

So I have to try to be patient. It's not easy, though.

He said her heart is operating at 10% capacity. Most people's hearts operate at 50 - 60% capacity. When they have an infection, their circulatory and other systems are able to rev themselves up to fight it. Laura has no such ability, thus the infection is not going away easily.

I cried, as I revealed what I know Laura would want. If she were to have another heart attack, she'd want to be released from her struggles. I know this. I feel better, releasing her thusly. I feel a peace, somehow.

I told her, ''Stay if you want, you know we want you to stay, but if you want to go, I understand that, too.''

I cried. But I know it's what I must do. And there is a peace. A sad peace, but a piece, none the less.

Julia's message:

Joan confirmed to me just now that at about 6:20 p.m., Laura let go of this world's fleeting joys and sorrows. She held out just long enough for her brother to arrive; her breathing went shallow and the nurses were unable to get her breathing again.

Now I know well Laura's thoughts on life and death, having often conversed with her. She felt strongly that it is the brevity of life that imparts preciousness to it. Quite consistent with that view, Laura lived far more intensely in her sixty-three years than anyone I've even known or will be likely to know. She's been at death's door three times before. The first time was through nephrosis of the kidneys in early teen years. The last three times have been heart- related and she did outlive the doctor's expectations by a full dozen years.

I'm glad that so many of you did get to know her at least briefly. What's certain is that Joan and I will remember her each day as the fearless matriarch of our triad ... the rarest of individuals who combined in equal measures outstanding strength, brilliance, and tenderness.

Joan's message:

I tried to tell you all when Laura at a fragile state what was going on, but apparently I ended up sending it to Fuguee (Lisa) only.

What happened is her heart got badly damaged the day of the bike ride. Fluid collected in her lungs, as it was wont to do anyhow because of her earlier illnesses, but worse now because of her greatly decreased heart function. An infection set in, and the antibiotic could not affect it any. Our poor brave warrior had extreme cold sweats, and I knew she was suffering.

The doctor explained it thusly: Laura's heart capacity was now only 10 percent. Most people's heart capacity is 50 - 60 percent, and when they have an infection, the circulatory system and other systems are able to rev themselves up to high gear to fight it. Laura had no such capacity. Therefore the infection remained at stasis.

The doctor then asked me what Laura's wishes would have been, should she have another heart attack. I knew she wouldn't have wanted resuscitated again, for we'd spoken of such things before. So, while sobbing, I told him, no more intervention.

I then told Laura, ''It's up to you. If you want to stay, you know we'd love to have you here. But if you want to go, I understand. WHATEVER happens, you'll ALWAYS be our brave warrior!''.

I think she heard me. She held out until Greg, her brother, arrived to pick me up. He could see her breathing suddenly grow shallow. The respirator kept warning 'apnea' on it, and a man came in with a balloon device. Apparently a wire had gone defective, and needed changing. They ushered us out while they did this.

While I was out in the hall with Greg, I told him, ''I have a feeling it won't be long now''.

By the way the nurse somberly ushered us back in with a wave of her hand, I knew what had transpired.

On July 31, 2002, at 6:25, Laura's spirit left her body.

One thing I can be grateful for is the way things worked out. If that fireman hadn't found her, and she died near her bike, we would always wonder if her life could have been saved. This way, we know the heart attack did too much damage. Also, all the family members got to say goodbye, and I got to work through my grief gradually, as I could sense her spirit telling me ''Let me go'', when things weren't going right.

So today is a day of contacting funeral homes. As I've chosen to do the organ donor thing, it must be one here in Maricopa county, for there is a shipping charge otherwise. This is of no matter, for we weren't going to have the funeral parlor people do any rememberances anyway.

Thanks again for all your love, prayers and concern.