From my hospital bed, I watched the live news feed of the shuttle landing at the Kennedy Space Center.

The man reporting on the ordeal said that something had happened to one of the astronauts.

He wasn't able to give specifics.

At the time, I didn't realize that the very same hospital I was at would be the one they brought the unconscious astronaut to.

I watched as people in hazmat suits rushed up to the shuttle, instruments in their hands as they moved inside.

After a few minutes, the people in hazmat suits came out and waved in the paramedics who were standing by.

The paramedics were inside for several more minutes before they brought a man out on a stretcher.

The reporter said his name was Tim McVane and that he was a mission specialist.

The paramedics didn't seem to be in a huge rush, so I figured they had him stabilized.

As the news channel went to a commercial, I looked out my window at the afternoon sky.

I suddenly felt tired.

More tired than I had felt immediately after the emergency appendectomy I'd undergone just hours earlier.

I let my eyelids shut as the television dromed on from the wall.

It was the sound of hushed but forceful voices that brought me out of my afternoon nap.

The television was off now.

A nurse had probably come in and shut it off when it was clear I was sleeping.

My door was open and I looked out into the hall, seeing two female doctors and a male nurse gathered there.

We're running a full panel along with every other test we can think of.

The younger of the two doctors said,

His vitals are fine but he just won't wake up. I don't understand it.

The eyes of the entire nation are on the hospital now.

The older female doctor said, figure it out and quick.

...