(11) First Drawing   For weeks  after the heart attack, I was afraid to go to sleep at night, thinking that I might not wake up in the morning. As long as I stayed awake, I figured I could watch to see whether my heart was going to be attacked. Shortly after returning to Fairbanks, my wife and I bought a home defibrillator that I put next to the bed. Because of scarring in my heart, I am now at risk for sudden cardiac arrest, where the electrical impulses that run the heart suddenly lose their rhythm and go haywire. (This is different from a heart attack, which is typically caused by blocked arteries. A heart attack resembles a plumbing problem; sudden cardiac arrest resembles an electrical malfunction.) I also bought one of those small hand-held blasting foghorns that are often used by boaters and by obnoxious fans at sporting events; if ventricular fibrillation struck, I figured I would have about six seconds to press the button before lapsing into unconsciousness. I made sure that I had nitroglycerin tablets and aspirin next to the bed, and in my wallet, and in the glove compartment of the car, and at the computer workstation. Although family and friends provided strong and much needed support in response to the immediate crisis, their calls and expressions of concern dropped off within about three weeks after the attack. This was a familiar experience: much the same pattern had occurred after my previous hospitalizations. I seemed  to be better: I could walk, I could talk, and I could make jokes. For me, however, the crisis was still at an extreme and very unsettling level. Didn’t they understand how much I needed their continuing support? I seemed to be functioning at the emotional level of a two or three year old. I felt extremely vulnerable, constantly aware that I was in a world that could smack me at any moment. I was anxious all the time if someone wasn’t nearby. I could cry at the slightest change in circumstances. I couldn’t put into words what was bothering me. It somehow occurred to me that it might help to draw – or at least try to draw – images of the experiences I was going through. I had no previous training in drawing or painting, but I had seen advertisements for computer-assisted drawing programs that were available on the Internet. Using one such program, I began to draw whatever came into my mind   February 23, 2007