And the ambulance doesn't need a siren.

As my dying body lay there on the linoleum, I felt my essence being pulled toward the ceiling, rising toward the warm and welcoming light. I could feel my father there, telling me not to worry, that everything was fine and I was coming to my real home. My eternal home. I filled with love and understanding and felt a deeper peace than I had ever known flowing through my soul.

Just then, the EMT swung through the room on a rope, ripped off his shirt, grabbed his crotch, and screamed, "PANAMA! PANAMA-AH-OH-OH-AH-AH! PANAMA!" Four and a half minutes of CPR later, my heart and lungs were once again working on their own, and I am still here to tell the tale.

The cold sores kinda suck, though.