When my secretary came, she looked surprised and asked me what was wrong. I told her that I had appendicitis. I said to tell anyone who rang that I was in Comodoro Rivadavia, and I would be back next week. I asked her to call in every day, in case there were messages or important letters. I gave her a list of newspapers, magazines, and books I wanted. She wrote everything down. I told her not to come in on Friday.

Every two hours, even in the night, my temperature was taken and my chart was written up and the tubes were checked. Doctors came and went; further blood samples were taken. Sometimes, doctors and nurses spoke about me as though I were not there. I slept and woke and dozed and slept again. I listened to the radio. I felt weak and breathless. I hated the bedpan, trying to shit while lying on my back and calling for the nurse when I had finished. I hated injections, the thin needle coming toward me. But mostly, I thought about my blood being tested. I did not know what the testing system looked like, or why it took so long, or what process they used. I thought about my blood lying there in some laboratory in the night, slowly sending out its messages and signals. I concentrated on it, I willed it to be okay. I thought that if it was positive I would try to kill myself, and then I thought that I should ring Pablo and ask him to help me, but I did not think I could do that, and I did not think that I would kill myself. I was reassured by the fact that I had not become thin. There was nothing wrong with my stomach. I was not sweating too much. The fever came from the pneumonia. And anyone could get pneumonia, just as anyone in this hospital could be HIV positive.

I waited all day Thursday, watching the window for Doctor Cawley in case the results came early. I went through the post which Luisa brought me, and tried to read the newspapers, but I was too tired. Two nurses came with soap and hot water to wash me. They dealt with my body as though it were a piece of furniture, as though touching it was of no interest to them. I lay there trying not to be embarrassed.

I woke on Friday thinking that this would be the most important day of my life. If the result was negative, I promised myself that things would change. I would live a better life; I would work out what I must do. Around lunchtime I dozed for a while and when I woke I could not remember what was wrong, and then I realized that I was waiting for the result, someone was going to come and tell me whether I would live or die. I became desperately afraid and anxious, and watched the corridor all the time for signs of the American doctor.