It is 3 in the morning. The room is dark except for a sliver of light leaking in through the partially closed door. Other than the bustle of the floor nurses leaking in through the door, it is quiet in the hospital room.

Paul had his ninetieth birthday a month ago. Four months earlier he was a vibrant old man. He walked about two miles a day with a friend. An extrovert, Paul talked to everyone that he met as he wandered. He woke up one morning complaning that his right leg was not working. It hurt when he tried straightening it, and it would not move as well as it had. Shortly after waking Paul showed the classic signs of a stroke: one side of his face went slack, he could not talk and he was slurring his words, and he was very confused. We rushed him to the hospital.

A week later he went into a rehab facility. A month and a half later he finally came home. No longer could he wander about visiting his friends. He could barely maneuver with a walker. With three hours a day of physical therapy, Paul slowly regained some of what he lost, but he was wore out from the exertion.