Morning greeting me in the same frightful way as before, only today I found the compassionate man I had become aware of on the previous day seated next to me. I was too ill to hold a conversation with anyone, but he remained perpetually cheerful as he conversed with other patients around us. He told of events which had happened to him during his incarceration in German and Russian prisoner of war camps during World War II. This attracted my attention and finally, one day, he addressed me personally by saying, "Did I ever tell you about the time...?" I became engrossed in the things he told me about his life, and we became inseparable friends. I learned that his name was Max Beaton, that he was fifty years old and that he was offered a transplant, which he refused. I learned that his doctors had given him six months to two years to live after the last attack on September 1, 1973. This attack left him with only one tenth of the heart muscle left. He was released from the Vancouver, BC hospital in November of 1973, when the doctors told him there was nothing more they could do for him. They warned him against attempting anything more strenuous than the walk from the bedroom to sit in a living room chair. This is where he was to sit out the remainder of his life. It is my desire to tell his story exactly as he told it to me, that in so doing, his dream may be realized, through me. It is to the memory of Max that I dedicate this book. The fulfillment of his dream.