Years passed at the Children’s Hospital in Elizabethtown, and Lloyd wouldn’t remember his transfer to Harrisburg General when, after running 106-degree fevers for five straight days, he dipped into a deep sleep. He later woke, alone, face up in another hospital bed in an isolation room with IVs in both arms. Doctors were pumping him full of antibiotics—Keflex. Lying flat on his back, his vision was clouded by sweat so bad he had to turn his head to pour it off. It was nighttime when the surgeon came in and turned on all the lights. “Wake up, Lloydie. I got good news! I’m pretty sure I found the culprit.” Lloyd turned his head and groaned. “Great. Come back in the morning and let me know.” The surgeon casually sat on Lloyd’s bed. “This can’t wait till morning. It’s the rods in your back. They have to come out.” “Okay, wake me in the morning.” The surgeon moved closer and grabbed Lloyd’s arm. “You know how this works. The rods are loaded with staph and if I don’t pull them, they will kill you. You’re dying, for God’s sake!”