“Right here,” he said, pointing to the tear, “your heart suffered complete rupture of the interventricular septum. It caused mass internal bleeding.”

I felt a stab at his words.

“Was it fast?” I asked.

“It was very fast. No one could have saved you.”

He set down the ball, my heart, my cardiac carcass, and he waited.

“So I died,” I said.

“In the world where your body is a Muppet and your heart is a tennis ball, you died very suddenly. Maybe when a piano fell on you from an open window.”