He lifted her left arm and peered closely at it. There were little punctures, betraying previous use of the needle.
Perspiration stood out on his forehead. If only he knew a little more about this. If only he had some idea of what he was supposed to do.
Awkwardly he shoved the needle into a vein, depressed the plunger. It was done and he stepped back.
Nothing happened. He waited.
Minutes passed and she took a shallow breath. He watched in fascination, saw her come to life again… saw the breath deepen, the eyelids flicker, the right hand twitch.
Then she was looking at him out of deep blue eyes.
"You are all right?" he asked.
It was, he knew, a rather foolish question.
Her speech was broken. Her tongue and lips refused to work the way they should, but he understood what she tried to say.
"Yes, I'm all right." She lay quietly on the table. "What year is this?”