“Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.”
Samuel Johnson, the famous British dictionary writer (or should I say, “noted lexicographer”) said that. Or maybe wrote it. In any case, I believe it to be a true statement.
This morning (as I write this) I was happily playing my banjo for a bunch of preschool children in Berkeley, at a little show arranged by Bread & Roses, the group that brings live music to prisons, hospitals, and institutions, including nursery schools. The children were enthusiastic in the extreme. We do a lot of activity songs and they were stomping and clapping and mooing and barking and having a great old time. ??The weather was perfect, the sky was blue with some pretty clouds, I was wearing my fanciest red cowboy duds. All was well.
A few hours later I was on the phone with my cardiologist. I would prefer not to have a cardiologist. As Dr. Johnson might have stated, had he known about modern medicine: When a man talks to his cardiologist it concentrates his mind wonderfully.
I have been having a shortness of breath problem lately. I ignored it for a long time but finally went to see my doctor. When I said the magic words: “can’t get my breath,” and especially “chest pain,” the red flags went up and suddenly I had a cardiologist.
And I had tests: Pulmonary function — no problem there, lots of lung capacity. Resting electrocardiogram, echocardiogram (like a sonogram a pregnant lady gets, but the picture is of your heart). That one showed that I have “diastolic dysfunction.” This is fairly common in older folk. The heart doesn’t relax completely between beats and you don’t get a full charge of incoming blood. Not great, but not very dangerous.
And finally, today, a nuclear stress test. They shot me up with some sort of radioactive stuff and put me in an imaging machine to get a look at how my heart was working. And the news from my new friend, the cardiologist, was not good.
So I look down a possible list of tests and repairs and my mind is concentrated, let me tell you.
When it comes to being a heart patient, I’d rather be a simple banjo player.
