Eposode Ten: Noticias And A Sitdown With The Mob Boss

Recovery Escapades:
A Newsletter Of 2nd Chance Life Across Cardiac County Line Road

Episode Ten: Noticias And A Sitdown With The Mob Boss

So I end up getting an open heart surgical procedure that cracked my chest open like a walnut. Almost 2 years to the day from that fateful day of the 'Sit Down' to get the noticias from with a pulmonary specialist.

Doc Pulmonary he gives us the noticias about my MRI results (noticias being Mexican media speak for news; spicy heart burning news like a chest crack deserves spicier delivery so instead of the flat tasting gringo word for news I prefer to say 'noticias' - more dramatic, and oh how I do love drama).

And like most noticias, there's good noticias and bad noticias. The 'Sit Down' begins.

That Sit Down with Doc Pulmonary was not unlike a classic mob movie scene - you know, the old Sit Down with a Mob Boss. One who has much to say about your fate. You sit patiently while the Boss talks in a measured, businesslike tone. You listen more than you talk. You may plead some, but in vain. You might as well plead to the old Roman gods. Or pray to a new god; one more modern, and more sympathetic (what Catholics call a saint).

But baby, know what this in Italian (or is it Latin) means - Que Sera Sera.

The Sit Down took place in a small room, much as these things do. But white lab coats were the norm instead of garish pin striped suits.

And the Sit Down room was in a big medical professional complex instead of the back a small Italian restaurant. Walls were lined not with stacked cans of Uncle Vitto's Sincerely Scicillian Tomato Paste. Nah, it was cluttered with charts of hearts and arteries cut open in what graphic artists call an exploded view. Fancy medical models and illustrations - courtesy of Pharmaceutical sales reps.

These Rx sales reps are the Pharmaceutical industry's henchmen. These Pharm industry henchmen show you how you might buy the farm should you not ask your doctor about Framalan Bimbo-Bonic Bromolo Marzipan or whatever the hell it is they are so handsomely commissioned to scare you into buying. No 'dese, dem or dose' in their fancy talk, but for all their gloss they are much like the 'fuggedaboudit' henchmen that wish to teach you why you oughtta "invest" into some "fire insurance" like what his 'firm' offered.

But you, Mr Too Clever By Half, refused. Their offer refused? Hence the need for a "Sit Down" with the Boss. But hey, with me it weren't quite like that. Nothing refused, nothing. Honest.

See it weren't nothing I paid or didn't pay, nothing I did or refused to do. Doc he called it a congenital defect (birth/genetic condition), my bulging artery just happened. So it was not what I ate or didn't eat. Or exercise I did or didn't do.

Like good old Romance of pulp paperback lore, like love slow bloomed with the gal next door, it just happened over time, on its own. No offer was refused, just a creeping condition went unnoticed until by accident it was discovered on an MRI meant to diagnose some digestive trouble. Lucky me, I was hit with a good accident for a change.

See my error was congenital (not to be confused with congenial). Not my fault here. No "Told you so" called for here. Wow, congenially congential.

And what a MAAAJOR disappointment that fact was. Not the disappointment of a chest crack outcome instead of Romance happening under your nose. And not a disappointment to me. But what a disappointment to the wife.

Ever see Daffy Duck about to leap forward to shout "Ha Ha! Told you so but did you listen? NO!"? He says that just before braking to a halt, stopped short in his tracks by some ironic cartoon action.

The wife? Hearing of the dreadful cure needed (open heart surgery), she rose from her seat in the Sit Down room, raised her arm to strike home her point of "Aha, proof again how you don't listen!", prepared to wave a finger like a flaming "I told you so" sword of just desserts, tensed like she was a Tiger Woods about to swing her club to drive that golf ball down the fairway of victory at Augusta. About to chase me down the street with nothin' but the Truth, but she got yanked back to her seat, wordlessly deflated as Mr Pulmonary said "This was not caused by anything you did or didn't do".

That was the good noticias, at least to me. Maybe also the bad news to the (now ex) wife, but that's for her to say. For me the bad noticias was what I could do to prevent the surgery: absolutely nothing. Not by losing weight, not by lowering my blood pressure, not by changing my diet - nyet nyet ne ne no no nada nada ningun nothing. Gotta go under the knife in oh two to six years. Only a chance in a million to avoid, and would be with fresh MRI's every 6 months for the rest of your under the sword of Damocles life.

Oh I could definitely make things worse. High blood pressure, obesity, cholesterol - if these just stayed the same I'd be like a frog on the freeway with a busted hopper, in bad shape. "Six weeks or six months, it's all up to you" is what Doc Pulmonary said. My recovery from [pen heart surgery might take as little as six weeks to be back in my old life, or as long as half a year. Now that, that depended on what shape I was in at the time the surgery would occur.

A medical prophecy of future reality. Come 2 to 6 years, this would happen: lotsa sharp thingy cutter tools would be laid out neatly on trays, to work on me. I would be rolled into the back room for service, put upon the rack.

Too good a forecast not to bet the farm on, so that in the end I don't buy the farm. And it was all up to me, going forward, how I would lay down my money and my life so's I could take them both up again.

I know the Latin phrase for "Let The Buyer Beware" (Caveat Emptor). What's the phrase for "Your Fate Is Coming; Prepare Now And Prepare Well"? Is there one on the books like that?

Not knowing, it was enough motivation to remember this: Que sera, sera baby - what will be will be. The last train this side of an open heart chest crack is about to leave right soon; don't expect another chance in time for a ride to Wellville after this one, so get on board NOW!

But it would be a few more weeks before I decided to buy a ticket for a ride through Changeville to get to Wellville. It would take several more conversations - with a cousin and a famous writer to push me fearfully over the edge of inertia, to have a conversation with my change agent of choice. More on that in another episode.

More Updates Yet To Come From Yours Truly,
Living Que Sera and Serene Across Cardiac County Line Road

James Sullivan