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December 22.
Dr. Leibsohn had been a critical care patient himself, an accident victim. His body language at work is that of a host pouring you a drink. Servant-like, he positioned himself on stool lower than my chair and dictated patient notes in front of me. Blunt about risks, recovery, options, prognosis, he clicked off the recorder and said to me, “You can see where I’m going.” (I think he means I’m not going home with pills.)
“Now, let’s look at the CD,” he offered. St. Francis Hospital had provided me with me a video of the catheterization. “Together. I have not seen it yet either.” Godsil and I strode over to the screen.
My heart had done a performance while it was catheterized, and today we auditioned it for a future role. Looking at my own blocked arteries, and pointing to the left-descending artery he said, “Ninety percent. We call this the widow maker,” he says. “I’m not married,” I say. (Hah Hah)
Ignoring my remark, he scolded First Cardiologist. “He was correct about blockages, but he missed this, he missed that, I would have taken a video of this other part of the heart.” He described how the two once were in practice together and there was a falling out.
Dueling physicians agreeing about my treatment, why, it was quite a relief. I was almost ready for surgery and quite frankly I felt closure to observe a best choice emerge. I felt myself moving into that “let’s get it over with” mindset. If not surgery, what kind of life would I have waiting for medicines to reduce blockages, walking about risk laden, my health drooping from lack of exercise? Giving up the bike and getting a car again? What is life without the dance?
I told him I would decide about surgery over the holiday, perhaps in his care. Actually, on that rainy cold evening eating noodle soup with Godsil, I knew. But when a decision seems perfect, a Silent Night of reflection invited me to acceptance and joy. Even we agnostics love that baby story - a people believe a god became a child and we accept that story as one of the most powerful in our history. Plants know this and turn into tiny seeds to survive the winter. Darkness is the soil where I find strength. And Christmas is about darkness, maybe dispelled, but darkness nonetheless.
Fact is the only way to get surgery during the holidays is to have a heart attack.
Next: Wisconsin Heart Hospital
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