“I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky….” John Masefield
….And the cardiologist, don’t forget him. Once a year, we who have been stricken by the talons of the Beast must report in for scrutiny, in my case to the Cardiac & Vascular Institute in Gainesville. Tuesday was that day. When you arrive, they provide the usual cursory examination, then move on to an ultrasound of the heart, a stress test or a simple EKG. This year, in my case, it was the latter, which turned out exemplary. I am always hoping in these cases to get a gold, or at least silver star on my forehead but it seems that once you pass a certain age this is no longer permitted, although nobody will say why. Old folks need ‘attaboys’ too.
On the morning of the visit, I decided to forgo coffee, what with its influences on blood pressure and all. I have recently transmogrified my coffee program from thrice weekly to daily, having consistently been overwhelmed with incontrovertible evidence that the java bean is the greatest thing since aspirin. Each new study continues to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative and not mess with mister inbetween. The most recent, revealed last week, testified that four small cups of coffee daily (about the equal of two normal cups) causes no dehydration in the average individual, despite previous suspicions to the contrary. It’s getting hard for naysayers to argue.
To emphasize the point, when I walked into the CVI, there, in the place of a now ousted comfy settee, was a large counter adorned with five—count ‘em, 5—giant coffee dispensers, and they were getting plenty of attention. Maybe the heart doctors were just trying to keep their customers around a little longer. Still, I was a trifle surprised.
My very own cardio man, Dr. Daniel Van Roy, eventually appeared wearing his permanent smile. He was probably relieved to see that Siobhan was not along to chastise him about his increasing weight, which she has been known to do. Van Roy likes to remember their first encounter when, as he was explaining what he would be doing with me—in the critical throes of a 19-hour heart attack—Siobhan impatiently interrupted him with the classic admonition: “Just get in there and save him! I can’t just go out and find another Bill on a street corner.” Considering her well-known disinclination to praise, this might be the nicest thing she’s ever said about me. Anyway, Dr. Van Roy looked me over, digested his notes, scanned a stress test done two months earlier at my primary care facility and smiled. “You’re doing great,” he said. “Do you mind if I start following you around and doing what you do?” Be my guest, I told him. He hasn’t shown up yet, though.
Since I’m dealing with a vulnerable crowd here, I might mention that North Florida Regional Hospital, where the CVI docs do their magic, is the first hospital in Florida and one of the first in the nation to offer a new tool in the battle against heart disease—a device made by a Minneapolis-based company named Cardiovascular Systems, Inc., which looks like an electric toothbrush—but in place of the brush, features a a diamond-coated crown in the center of the handle that moves orbitally as the device moves up and down a calcified artery, quickly and thoroughly clearing the calcium whose particles are harmlessly absorbed into the bloodstream.
Dr. Arthur Lee, an interventional cardiologist at NFRMC, says “We’re able to do cases that we couldn’t have done before. These patients have not been studied. This company went after the hardest population.” Always keeping in mind, of course, that North Florida is one of the most expensive hospitals extant and it might be a good idea to have Medicare. Or a real good Faith Healer.
Another One Bites The Dust
A lot of people were shocked by the recent news that ex-police officer Curtis Reeves, 71, offended by a Florida movie theater texter’s refusal to cease and desist, first reported the offender to management, apparently getting little satisfaction, then returned to the scene of the confrontation, where the texter tossed a box of popcorn at him, causing Reeves to do the only logical thing left in his lexicon of retributions—pull out his pistol and fire a bullet through the hand of his tormentor’s protective wife and into the chest of the tormentor, himself. The only thing I was surprised about was that I hadn’t done it. Not to excuse the slightly excitable Reeves for a tiny bit of overkill, but the event was long in coming. Movie texters are enormously offensive, their brilliant cell phone lights screaming out of the darkness and annoying one and all. In the case of Reeves’ victim, Chad Oulson, the man was supposedly checking in with his babysitter, but more often the culprit is some teenage girl checking in with friends for indispensable last-minute gossip or mooning with a displaced boyfriend. Many of these texters are absolute cell phone addicts, and believe me, I know from addicts. They’ve simply lost control of themselves. Maybe now some of them will think about poor old Chad when they light up.
Up until now, theaters have taken no action against these people, perhaps afraid to offend a large portion of their audiences. All we get is polite requests on the screen to “Silence Your Cell Phones, Please.” They’d have better luck asking them to jump up on stage and do the hokey-pokey, nobody’s listening. Now—or soon, at least—a theater will be sued for millions. The theater will lose and measures will have to be taken. All of us have been in buildings where it is impossible to use cell phones and the technology employed in them will soon be used in movie theaters. There’s no other practical way….movie houses are now too big to insert ushers and monitors at each feature. Moviegoers will be allowed to repair to the lobby to make all those vital calls. It’s a win-win solution. It’s an ongoing poser to me why these people don’t just pick up the phone and call me when they have these problems. I’m available, night and day. And my rates are more than reasonable.
Who’ll Stop The Rain?
Just when you thought it was safe to put the periscope back in the closet, here it came again! Yet more rain, inches of the stuff, refilling the emptying horse paddocks, flooding the streets and propping up rubber boot sales. This news, of course, will bring smiles to the faces of Marty in Washington, Deb and Leslie in Oregon and Kathy in New Hampshire, who will all write me describing the improving weather conditions in their own disparate territories. As for Mike, in Minnesota, we’re not listening to anybody who lives in goddam Minnesota, so get back on the snowblower and tend to your own problems.
I’m not sure what’s going on down here, but rainfall over the past several months is about triple the average usually received. We’re not amused. The horses have to get out on the track in the morning and by the time they swim out there they’re too tired to gallop. It could be worse, of course. We could be stuck in:
Tutendo, Columbia. This lucky place has TWO rainy seasons, which are two of the reasons it is the third wettest place in the world. The people who live here cover their houses with waterproof sheets. Very little is known about the area because because nobody in Columbia wants to go there to find out.
Cherrapunji, India. Almost everybody who thinks about these things believes that Cherrapunji has the highest rainfall in the world but they are actually a mere second due to the shocking fact that after the monsoon season it is very dry. When you visit, you will want to inspect the famous Double Decker Root Bridge, a two-tier living root bridge which can carry at least 50 people at a time and is over 100 feet long. The people there believe the gods gave them the root bridge in compensation for the harsh wet climate. All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia. But just barely.
Mawsynram, India has the highest rainfall on Earth, 11871 mm. One benefit of this dubious distinction being that it seldom gets hot here, unlike most of India. The villagers in Mawsynram use grass to sound-proof their huts from the deafening rain and clouds are a familiar sight INSIDE the homes. Gee, I thought San Franciso was annoying. By the way, that bolded figure above translates to, ahem—FOUR HUNDRED SIXTY-SEVEN INCHES OF RAIN A YEAR. Who’s got the umbrella franchise? It’s so bad here that the women fabricate “knups,” made of bamboo slivers, plastic sheets and broom grass to create a rain shield that resembles a turtle shell, meant to be worn on one’s head while also being large enough to keep the rain off one’s knees. And you complain about wearing your galoshes.
Mobile, Alabama. Guess what? Seattle is not the wettest place in the country, nor is it even close in terms of rainfall received annually over a thirty year period. Mobile is tops, with 67 inches. Olympia, on the other hand, had the most rainy days on average (63) of all the cities in the study (Mobile was second). Five cities in Florida were in the top ten, four others were in Louisiana. The outlier was Port Arthur, Texas, with 61. No wonder Janis Joplin was moody.
Welcome To Beautiful Mawsynram
Training Report
Cosmic Flash went a quarter in 25.2 under a death grip Saturday at Eisaman Equine. He’ll be back out there this weekend. Bull Ensign is scheduled for his first work on January 25. And the excitement builds….
