The DU Lounge

With me, one of my “problems,” if you can call it that, is that my extra beats, which are ever-increasing in frequency according to each new EKG, have not made me feel worse st all. If the doctors—both in Dallas and in Germany—hadn’t told me about them, I wouldn’t even know I had a problem. The first time I was at this clinic, 22 years ago, I was about 24 hours or less from a massive, probably fatal, heart attack due to two coronary arteries being 99% blocked. They were amazed that I had no chest pains, but I had no idea. Probably my low blood pressure. Until I was past 70, I was almost always 115/70.

I know I need to get this fixed, because a cardiologist with no financial incentive to find a problem isn’t going to make stuff like that up. But my body isn’t sending me warning signals. I’m glad for the lack of discomfort, but I’m also especially vigilant, since that is the better alternative to finding out too late, as in ten seconds before dropping dead. My wife would kill me if I did that.