In the hospital

My story begins when my cardiologist comes into my hospital room for the discharge consultation.

My relationship with Dr. Holt goes back to Oct. 5 1995. It was on that night that genetics caught up with me and I had a heart attack. Dr. Holt just happened to be hanging out at the hospital that night and was there when they rolled me in. So, with the advancement of medical science and a cardiologist waiting I lived.

Dr. Holt tells me he remembers that night 14 years ago quite well. You see 35 year olds do not survive heart attacks. I am one case he remembers. A rare success story. He goes on to tell me that if I do not quit smoking our relationship will not last another 14 years and one of his success stories will become just another smoking statistic. How he remembers me will be up to me.

There is something about surviving the heart attack in 1995 that needs to be said and I will say it here. My father was one of those "When I say jump, you ask how high" kind of guys. As I was going down the tunnel of light I heard Dr. Holt's voice calling to me to come back. I have always felt that if I had not had such a strict father I would not have come back from this tunnel. It was not just what Dr. Holt learned in medical school that saved me that night; calling to me was a big part.

So there I am. Laying in a hospital bed recovering from the implant of my second stent. And my beloved Dr. Holt drops this bomb in my lap. Quit smoking or die.

Damn. No pressure.

OK. Fifty is right around the corner. New Years resolution. 50th birthday present. I have been wheezing at night lately. Going outside to the smoking area at work has been seeming more and more stupid. I actually have been thinking quitting. But today? Well, we are going to the beach next week. What the hell. Let's do this.