For about sixty-five years, I coasted along through life with barely an excuse to ever walk inside a doctor’s office….let alone ever go to a hospital, except maybe to visit somebody. Even then, that was not very often.

I rarely….if ever….had a “physical”. The only ones I can truly recall having were connected with either the army or with searching for a job. The physical examination I had for the army…. I actually had a couple of them…..was basically a joke. I was breathing, and I could remember my name. That was good enough for them. The only job-related physical that I had was connected with a potential teaching position in Chicago. It was the first time in my life that I had ever seen a woman doctor…..the first one who played with my testicles…..and got paid for it. I passed the physical exam; they offered me a job, but I turned it down. I was not ready or willing to work in an inner-city school in Chicago.

Now…. Let us fast-forward to a spring morning in 2001….and take off on a Medical Mystery Tour. Hold on….. We are not using a GPS, so this trip is capable of some odd routes, some unexpected twists and turns in the road….not to mention a few blind curves along the way.

That was the year I had a German exchange student named Matthias. As I had done for the past couple decades or so, I got up at 5:30 A.M., took a shower, made a cup of coffee and ate a bowl of raisin bran for breakfast. I was feeling unusually tired…. But, what is new about that? About 6:30, I woke up Matthias. We would have to leave for school around 7:10 or 7:20. While he was taking a shower, I sat in my recliner, barely able to stay awake. Barely able to focus my eyes on Matthias as he poured himself a cup of coffee and also ate a bowl of raisin bran. I felt disoriented, and I had a some problems talking to him. But I didn’t think about it much. I simply had not gotten enough sleep. The coffee would soon kick in…..and everything would be back to normal.

As we drove into town to school, my vision was still blurry. I was SO tired. We didn’t talk much. I was just too tired to talk plainly….to get the words out of my mouth. “Man…. I have to wake up,” I told myself. I figured that once I got inside the school and started moving around and getting involved with my regular routine and went about performing my regular duties, I would snap out of it. I just had to get my blood flowing again.

Matthias left my office and went to class. I tried to get involved with my daily responsibilities. But…. My vision was still blurry; speech was still difficult; when I walked, it looked like I had been drinking too much; I was still slightly disoriented; I couldn’t think straight….and I felt like I could barely stay awake. I tried to work…..but I was accomplishing nothing.

I starting to get apprehensive. This was not normal. I had never felt like this before. Something was obviously wrong. I found our principal and told him that something unusual was happening…..that I was not feeling well…..that I didn’t know what was going on. He looked at me and said, “You don’t look very well, either. Maybe you should go home for the rest of the day.”

Luckily, I think, I did not simply go back home. I asked our secretary if she knew a doctor that I could call. Yeah…. I didn’t even know a doctor. Except for the doctor in town….and who knew how long I would have to sit in the office waiting to see him. I had already had some negative experiences in his office. Luckily, this was the day that our school nurse was in our building. She recommended a doctor in Meriden, whom I never heard of. Our secretary called his office and told them basically that there was an “emergency”…..which may or may not have been the case. But, I am glad she did.

While all of this was taking place in her office, I was still in my office…..just sitting and wondering that was the heck was happening…..and when I was going to start feeling better. I tried to do some work, but that seemed to be out of the question. Mostly I was just trying to stay awake….and to focus….focus….focus…..

Finally, she came into my office and told me that she had made an appointment….as soon as I could get there. She had called the high school office, and they were sending Matthias over to drive me to Meriden. He arrived….perplexed and sort of disoriented himself…..wondering what was happening….and possibly wondering if I was going to live until he got me there. Poor kid….. He hadn’t planned on being an ambulance driver that morning. But, I am surely glad he was there to drive for me.

Once I arrived at the clinic in Meriden, they immediately took me to an examining room and took my temperature. After that…. All “Heck” broke loose. Everybody became excited. They lay me down on the examining table, put an IV in my arm, loaded me up with some sort of drug….. And then left me lying there! For maybe 30 or more minutes. Occasionally, a nurse…..probably the only nurse….. would stick her head in and say, “How are you doing?”

“Well…. I don’t know. That is what I came here to find out.” Finally after what seemed like a week….although it was probably more like an hour….the doctor came in to talk to me. He said that my blood pressure was maybe the highest blood pressure he had ever seen. Wow…. Does that get me a discount? They proceeded to attach wires to my chest….my head…..and probably some other body parts, too. He concluded that MAYBE I had a small stroke.

That was the beginning of my intense adventure with the American medical system. Welcome Aboard….. And, to an eventual three stents….and one pacemaker….and lots of medicine!

But…. That was only the beginning.

Let me tell you the story of my first hospital visit. That, in itself, was rather bizarre. Back in those days….the “Good Old Days”, as we say….the only time I had been in a hospital was to visit other people…..and even then, not very often. Being in the hospital was not on my Top Ten List of things to do. In fact, it was probably on my Top Ten List of things what I wanted to avoid at almost all cost. Chalk this up, I suppose, to fear of the “unknown”. From what I had observed from infrequent visits, hospitals definitely were not the place for me.

Back in the “Good Old Days”, it was the custom of my brothers in Topeka to prepare a meal….actually, it was more like a banquet….on Saturday evening, and they would invite me down to eat with them. These were sumptuous meals….meals that I always looked forward to. Actually, that was probably the only real meal I ate each week. I have never been renowned for my cooking! These meals did nothing for my weight….except increase it. And, they probably did nothing for my arteries….except clog them. But none of that mattered. The Saturday evening meals were something I looked forward to and rarely missed.

In their house, just as in my house, everybody had his “assigned” seat. My place to sit was in a rather comfortable over-stuffed chair with a matching ottoman. I would go in, sit down in “my” chair, put my feet up on the ottoman…..and immediately Katy Sue, their little white dog, would come running and jump onto my lap and greet me with multiple “kisses”. She would then jump off, make a circuit around the perimeter of the downstairs….and then repeat the process over again, jumping into my lap and shower me with more of her affection. She and I were buddies….and she liked me.

I am getting away from the story, though. This particular Saturday night when I arrived at their house, my back was hurting. Nothing new about that. My back hurt a great deal of the time. When dinner was ready, I pulled myself up out of my chair, went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I am sure the meal was beyond delicious….and I probably ate too much, as I usually did. But, that is OK. As I said, it was the only decent meal I ate during the entire week. All was going well. We sat and talked, nobody was in a big hurry to do anything else.

But, it was starting to get late….and I do not like to drive after it gets dark. So, I reluctantly decided that it was time to depart and go back home. Except…. There was one problem: I could not stand up! Yeah! That’s right….. My back was hurting so badly that I could not stand up. I don’t know all the technical terms, but the muscles were so tight…or so contracted…..or so something…. that they simply were not going to respond.

So, there I was….. Sitting at the table in my brother’s kitchen….not able to move. I made several attempts to get up….slowly. Just ease myself up…..out of the chair. But, my back was having none of that. It had made up its mind. It was not going to cooperate. I was NOT going to be able to stand up. And…. By now, my back was getting even worse….hurting even worse…. My brothers were beginning to get nervous, maybe even a little frightened. And, me? Well, I was not feeling so good myself.

There was only one question being asked: “What are we going to do?”

Yes…. Indeed. What were we going to do? Indeed. What were the choices?

I could continue to sit there. Maybe spend the night sitting in the chair…..a straight back, wooden chair. Maybe I could even spend the rest of my life sitting there. I was getting concerned…. I hate to say scared, but maybe that entered my mind just a bit! Everybody just sort of kept looking at each other saying, “What shall we do?” ….sort of like we were rehearsing a line for a play.

The only obvious decision was to call somebody for help. The only logical people to call were the 9-1-1 rescue team. And, that led to only one logical conclusion: I was going to the hospital. I had never been in the hospital. This was my first time. At this point, I am not sure what was worse: Not being able to move because of my back….. OR… having to go to the hospital. I do not remember exactly, but, at this point, I am thinking that going to the hospital may have won that contest.

OK…. Somebody called 9-1-1. It wasn’t very long….maybe 10 minutes or so….when a rescue unit pulled up in front of the house. Three young, healthy-looking paramedics came into the house carrying a stretcher. “Get onto the stretcher,” they said.

“Oh, come on now.” If I could get onto the stretcher, obviously I could get into my car and go home!

“No problem. We will simply lift you up and put your onto the stretcher.” Well…. That was a fantasy. The three people….and at least one of them was a young lady….were being very optimistic if they thought they could lift me from a sitting position onto the stretcher. Every time they touched me….every little movement that I made….sent excruciatingly pain throughout my body. Plan One was obviously not going to work. It was an utter failure, in fact. I am still sitting in the straight back, wooden kitchen chair, consumed with pain.

Plan Two: They called for backups! About ten minutes later, it seemed like an entire fire department company came filing into the house. They manhandled me…..No, I am sure they were being as “gentle” and as careful as they knew how….onto the stretcher. And…. Away we went. My very first trip to the hospital, in an ambulance, no less.

After an interminable amount of time in the Emergency Room, they finally transferred me to a private room. As I was lying there in great pain, a nurse came into my room.

“Oh, Mr. Darrah! Do you remember me?” She was one of my former students….now a nurse. And, she was obviously very happy to see me again. Maybe she thought I had arranged all of this back problem just as an excuse so I could drop by and see her!

I weakly acknowledged that, Yes, I did indeed remember her. She was bubbling over with excitement. She left the room, and soon came back with what seemed to be the entire nursing staff. “This is Mr. Darrah, my old sixth grade teacher,” she told them excitedly….and I hope proudly. Now I was the center of a dog and pony show. Each of them greeted me cheerfully. I think they halfway expected me to jump out of bed and party with them.

Needless to say, I did get good care that night, with nurses looking in on me at very regular intervals…..asking how I felt….if I needed anything….

Anyway…… After a night of lying in bed with an assortment of tubes sticking out of many parts of my body…..after two bottles of morpheme (because the first one had absolutely no effect)…..and after a series of pills….heat pads….cold pads….. Sometime the next day, my back was pretty much back to normal….and I was released to go back home.

This…..in short form….was my introduction to the “hospital system”…..one of the many tentacles of the “medical system”.

The most important lesson I learned from this latter experience was that my fear of hospitals was more or less irrational….based on nothing more than fear of the unknown…some invention of my runaway imagination….and faulty decisions I had made based on my perception and not on facts. I still have no desire to pack up my belongings and make a hospital my permanent home. But, on the other hand, I no longer become paralyzed with terror or panic.

Over the intervening years, I have been in and out of the hospital….always the Stormont-Vail Health Center in Topeka….several times, probably as many as ten or twelve times. Each these stays in the hospital has been for a short duration….and has been for a necessary and legitimate purpose: back problems….to have stents installed….or a pacemaker….for uncontrolled nose bleeds….a couple times for sleep analysis….for an unsuccessful attempt to install a device into my heart….and a couple visits to the emergency room.

It has been said…..and with some truth and justification….that learning something first hand is not always the best way to acquire knowledge. You know…. You don’t have to touch a hot stove…..You do not have to pet a rattlesnake….. However, I have come to believe that perhaps spending time in the hospital does have some extra added value when attempting to understand the mysteries of the medical industry. After multiple stays in the hospital and after literally hundreds of visits to various doctors’ offices over the past almost twenty years, I have become sort of an expert on recognizing the “mysteries” ….. but I am really no closer to figuring them out.

During my early stays in the hospital, never in a million years would it have entered my mind to question what the doctors were doing to me…..or why. They were DOCTORS! And doctors obviously know what they are doing; they are beyond question. I am not complaining about the care I received. The nurses and also the doctors took good care of me. I mean…. I went back home every time, didn’t I?

They “cured” my back problem….at least, for a period of time. They installed the stents….and I felt an immediate positive effect. After they installed the pacemaker, my heart beat at a steady, constant rate of 60 beats per minute.

Probably I should say a thing or two about the doctors I see at the hospital. These guys are really doctors; they all have a medical degree (of some sort)! For the most part….and there was probably one or two exceptions….maybe, I did not see “my” doctors, the ones I normally see when “I go to the doctor”. Instead, I see doctors who are called “hospitalists”…..doctors who are assigned specifically and permanently to the hospital. These are the doctors who actually see and treat the patients on a daily basis….at least, the routine stuff.

Yes…. This seemed to be a good arrangement. Everything seemed to go OK….. Actually, things went well for a few years. Then I started to have problems….feeling “light-headed” (again)….experiencing some minor nausea…. Stuff like that. I mentioned it to my doctors….and a lot of times to Physician’s Assistants, because I could not get an appointment with my regular doctor. It was not at all uncommon for the doctor….or the Physician’s Assistant….to take a look at the medicines I am taking and ask, “Why are you taking this medicine?” What am I supposed to say? “Because a doctor told me to.”

Or perhaps one of my regular doctors would say, “You have been taking this medicine for five (or six or four or eight….) years. You should only take it for a few months.” Again, what should I reply? Nobody told me to stop. They kept authorizing refills….so I kept taking it. The problem boils down to the fact that doctors do not seem to confer or coordinate with each other. They all seem to prescribe medicine in a sort of vacuum. Nobody questions anybody. Maybe that is policy. Maybe they do not have the time to check what drugs have already been prescribed. Maybe they are afraid of offending one of their fellow doctors. Drug interactions is surely a topic that doctors have some knowledge of…. I hope. Nothing really serious has happened to me yet as a result of negative interaction between opposing medicine. But, there is always a very real potential that this could happen.

All of this was true in my case until a year or so ago. Then my new cardiologists about had a heart attack himself when he looked at my list of medicines. “You should not be taking half this stuff. Stop taking them, and throw them away,” he said. He said that there could possibly have been some very harmful conflicts or negative interactions with some of the drugs. He told me stop taking them immediately. That guys has guts! That…. And, he was about to retire….so maybe he felt that he had nothing to lose.

So…. Not only did I stop taking medicine that I did not need…or that may have actually been harmful…..I also immediately started saving money!

The point that I want to make, however, is that all these various drugs….or medicines….were no doubt prescribed in the hospital…by a specific doctor…or hospitalist…for an immediate specific purpose. Once it was prescribed, it was never changed. Apparently nobody ever bothered to look at the list and ask: “Is this medicine still necessary?” and “Is this medicine subject to a negative interaction with another medicine?”

Over the years, I have observed that doctors do not like to contradict another doctor….especially a doctor who works within the same medical group. And….. Another things I have noticed is that doctors are very “territorial”…..and they do not like to intrude on another doctor’s territory or domain….. Nor do they like for other doctors to invade their own territory. And, here again…. I think it is even more pronounced when doctors all work for, or are a part of, a “medical group”.

You know…. I tend to think that perhaps that not all this “compartmentalization” can be attributed to professional jealousy, though. I suspect that the matter of money may also play a role in this arrangement. Stop and think. These medical groups are profit making organizations. Most doctors are greedy. Why else do you think they chose to be doctors? Oh, come on now…. Be honest. Anyway, the more doctors that a patient sees, more money is going to flow into their organization. So, the patient sees more doctors, more nurses, more technicians. The patient has more tests, more lab work, more interpreting lab results. Let’s be realistic: Nobody is going to see a doctor or a hospital and not escape without a battery of tests, x-rays, lab work. All of this means more money flowing into their treasury.

Yeah, I know that all of this sounds cynical. On the other hand, these are first hand conclusions that I have drawn after almost twenty years of experience.

At regular intervals, I, like everybody else, receives an itemized account of charges from my insurance company. And…let me say: All of my medical costs have been paid in full by insurance. And, I have excellent insurance. I have never received a bill from a doctor or a hospital. However, when I look at the list of services which the insurance company has paid for….. Wow! It is not only mystifying, it is a little mind boggling. “What is this?” “What is this charge for?” “When did this happen?” “Who is this doctor?”

Maybe I shouldn’t care. The insurance took care of it. They didn’t question it. It is already paid for. Nevertheless, it is baffling. There I was….lying on the hospital bed….awake (for the most part) and conscious…aware of what is going on around me. Why can’t I remember these things? Why don’t I know what happened to me? Were they doing things to me that I wasn’t even aware of?

I took the time and effort to download the dictionary of medical and insurance codes, thinking that this would help me to understand the various charges on the insurance statement. It was a waste of time. The insurance codes are not listed….only the name of the doctor, the medical facility or some technician.

Quite frankly, I think that hospitals, doctors’ offices, laboratories….any sort of medical facility….should be required to be more transparent in explaining or representing the services they charge their patients….even though it is done through an insurance company. Yeah, yeah, I know: Most people simply don’t care about this kind of stuff….as long as their insurance company pays it. I can imagine it would be quite another matter if they had to pay for it out of their own pocket.

OK….. Let’s skip ahead for a few years….up to the summer of 2017. As I wrote in a previous blog, this could well have been the worst summer I spent in my entire lifetime. It is not a time that I like to even recall. For some reason I had a series of unexplained nosebleeds. If you read the blog, you already know that these were not just “nosebleeds”….the kind that a lot of people get for various reasons. These were serious nosebleeds. On each incident, my nose would start bleeding around 10:30 at night…. Just start bleeding.

Sultan, as usual, was staying with me that summer. The nosebleeds always started just as he was getting ready to go to bed, and I was going to settle down in my office for awhile. The first time was the most frightening. No matter what we did….we could not stop the bleeding. The blood just kept flowing out of my nose. Sultan was great! I honestly don’t know I would have done if he had not been there. I am sure that he was scared…very scared. But, he never showed it as we tried everything we could think of to stop the bleeding. It was Sultan who suggested….. Maybe “insisted” would be a more accurate word….that we go to the emergency room.

We grabbed a roll of paper towels and a box of tissue….and took off. I learned at least one lesson that night: Blood gets the attention of doctors and nurses very quickly. After four or five hours, the people in the emergency room finally succeeded in stopping the bleeding. This happened on three different occasions. On none of these stays in the emergency room did anybody ever suggest a cause….or even attempt to. It appeared that this was not their job. Their job was to treat the immediate symptoms….and get me out of there as quickly as they could…… To make room for the next person….somebody whom they felt was more serious than I.

I had appointments with a bunch of doctors….and quasi-doctors….none of whom had any idea of what was happening. And, I suspect they really didn’t think it was a serious problem….. “Just a nosebleed.” Maybe we should have punched one of them in the nose…..and let it bleed for five or six hours. No…. That would have been too easy. Even they could have figured that one out.

So…. Appointments were made with my general practitioner, his physician’s assistant and with the ear and nose doctor. He was a joke….. He obviously did not have a clue. Next came the respiratory doctor…. Each of them prescribed an assortment of nose drops, sprays….even gels to put in my nose. I was instructed never to touch my nose…never to blow my nose…. Just act like I was a freak who had no nose. Who “knows” why??!

I lived in constant fear that all of this was going to happen again after Sultan had to leave and go back home. The point is: Nobody….none of the doctors….coordinated or consulted with each other to diagnose the problem.

Again…. It was my good old cardiologist who recognized the problem. I never knew that cardiologists specialized in nosebleeds. He had apparently read my medical history…something of a surprise in itself….and asked me about the situation. I described the nosebleeds briefly. He already knew about them… And, then, he looked again at my medical records. He is a very soft spoken man, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was not pleased. “I see that are taking Plavix AND a full strength aspirin every day. Is that right?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“You should have taken the Plavix for only six weeks after your last stent was installed,” he said, shaking his head. “I want you to stop taking the Plavix immediately. And, as for the aspirin…. Why are you also taking it?”

“I don’t know,” I answered ignorantly, but honestly. “Because the doctor told me to.”

“All you need to take is a low dose aspirin every morning. Throw all the other stuff away.”

I took his advice. There were no more nosebleeds. And, as an added benefit or reward, all the bruises started to disappear. I no longer bled for hours when I scratched myself or when I had an entanglement with a bramble bush or a locust tree. I no longer had to carry a towel with me when I mowed the grass. I was left with the lingering question: Why didn’t one of my doctors warn me about this long ago? Why was I permitted to take a drug that was actually doing more harm than good?

These questions would arise later…..

Now, let’s fast forward to another learning incident. You know…. Maybe it is somewhat ironic that being active in the education profession for 40 years that it is I who seems to have always been the student. It is I who was on the “learning” end of things….especially when it involved the medical industry. Probably, just like some of my students, it took a while to finally learn the lessons….and sometimes the hard way.

I am not at all sure that the public trusts teachers like it trusts doctors. Maybe they used to….at a time long ago and far away. A teacher’s word was “the law”. Teachers were among the most trusted and respected of all people. Back in those days of yester-years, the teacher was always right. If a kid got into trouble at school, it was a sure bet that he was in trouble as soon as he got home. I am not sure what happened…. I suspect attitudes began to change during the turbulent Sixties….the civil rights movement, the Vietnam War protests….and it probably took an even more firm hold in the early Seventies with the Watergate scandal and the looming impeachment of President Nixon and his subsequent resignation.

Maybe this was the period when many established and revered professions and institutions began to slowly crumble. I am not sure…..and that is a subject better left to a later blog.

One profession that was not touched by this radical questioning of institutions seemed to be the medical profession. A doctor’s word….his opinion….his pronouncements….were still held to be inviolate….the law….beyond question. As time goes by, I think that a change in attitude or mindset is evolving…..slowly, but surely. Again, I am not going to delve in to anything sort of public opinion analysis.

I know at this point in my life…..and I am jumping ahead in my story from 2001 to somewhere approximately around spring 2019….I have begun to receive quite an extensive first hand education in the mechanics and the mysteries of the medical industry. When Matthias drove me to Meriden to the clinic that fateful day back in 2001, I was in the “kindergarten” of my medical education. Now going on twenty years later, I am sure that I have acquired at least a “Master’s Degree”….and I am going for a “PhD”.

On that visit to the doctor in Meriden (who, by the way, is no longer my doctor….by my choice), I was apprehensive and nervous and timid. It was one of the few times that I had actually “gone to a doctor” in my entire life. When I got there, it was a strange environment. I was not familiar with all the stuff….checking in, filling out a dozen forms, the waiting room with strange, supposedly sick, people sitting around. Because our secretary had called previously and told them it was sort of an emergency, I was whisked to an examining room immediately. OK…. I have already gone over this story.

I was rather frightened…. I wish there was another word….a word that conveys a meaning of a lesser degree or a step under “frightened”….. But, at that point, I was willing to do anything and everything I was told. I accepted every word the doctor and the nurses told me….. I willingly took every pill they offered to me…… I hung on their every word…. And, truthfully, I had no reason not to. They handled the situation in a very efficient, caring and professional manner. But…. The point is: Back then, I was a rookie to the medical industry.

Now…. Let’s get to 2019, like I promised. Actually, it was spring break 2019. Fayez had come up from Wichita to visit for a few days. By and large, it was a relaxing time. Fayez went running a couple times as he normally does. When I lived in the Ozawkie house, his favorite running venue was the good old Ferguson Road. Yeah…. It really was the “good old Ferguson Road”. That was the first place Fayez ran back in 2012, the first time he came to stay with me. And, that was basically the only place he ever ran. Oh…. There were probably a few time he ran at Paradise Point, but not very many. Generally speaking, it was always the Ferguson Road.

After I moved to Topeka, the running scene shifted to Lake Shawnee. At least a couple times, we drove the two or three miles to the lake. Fayez ran….and I, of course, took pictures….and told him what a great job he had done! That was MY job. And, he always did a great job. He wasn’t training for any sort of competition, so his running was solely recreational and to simply keep in shape.

It was during that visit, Spring Break of 2019, that Fayez helped me stabilize a table that I had built down in the basement of my townhouse. The purpose of the table was to have a place to fold laundry. I build the table by myself…. No problem. The problem was, however, that the table was so wobbly that it was in danger of collapsing….even if merely walked near it. Fayez agreed to help me reinforce it…to make it stronger and less likely to topple over.

Now, let me be honest. Fayez is almost always willing to help me with whatever project I need assistance. But…. Fayez has one goal in mind: To get it done! As fast as possible. Quality means little to him…. (Yeah, Fayez….. Don’t argue with me.) Just get it done….and get out of there. Well…. We got the project done. It is not a work of art. It is not going to appear in some woodworking magazine as the perfect example of craftsmanship. But…. I can definitely say that I can now fold clothing on it….and I do not worry about it falling to the floor in little pieces…..and that is what counts.

Fayez also made some Arab dessert or delicacy….called……….

For the most part, we simply ate out. It was the easiest thing to do. This was true of Sunday, too. Fayez and I went to eat at our favorite Chinese buffet. It was delicious, as always. After sitting and talking for an hour…probably a little longer than that….it was time to leave. Any time I have been sitting for a while and get up to walk, I become very wary.

I told Fayez, “Go slowly.”

Of course, he had heard me say that dozens of times. I stood up….slowly and holding onto the table….and started walking toward the door of the restaurant. I always try to look nonchalant….trying to smile at the Chinese family who owns the place as I walk out….trying to walk in a straight line…..hoping that I will not fall on my face….hoping that everything looks “normal”. Fayez stayed close in front of me….just in case I had to take hold of him. I made it out of the restaurant, and then I had to stop and lean against Fayez. I knew if I took another step, I would surely find myself lying in a heap on the asphalt parking lot. My head was spinning….. My vision was, in the best analysis, blurry…. It was all I could do to simply maintain consciousness….

“I have to stop for a minute,” I told Fayez.

Fayez had heard me say this before, too…..maybe not as many times as Sultan had heard it, but he had heard it. We stopped. I held on to something….as casually as I could….probably the cover or canopy to the door of the restaurant. I wanted it to appear that Fayez and I were simply standing there talking to each other. After a minute or so, we continued walking to the car. I was feeling better….like I ways did. Just a brief rest….and then continue on.

“You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Fayez said. That seemed a little bit extreme, I thought. Episodes like this happen often….they are common….they come and they go.

“No. I don’t think that is necessary,” I said. “I will be fine. Everything is OK now.” And, really….. Nothing unusual had happened. As I said, this happened a lot. In fact, I had expected it to happen. It had been happening for a long time. Chances are, I would have been somewhat puzzled if it had not happened.

Fayez kept insisting….and I kept protesting. “I don’t want to go to the Emergency Room….and look like an idiot.” Hypochondriac….is no doubt a better word. I was pretty sure that they would find nothing wrong…..and I would simply be taking up a bed that could be put to better use…..and taking time from another patient who needed attention worse than I.

Fayez kept insisting. “OK,” I finally relented. “Let’s go.”

I was very sure that visit was not necessary. But…. What the heck? We had nothing better to do. Why not go there….let them take my blood pressure, do an EKG….make a little bit of money….and then politely send me on my way. I have excellent insurance. It would cover any and all tests they might want to do. So…. “OK… Let’s go.”

To this day, I still have not figured it out….. But, when I got to the emergency room, they seemed to take my symptoms rather seriously. Immediately they began to order all sorts of tests, and it soon became apparent that I would not be going home that night, after all.

Poor Fayez! I don’t think he saw this coming! I rather suspect that he… along with me…figured that they would take a look at me….do a couple simple tests to justify making a few bucks for their time….make an appointment with my cardiologist….and point toward the door.

Poor Fayez! He had to go back to Wichita (At least, he said he did.) because he had class the next day. And, I am pretty sure he was thinking, “What have I gotten myself into now?” Or maybe he was thinking, “I wish I had kept my mouth closed!” I could tell that he was getting anxious….in the true sense of the word. Here I was…. In the hospital. I was not going to be released. They had (or were scheduling) multiple tests. I was going to be transferred to regular room. And…. I am sure he was thinking: “This is fine mess I have gotten into… What am I going to do? I have class tomorrow…..”

So…. It was, “Well…. Good-bye…. Good luck…. You are on your own…. I am out of here…..”

Maybe not exactly like that…. But, I could tell that he was getting nervous and was eager to leave and get back to Wichita. There was nothing I could do. I was stuck in the hospital….something neither of us had expected. He had to go back to college the next day. It was sort of a Catch 22. “OK….”, like there was anything else that I could say.

Well…. There were a couple things. First of all, we were driving my car. His car was at our townhouse. And, of course, he had to go back to the townhouse to get all his stuff.

“I will be back,” he said. In the meantime, I was probably wheeled off for another test or two. Never a dull moment….

Fayez returned, said Good-bye, and was off. In the meantime, I had been transferred to a regular room somewhere in the cardiac wing. I think they had given up testing for the night. A couple hours later, my cell phone rang. It was Fayez…. And, I have to say: It was probably the most apologetic voice I had ever heard him use.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I forgot to leave your keys with you,” he said. And, by keys, we are talking about not only the keys to my car…..but also the keys to the townhouse!

“Where are they?” I asked….temporarily forgetting that there was no way he could have locked them inside the townhouse. It can only be locked from the outside. I was hoping beyond hope that he was going to say, “I left them on the coffee table….or kitchen counter….”

“They are in my pocket,” he said.

“Where are you now?” Again, in a foolish state of false hope, I was hoping he was going to say, “I am still in the parking lot.” But, even Fayez wouldn’t sit in the parking lot for two hours!

“I am almost back to Wichita,” he said.

Well…. There was no point in getting angry. The poor guy didn’t take them on purpose. And….. Could I (or he) help that he was so eager to get back to Wichita and to is beloved laboratory? He promised to send them by priority mail the next day. In the meantime, I had no idea how many more days I would be in the hospital.

As it turned out, I spent all day Tuesday in the hospital….plus most of Wednesday. When I got back to the townhouse, the first thing I did was check with the office to see if the keys had arrived. Of course, they hadn’t. I was afraid that I was going to have to pay $10.00 for the maintenance guy to let me back into my house. But, I didn’t. They were happy to open the door for me. And…. True to his word, the keys arrived by priority mail the next day.

But…. Back to the hospital.

By this time I had been delivered by a personal valet to my luxurious private suite on the eighth floor…lying in my plush single bed onto which guard rails had been thoughtfully attached….just in case the partying got too wild, and I rolled out of bed. We certainly would not want that to happen. Oh yes…. They were so eager for my presence that they placed a sensor in my bed. I guess that was so they could all come and say good-bye in case I decided I couldn’t take any more excitement….and leave.

To serve my every need, the hospital assigned me a real babe for a nurse. She weighed somewhere in the range of 300 lbs…..and had the personality of a chainsaw. No… Here I am trying to be funny and a bit sarcastic. Yes…. She was a very “healthy” woman….and I don’t think there is any danger you will see her as a centerfold in a men’s magazine. But, she proved to be quite a nice woman, once I became accustomed to her rather abrupt manner. I rather resented the sensor they put in my bed, but that was not her fault, I suppose. I am still trying to figure it out…. And, the sensor was STILL there even when I checked out a couple days later.

The following day I felt like a dog and pony show. A parade of doctors….the hospitalist (the doctor assigned to the hospital), a cardiologist, a neurologist, a gastrointestinal doctor…..and, who knows? …. probably a psychiatrist ….stopped in to take a look at me. No doubt, the hospitalist was just doing his normal job. He really didn’t take a lot of interest in me. All the others….without exception….seemed to be pushing something. Some product….or procedure….or some cause.

Not all of what they had to say….or offer….or advocate….or sell….was bad. The thing that annoyed me the most was that my current condition….the reason that I was lying there in that bed…..the reason that had brought me there in the first place…..the reason they performed every test in their repertoire…..even the reason they thought it was necessary to put a movement sensor in my bed!….were mostly ignored and left undiscussed. I still have no real understanding of what happened to me while I was there.

One doctor…. I think it could have been the neurologist, although I am not sure….spent his time pushing the blood thinner Eliquis…..and for reasons that were never quite clear to me. I explained to him the problems I had had while using a blood thinner in earlier years. How I had ended up in the emergency room three times….how even the smallest cut or scratch would bleed for hours. I explained to him that I was so very fortunate that Sultan was staying with me the summer of the nosebleeds. I told him that since I live by myself, I am not comfortable or eager to encounter these problems again.

Basically, he said, “Well… Take your choice. Die of a stroke….or bleed to death. Which do you want?” I more or less wrote him off….and tuned him out. He did not appear to be a Happy Camper…..nor was I. Doctors apparently do not like to have their opinions doubted.

Another of the doctors pushed compression stockings. Up until that point, nobody had ever suggested that I wear compression stockings. I was mildly skeptical about wearing them….especially since none of my regular doctors had ever talked about them previously. Lying there, helpless in bed, I offered an observation that I thought was rather amusing. “Oh, Wow! Those are going to make me look like an old man!” All of my regular doctors would have laughed appreciatively, and used it as an invitation to segue into their medical reasoning. But…. Not this doctor. I suspect he felt his authority or his “medical superiority” was being challenged.

“Well,” he said. “You can be fashionable….or your can have a stroke.”

This guy obviously flunked the class on doctor-patient relations….or bedside manners.

Man…. What is it about this having a stroke stuff? I started to get just a little bit nervous that maybe one of them would actually try to induce one….just to prove his point.

Later on I brought up this subject with Dr. Thomas, my general practitioner….and I also repeated my hilarious observation! After he chuckled appreciatively….and sympathized with me…. it was he who explained that I probably (now more or less confirmed) have a condition called orthostatic hypo tension. When I am sitting down gravity pulls the blood into the lower extremities….the legs and feet. When I stand up again, it takes a period of time for the blood to be forced or pumped back to the upper part of the body….specifically the brain. That is the reason that I (and others) have a feeling of dizziness or light-headedness when they stand up from a sitting or prone position.

The compression stockings help force the blood back to the upper part of the body….the brain, most importantly, I suppose. Yes. That makes sense. And, if the doctor in the Emergency Room would have had any sense, he could have easily told me this.

So, as end result, this turned out to be a good suggestion. Dr. Thomas wrote me a prescription for some compression stockings. Really? I had to have a prescription for a pair of compression stockings? Oh well….. At least, he was trying to be helpful….and not a jerk.

I took the “prescription” to a medical supply store. Actually, they didn’t seem at all surprised or even amused when I handed them the prescription. The clerk showed me the stockings they had available. The number and variety of stockings was much less than I had imagined. But, on the other hand, this was not a clothing store….or a “fashion store” as the emergency room doctor would have put it.

The real shocker came when I asked the price of the stockings! They ranged in price from $87.00 per pair (!) up to….??? I really don’t recall what the most expensive pair cost. My brain was still trying to recover from the idea that a pair of socks could cost $87.00. But, naive me…. I didn’t know any better. This was the fist time I had ever encountered compression stockings. So…., I said, “Great. I will take a dozen pairs.” Right! If you believe that, you probably also believe that the Pope is a United Methodist and that Trump is actually sane! No….. I bought one pair, thinking, “Well, I can wash them every night and I wear the same pair every day.”

Before I left, the clerk asked me if I had ever worn a pair of compression stockings. She then gave me an 8 x 11 inch sheet of paper (regular typing paper or copy paper) which was filled with instructions on how to put them on. She also asked if I had somebody who could help me put them on. By this time, I was becoming (or already had become) disillusioned. $87.00 per pair…. An 8 x 11 sheet of instructions…..Somebody to help me put them on? No….. This was not going to work out.

The pair I bought at the medical supply store is still lying around the townhouse somewhere….still in the box….untouched. I looked on Amazon.com. And, like most things, I was relived that I could by compression stockings for a fraction of what I had just paid for them. In fact, I could by a set of three….let’s make that closer to six pairs… for less that I could buy one pair at the medical supply store. And….I also found that they sell compression stockings that zip up on the side! They do not come with any instructions. You just put them on…..and zip them up.

So…. To bring this little story to an end: I now wear zip-up compression stockings. And…. Most importantly: They seem to work. (That is probably the most shocking thing.) I put on the stockings the first thing in the morning and wear them until I get ready to go to bed. There has been a noticeable difference in how I feel. For the most part….. I can stand up and no longer feel that I am about to pass out.

While I was at the hospital, I asked if I could make an appointment with my new cardiologist. First of all..I wanted to know if he was aware that I had been in the hospital, and if not, to make him aware of the fact…..and to ask his opinion of the situation. Second…. I wanted to find out is he was aware of the fact that I had tried a procedure that he recommended…..and that it had failed.

Not long after my first appointment with him, I got a call from his nurse. She told me that he was strongly recommending that I consult with another cardiologist. This guy specialized in a procedure called “The Watchman Device”. Yes…. I was willing to meet with him and hear what he had to say. He patiently…and thoroughly….and clearly….explained that the “Watchman Device” is a partition that is inserted into the left atrium of the heart and blocks it off so no blood can enter it. The left atrium is apparently a small pouch-like cavity where blood often gets trapped….solidifies or clots. There is always a danger that at some point the blood clot will work its way free and will block an artery in the brain and cause a stroke. In fact, if I can believe this doctor, this is the major place in the body where blood clots are formed. If they could isolate this little chamber, he said, chances of having a stroke are reduced drastically.

It all sounded good to me. They tried to install the little device…..but they failed. My heart was too big….and the device was too small to enclose the little chamber. There is no defect in my heart. I simply have a bigger heart than most people…. But… Don’t we all know that?

Apparently while I was in the emergency room, another discussion was taking place which focused on alternative methods they could employee to close or block off the cavity….and perhaps make a little bit of money on the side. A couple days after I returned home, I received a telephone call from my cardiologist’s nurse. She told me there was another procedure that I might want to consider. Of course, she didn’t have any details…. Nurses never do. It sounded somewhat promising, so I told her to go ahead and set up an appointment with the surgeon who who would be performing the surgery. Actually, I was rather excited about the prospect, and I was looking forward to meeting the doctor.

On the appointed day and time, I arrived at his office….in a rather small office building, compared to most of the buildings where doctors have their offices. He was a German guy, and I later found out that he was only a surgeon, and did not treat patients on an assembly line basis. I met with both him and his physician’s assistant….a nice lady. They thoroughly laid out the plan.

The objectives of what the procedure would accomplish sounded great….exactly what the Watchman Device could accomplish…… In a different way and using a different method…..but achieving the same end result.

From that point, everything started to head downhill. Down a gradual grade at first….but it picked up speed as it went. He…the surgeon…. started talking about things that could “go wrong”. And, if things went “wrong”…. he kept repeating…. at that point, it would….or could….turn into open heart surgery.

I tried to pin him down with questions like, “What are the odds that this will happen?” “On a scale of one to ten, where would you place that possibility?” “Has this ever happened to you before?”

He kept artfully evading my questions….refusing to be pinned down to a definite answer….or any sort of answer. He was never hostile….not was I….but, on the other hand, he was not at all forthcoming with any positive assurances. Yeah, I realize that he was simply trying to cover his rear end. Yeah…I may have done the same thing. Yeah… I know that he had malpractice insurance to worry about. (And, Yeah… I would probably have considered some sort of legal action, if it had failed…..or at least, I hope the executor my estate would have!)

The discussion lasted somewhere around one hour….something that would be unreal and unheard of in most conversations with doctors. As time went by, I became more and more disillusioned. I wanted this surgery….the closure of the left atrial appendage…. done badly, because it has demonstrated it worthiness. It has been effective in preventing strokes. But, the doctor’s reluctance….even refusal….to give any assurances….or any hope of a success rate….was not enough to convince me to go forward with the surgery.

In the coming weeks, I was again deluged via my insurance statements of a staggering array of medical costs that had accumulated as a result of those three days in the hospital. As I had done previously, I looked at them….and shook my head in amazement. There was no point in even wondering what all the charges were paid for. I was never going to know. It was just another stop over in the Medical Mystery Tour. If the insurance company….in this case Medicare and Blue Cross….were satisfied, I was beyond worrying about them. And… Nobody was billing me directly for any of the services….so much the better.

As long as we are on this mysterious….and sometimes confusing, if not sinister….little medical journey…. Why stop now? Let’s just keep going for a while…..

After doing some research on the Internet….the good old Internet….we….mostly Sultan and I…. determined that another similar procedure was being performed at Via Christi Hospital in Wichita. Fayez called the hospital for me and was able to get a telephone number for me to call. In the meantime, I had called my cardiologist’s office and asked if they had any objections about me getting into contact with Via Christi. I really did not need any sort of permission….but I think it is always a good idea to keep my doctors informed of what I am doing….if not as a sign of courtesy, then certainly considering my own well-being. As I had expected, my cardiologist’s nurse called back after a couple days and said, “OK. The doctor has looked into the procedure, and he thinks it is OK for you go ahead and look into it.”

The stage was now set. The curtain was about to go up on this act of the little drama. The name of the medical procedure, by the way, is the Lariat Procedure….just in remote case you are wondering….or even care.

I called the number that Fayez had provided. I was taken by surprise when the nurse answered the telephone. She already knew who I was….and said she had been expecting my call. I was impressed.

We immediately got down to business. I reminded her again that they had tried to install the Watchman Device and that it has not been successful. She seemingly already knew that….from Fayez, I assume. I also told her that another cardiologist had proposed using another method, but that I had declined because of the apparent risks involved and of their reluctance…..if not refusal….to give me any assurances of its success. That, I told her, was why I interested in the Lariat Procedure…..and I was very much hoping that it could be arranged…..and that was why I was calling upon them.

She seemed to understand and agree…..and asked me if I could have my medical records forwarded to her so they could review my medical history and background. Of course, I was willing to do this. And, that very day, I called the Heart Clinic and requested that the records be sent to Via Christi Hospital. Ah, ha! Mission accomplished. I was feeling quite hopeful that soon the Lariat Procedure would be accomplished…..and I could feel more confident about my future….that my odds of having a stroke would be greatly diminished. The nurse said she would contact me as soon as they had looked at my medical records.

About a couple weeks had passed without any contact with Via Christi. I was starting to get a little impatient….and concerned….so I called the nurse again to ask what progress was being made. “Oh, I am glad you called,” she said. “Have you asked your cardiologist to forward your medical records? We have not received them yet.”

“Oh, great,” I thought. “I hope there isn’t some sort of problem.” I called the Heart Clinic and told them that Via Christi had not received my records. “Oh, really?” she….whomever I was talking to….said. “We sent that request to the medical records office a week ago. Hold on for a minute, and I will check.”

I probably played a game of solitaire and wrote a dozen email messages….but finally “she” reappeared and said happily, “She is getting them ready to send right now.” It is a good thing I called….or “right now” could have been in a couple more weeks.

A few days later, the nurse at Via Christi called and told me they had indeed received the medical file…..and that the cardiologist had agreed to talk to me about “the procedure”. She would set up a time and give me a call.

OK…. That sounds good.

In the meantime, there were other calls between us….Medicare policy number, Blue Cross-Blue Shield number. Let me make sure I have your address. We would like for a family member to accompany you. (OK… That would be Fayez….close enough.) Do you have somebody who can drive for you after the surgery? (That would be Fayez, again….) We were already making assumptions and plans that some sort of surgery was going to take place…..

Finally, another call sometime in the middle of August…. “How will Tuesday, September 3 work for you? This will only be for consultation, though.”

September 3 was the day after Labor Day. That sounded OK for me. I mean, almost any day would have been fine for me. My schedule is rather flexible. The appointment was scheduled for 8:30 A.M…..a little early, but that was OK. The nurse had assured me that I should be out of the office by 10:30. Unless….. Unless something unforeseen arose. Like…. What? Like, maybe the doctor was called into emergency surgery. (Didn’t seem very likely to me….but who knows?) Or…. Another consultation ran seriously over time…. Again, unlikely. It has always seemed to me that doctors spend as little time as possible with a patient….no matter what. Or…. Maybe he was running late playing golf….and just didn’t make it back in time. Much more likely!

Fayez had to go to class at 12:30 and needed to drive me back to my hotel and get back to the university. But….Never fear. She told me that their waiting rooms are comfortable….there are an abundance of vending machines for drinks and (junk) food nearby….that there are magazines to read….and TV (with Fox News as its only option, I assume)….. I was welcome to just hang out in the waiting area until Fayez could return.

OK…. It was settled. I was looking forward to going to Wichita, setting up an appointment….and finally having the cardiac procedure taken care of…..and experiencing the feeling of relief and reassurance that my chances of having a stroke were at a minimum.

Monday afternoon…. Labor Day afternoon….I put my suitcase and my laptop into the car and took off for Wichita…..and to yet a different hotel. This would be the fourth hotel I had reserved in Wichita. I was still looking for a comfortable place to stay. I had already tried Aloft, La Qunita and Motel 6. And, now I was about to try another motel.

Is there really such a thing? A good, comfortable hotel in Wichita? I mean…without paying a couple hundred dollars a night? Well…. Before you go out and try them all, let me tell you the answer: NO. I don’t know what it is about hotels in Wichita. What is so difficult about putting a comfortable chair in the room? I am starting to think they do not want people to stay for more than one night…..and this must be their way of making sure they don’t. It is such a simple thing…..a comfortable chair to sit in. This time I had chosen a Quality Inn. The pictures on the Internet looked nice….and there was a chair sitting in the corner….a nice, comfortable-looking chair.

I checked in, I was eager to get to the room and check out the nice, comfortable chair. Maybe I had found MY hotel…the place where I would always go to stay when I was in Wichita. Checking in was simple. I had already paid online. The desk clerk was friendly. There was an elevator….and they served breakfast. Now…. I couldn’t wait to see the chair.

OK… Let’s vote? Raise your hand if you think there was a nice, comfortable chair sitting in the corner….just like in the picture on the Internet. OK… I will even give you a clue: The answer is either Yes or No. If you get it wrong, you can even vote again. And…. The correct answer is: NO! Oh well… It was only for one night….and Fayez and I would be gone most of the evening. I had not found the ideal hotel…but it really doesn’t matter.

Fayez arrived on time about 5:00. As I already expected….from long experience….the first thing he suggested we do was to take a nap! Naps are good. An hour sleeping is certainly not wasted time. So, we took a nap.

Fayez had already planned to prepare dinner at his apartment. Good choice. Fayez is a good cook. We drove to his apartment. I waited while Fayez concocted a meal of some sort of pasta, chicken and some vegetables. As usual, it was delicious. Not to detract from his delightful meal, but almost any sort of food is delicious to me! Just set it in front of me….and I will gladly eat it….and enjoy it…. No questions asked.

After we finished eating, the plan was to go find a nice, safe bar so we could sit and talk for the remainder of the evening, before going back to the motel. Just knowing Fayez, I doubt if his list of bars is very extensive or inclusive. We did, however, drive all over the city of Wichita looking for a bar. Wow…. A city of around 390,000 people….four or five colleges and universities….a military base….. One would think there would be a lot of excitement happening after the sun goes down. We put a lot of miles on Fayez’s car. Every bar we checked out was closed…. Even the noisy Pump House Bar where had paid a five dollar cover charge on a previous visit. It was Labor Day…. And, apparently they take their holidays seriously. And….seriously (!), the city was dead. We may as well have been in Valley Falls. In Topeka, I am almost certain that every bar in the city would have been open…. Not only open….but, probably full of people celebrating their day off. But…. Don’t forget, like I said, I can imagine that Fayez’s list of bars may have been somewhat on the limited side.

We had an evening ahead of us…..and nothing to do and nowhere to go. And, who wants to go to bed before the sun goes down? Fayez suggested that we go back to his apartment and sit on the balcony. So… That sounded OK to me. That is what we did. I bought a six-pack of beer…for myself….and we sat on the balcony of Fayez’s apartment and talked until around 10:30 or 11:00…..and then drove back to the motel….the one without a comfortable chair to sit in.

I woke up around 6:30 the next morning. I was tempted to turn over and go back to sleep for “10 more minutes”…. But, there were good betting odds that 10 minutes would turn into an hour….or more. Anyway, I was eager to go see the cardiologist and set up a time for the surgery.

Sure enough, they were expecting us. But, just because they were expecting us didn’t mean we were immediately ushered into the doctor’s office to find him waiting for us. No…. Just like any other doctor’s office, it was, “OK. Go have a seat, and somebody will call you.” That is what we did…..found a couple seats in a very large, but also almost filled to capacity waiting area. Fayez, of course, looked at his cell phone. I watched the other patients for a while…..a strange assortment of humanity….and then closed my eyes. After some minutes….and I really do not know how many…..a nurse appeared and called my name.

We were ushered into an examining room where we were met by the nurse with whom I had spoken on the telephone. She asked the usual questions….the same ones that were on the medical forms they had received already. She left. Shortly another doctor appears…..actually a physician’s assistant. He asked some questions…basically the same questions the nurse had asked. He left. And…. Then the cardiologist made his grand entrance, accompanied by three young men whom I am assuming where medical students or beginning doctors….or something. Maybe they were body guards. I am not sure….except they were all dressed in white….just like real doctors (except I am sure they were not.)

The good old cardiologist. Actually, I liked him immediately. He was not a native American….probably from somewhere in the Middle East. He spoke perfect English, so he was probably born in the USA….or had lived here for a large number of years.

He didn’t waste any time with preliminary conversation. He apparently didn’t believe in beating around the bush, so to speak. As I recall, he initiated the conversation by asking directly what I wanted done. Of course, he already knew full well what I wanted…..maybe he was secretly recording the show! I told him that I was interested in the Lariat Procedure, and that I had heard that he would be able to perform the surgery.

He countered with such questions and remarks like: Why do you want this done? What do you think you are going to gain from it? How did you know about this procedure.

At some point while answering all his questions, I told him that I sort of wanted to live until I was one hundred years old. He immediately retorted, “You’re not going to live to be one hundred!”

One of the young medical students….or whoever they were….involuntarily gasped and put his hand to his mouth. Fayez glanced at me. The cardiologist realized almost instantly that what he said was perhaps not appropriate. He tried to make a joke of it. “Not with a face like that,” he said in his attempt to smooth things over. I am sure the remark was meant as a “lighthearted” comment…..but, Yes, I agree, it was not a remark I would expect to hear coming from a doctor’s mouth…..under ordinary circumstances, at least. (Unless he knows something I don’t know. And…I don’t think he does!)

He then said, “How old are you?”

“Eighty-one,” I told him.

“Have you ever had a stroke? What makes you think you are going to have stroke?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “My cardiologists have always told me that I need to be taking a blood thinner. But, I don’t want to. Then they told me I should have this heart procedure done.”

“You know,” he said, “I think that somebody is trying to scare you. You are eighty-one years old. You have never had a stroke. Your cholesterol level is good. Your blood pressure is good. Your heart looks like it is in pretty good condition. You have some atrial fibrillation, but only sporadically. It is not constant….and not severe. If I were you, I would go back home….live your life….take care of yourself….and not worry about it.”

Well…. What was I supposed to say?

“So, do you think it will be useful and helpful to have the Lariat Procedure done?” was all I could think of to say.

“We stopped doing the Lariat Procedure two and a half years ago,” he said. He went ahead and explained the reason they stopped doing it. I have pretty much forgotten his reasons now. But, I do remember him saying, “We thought that continuing to do it was unethical. So we stopped.”

I was shocked. So much for that! I must have looked disappointed…..or something.

In reality, I was thinking, “Why did you guys lure me down here. I told you exactly what I wanted. Fayez told the nurse what I wanted. Why didn’t somebody just tell us that the procedure had been discontinued…..two and a half years ago?”

“If you really want me to, I can do the Watchman Device. I can use two of them and overlap them.” he said. “I don’t like to do that. There is some risk involved. It is not a simple operation, but I can do that.”

He went on to explain that the risks of having the Watchman Procedure done…using overlapping devices to fully block off the cavity…. far outweighed the advantages. In fact, he repeated this two or three different ways….just in case I missed it the first time, I suppose.

Then he changed to his “lighthearted” mood again. “Yeah! I love money! If you want me to do it, that just means I am going to make a lot of money!” Then he added, “I will probably benefit more from it than you will.” He was laughing when he said this….outwardly, at least.

I sat there in a state of shock. Not because I was not going to have either the Watchman Procedure or the Lariat Procedure done…… But, because I had just talked to an honest doctor! I am thinking of writing an article for the American Medical Journal or maybe even Nature Magazine….and tell the world of my discovery.

And, also, because I had made the trip to Wichita unnecessarily….and had spent a night with no comfortable chair! Oh well….. I got to see Fayez.

Anyway, he said as he was preparing to leave, “I think you are going to be OK. Don’t let people scare you into doing things.” And, by people, I am pretty sure he meant to say “doctors”.

Well…. That was that. It was not yet 10:30. As usual, Fayez couldn’t wait to get to class. He took me back to the motel. I got into my car and drove back home….. Thus ending this segment of the Medical Mystery Tour.