Home Free

Yesterday I met with my cardiologist.  I am in need of a hip replacement and wanted to make sure that my ticker was sufficiently healed to endure the operation. His office is in the city and I scheduled the appointment for 840 am, so I first tested my heart by stressing with rush hour traffic. I left Waltham in plenty of time, particularly given the relatively non congested highways of the COVID era, but still ran into traffic on what we call The Exit from Hell.  For those who live in the Boston area you will likely identify this as the city exit on the left off the Mass Pike that can lead to Storrow Drive.  Always a blast to take that exit, but it was necessary yesterday given my destination.  Still got to the doc with ten minutes to spare. I was glad I did so because in the waiting area was a person truly trembling because he had arrived late and was told he would have to reschedule the appointment.  That would have made my day.

Some background may be necessary for those who do not know me.  Two years ago I had hip replacement surgery scheduled.  My annual physical coincided with the examination needed before the surgery. At that check-in, I reported some uncharacteristic fatigue when I exercised on the elliptical machine. The doc suggested a stress test. That test's results indicated I needed another more sophisticated stress test. That test indicated that I probably needed a stent or two.  When they went to put in the stents, they saw that I was too blocked for stents to do the job, and I needed bypass surgery.

So, instead of taking care of a limp that makes me--in my assessment--look like Grandpappy Amos from the old tv show, "The Real McCoys",  I had bypass surgery instead.  Under normal circumstances I might have mused about the metaphor of a blocked heart, but at the time I was focused on preempting my demise.  They cracked me open, inserted three new highways, and told me I did fine.  The scar which was a beaut is now nearly gone, and I feel pretty good.  What remains debilitating is my hip.

And that is why I was being examined yesterday morning--to see if my heart is strong enough. The bottom line is that the prognosis is life and that I am likely fit to be opened again and receive a new hip.  To be sure I have to now take a bona fide stress test and wait for the results. Positive results, when coupled with my primary care physician's thumbs up, will allow me to make an appointment so that I can walk sans limp.

I came to the appointment yesterday with several questions.  One question was about my diet and whether the new highways that were put in two years ago, have given me some license to enjoy foods that, for two years, I've avoided. I have not had a red meat meal for two years.  No steak or ribs or meatloaf.  I am crazy about american and muenster cheese. In the last two years, I've consumed less than 1 % of my pre heart surgery intake on that front.  

The doc asked a number of questions and concluded that I did not need to refrain entirely from meat or cheese. He said given the medication I am on, coupled with the very good results of the surgery, and-assuming the upcoming stress test goes well--there's no reason why I could not have, say, some ribs now and again.  He asked me how old I was.  When I told him, he smiled and said, "You should be home free."

That was an interesting comment. My translation was that I am sufficiently long in the tooth such that I will no doubt kick from something else, before any detrimental effects from having a cheeseburger now and again would do me in.  

Home, is an interesting euphemism for death.  I've been consulting a financial analyst to ask about moneys I have saved and how much I can take out.  She did some study and came up with an amount that would exhaust my income at "end of plan."  "End of plan?" I said. "Well, yes", she chuckled. "Kind of when you won't need the money any more."

I rarely think about Home. I figure when you start thinking about Home you accelerate the rate at which you get there. And when you get to that Home, I don't think you are free--though I know the doc did not mean it that way.  When you get Home, you are dead. End of Plan.