Mortality Pokes Its Nose in Our Lives Yet Again

On left: X-ray showing a pacemaker

L had to wear a Holter monitor for a full day last week to test for arrhythmia. The cardiologist told him yesterday that he needs to get a pacemaker and defibrillator. The implant would be the size of a wallet, he said, in front of his shoulder, and after he's used to it, he can do anything he normally does, like play basketball (and ride the train, on which he's left his wallet; too bad that can't be implanted).

If he doesn't do this, he could drop dead at any time, and not necessarily when he's exercising. The monitor showed an "event" around bedtime, when he wasn't exerting himself. At his basketball game tonight a 43-year-old guy clutched his chest and slumped down. The guys called 911 and the ambulance came in a couple of minutes and took him away. That's the second heart attack they've had lately. A couple of years ago one guy left early, saying he didn't feel well, then went home and then to the hospital. My father used to say that he didn't play tennis any more because when his friends played, they dropped dead.

The good news is that this time L got hypoallergenic adhesive for the wires, so that he didn't have physical reminders of the test for weeks and weeks.

He's going for a second opinion in June, the same date that I might be having a fibroid sliced and diced out of my womb. The doctor is waiting for the delivery of a special slice-and-dicer that makes things easier because she can remove the fibroid in pieces. Which means I can't make it into a cufflink, a la Meyer Wolfsheim.

(Wolfsheim's on Myspace!.)

The Holter (Not Halter)

We are falling apart. And L's employer is paying for it. L is taking a Holter monitor test. Not wearing a halter, as I thought. Holter is the guy who invented the monitor, attached to L's belt during the day and put in a shirt pocket at night, to record everything his heart is doing and not doing over 24 hours. The cardiologists want to rule out arrhythmia, which is not good for thrice-a-week basketball players, or anybody else for that matter. L is irritated because electrode wires are stuck to his chest and the adhesive is itchy. I offered him an Ambien for tonight but he says that only works for three hours. He had a margarita at El Jardin tonight and that relaxed him some. The restaurant is fairly quiet when the Cubs fans haven't taken it over. We shared an order of vegetarian tamales. I hope they are vegetarian. They are called that, and I hope that lard is not used to make the outer masa portion. When I was first a vegetarian I was vigilant, grilling waitstaffs but now that I eat fish and chicken, I don't always want to know.

L asks why this level of detail about him is necessary. Comments, anyone?

He is pressing tape against my scalp then pulling it off to see if loosely-held stubble will come out. This interests and amuses both of us. We are like monkeys checking one another for lice. At least he doesn't eat the hairs. That is what we call evolution.