The day before I went for my heart "procedure" I sat in a movie theater next to a guy that was about 350 who was drinking a tub of Pepsi, giant bin of buttered popcorn, and a box of candy. What the fuck. I eat mostly chicken, vegetables and drink the allegedly heart healthy red wine. Here's this dude knocking back more fatty empty calories than I'll eat in three days in about a half hour, and he's tip top. Genetics are just plain unfair. As I'm driving to go workout he's eating Captain Crunch. Yet, somehow my day tomorrow was set for a "procedure".
I read up on what was going to happen, and it was all fairly "routine". Now the key thing to keep in mind is that it's "routine" for the people that work there, not for me. So when I was semi sedated getting wheeled to the gig, they paused me before I went "on stage" in the operating room. My guy, the cardiologist is in his scrubs, and leans down to talk to me. "Hey hey! How are you?" (Umm how do you think I am? Filled with fear and apprehension?). "So look, here's what I have to say before we go in... Here's this form that says all the stuff we talked about... That we could (and then lists about eight ways I could die on the table) and when you sign here it says you understand and agree to the procedure".
Let's be honest. He doesn't want to do this part and neither do I. I'm nude under a gown, semi doped up on a wheeled gurney. I CAN'T be any more committed to this thing. Yet if he doesn't get me to sign off he's exposing the Cleveland Clinic to God knows what litigation when I bleed out on the table when he pricks my artery the wrong way. The guy seems like a good dude, and really serious about his job. He doesn't want to fuck this up, and I know he doesn't want to fuck this up. If he fucks it up I'll be dead anyway. I reach for the pen and sign off laying flat on my back. Let's go. Showtime baby.
The doors pop open behind me as they push me in. It's really bright and white. There's an operating table that is raised like an altar. Really expensive looking equipment rings the area. They push me over next to it and tell me to step on the little step stool and climb up. It makes me feel small, insignificant, and helpless. All semblance of control is gone. Five people I don't really know are about to shove wires up my arteries to find a problem that is causing restricted blood flow and maybe fix it. They tie something onto my IV and then shoot my wrist full of painkiller. At this point I am an object. I have ceased to be a person and am only a task.
I have a long history of having heroic resistance to anesthesia. At a dentist where I had sought emergency dental care in my twenties I was accused of being a cocaine addict because he had never seen someone take so much novocaine with such little effect. "You shouldn't feel this!!!" In the end I accepted a novocaine shot into the cavity itself, which was like having a hand grenade that was attached to a generator go off in your mouth. The dentist was so frazzled that he started too soon before the sedative took effect and I felt everything, but told him just to go ahead and gripped the chair arms like a doomed passenger on a falling airliner with a single tear rolling down my cheek making me feel ashamed. This procedure was the same. I spent three hours on the table, wide awake, looking around as the guy behind the sheet called out technical requests. "OK, ready the 210 and then we will use a 20 to bridge it". At a point about two hours in, some Indian doctor rolled in and had a discussion with my cardiologist with the same tone of voice one would usually assume at a country club discussing an upcoming round of golf. "You going to go short on that one part and then link it over?" Yeah, that's what I was thinking. "Yeah, that's what I'd do." Meanwhile I am laying on my back, wide awake, feeling the wires or whatever they were working up my veins of my arms into my chest. It's a hell of an experience. All three hours worth.
Here's the thing. Two days later, and it's like nothing happened. I was on the way home four hours or so after leaving the operating room. It's crazy. That night was sort of rough, but two days later I'm drinking Beaujolais and eating turkey sweating my Packers bet. It was way less post procedure hassle than my last dental thing, with the exception of course that if I re-opened my scab on my wrist I'd bleed out and be dead in a couple of minutes. I feel the same as I did before I went in, but I guess the real test will be when I work out and see how my deep breathing goes. I got the reassuring assessment afterwards from my doctor of "you should be good", so I've got that going for me. I don't know. This feels like some sort of line of demarcation. This is the point from now where I've got "my thing" that I know will be my undoing, which seems to be a key to entering old age. If given the choice between various ailments, I guess the thunderbolt of a heart attack is better than the death by a thousand cuts of a debilitating disease. I'm on the wheel of the American Medical Establishment now, so I better strap in. I think there are those that feel I've been recklessly "carpe diem" before, so they better brace themselves for what's coming.
For my first act of living dangerously, I'm going to bet on the Cleveland Browns this week. Before you think I have joined a Doomsday Cult, hear me out. 1. The Browns defense is legit. They play well at home, and SF does not have a physical front line that might counter the Browns speed and aggression. 2. Purdy is coming back from injury coming to play in shitty weather here where he had one of his worst games of his career. It's not like he's got a monster arm to deal with wind, sleet and bullshit. 3. Next week the 49ers go on their bye. Is this not the flat spot of all flat spots for them? Some bullshit game in Cleveland before a week in Cancun. I see the Browns as able to keep it close and Sanders is a high variation QB. The Browns will win by 10 or lose by 30. Cleveland +5.5.
Let's not stop the crazy behavior there. I'm jumping on the piece of shit Tennessee Titans at home versus the Jags. As we have been sitting around for years waiting for Trevor Lawrence to become some sort of franchise QB, the open secret is that Lawrence has fallen into that "he's ok, maybe we can win with him" space. I don't know why you'd pay that $50M but no one ever called the Jags a crafty franchise. Lawrence has cost me a lot of money over the years on his false promise of development, so when I get a chance to bet against him, I bring a lot of enthusiasm. The Jags have covered 6 twice all year. Why will they do that this Sunday? This isn't a bet on the Titans so much as against Lawrence in what is a big game for the Jags. Tennessee +6
Here's an easy handicap. The Texans have a really good defense. They've won four of their last five and are trending up. Indianapolis has had trouble scoring on elite defenses. They don't score more than 20 on good teams. Colts QB Daniel Jones has been announced to have a fractured femur. Now if I have a fractured femur, I'm not playing QB in an NFL game. I'm especially not going to run the ball in that game. On the other side of the field you've got Houston QB Stroud coming off a four week inactive period for a concussion. I don't know what a four week concussion is, but I assume that means you almost died. Stroud has to be focused on not getting hit, so he ain't running either. So now we have a shitty offense (Houston) with a concussed QB that has the best defense in the NFL playing a team with a QB with a broken leg. I got on this Monday at Indy/Houston UNDER 45.5.
Current Record: 18-22
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