What the heart really wants to do is keep on beating. At least, that’s what my doctors tell me.
The “Last Call” from the current issue of the American Spectator is a short write-up of my recent heart scare, my “ventricular cacophony,” which came to almost nothing. Though that “almost” is a pretty funny joke to most people:
What the [Mayo Clinic website doesn't] describe is the embarrassment that comes along with explaining to interested parties that you happen to be a premature ventriculator. All of a sudden, everybody becomes a teenager again.
The piece also describe how, near the end of the diagnostic process, I started to feel like a freaking Pollyanna: