THE GUY WHO GOT TOLD!

By Edwin Cooney

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like doctors. Okay, okay! They’re solid enough citizens. What I really mean is that I don’t like going to doctors -- so, I don’t.

Occasionally, however, the knowledge of the state of my physiology, its history, and its effect on the length of my earthly stay combine to force me suddenly, almost against my will, into the office of a local physician. If it can happen to me, I assure you, it can happen to you, too.

So there I was on the morning of Monday, December 8th in the office of -- I’ll just call him “Dr. X”. We had a pleasant chat and then I had a short and painless physical. He sent me to have some blood work done and scheduled a follow-up appointment for Tuesday, January 6th.

One of the chapters of my history is a slight heart attack on March 21st, 2002. It was uncomfortable, but hardly life threatening. In fact, I was assured that there was no significant heart damage. I weighed a little more than I do now, about 190 pounds, and I was a constant (if fairly light) cigarette smoker. After spending about a week in two hospitals, I came home, tired, with several prescriptions and with new knowledge of a heart anomaly. (It turns out that my coronary artery attaches to my heart at an unusual angle—but apparently that anomaly was not the cause of the attack.)

Sadly and very reluctantly, I stopped smoking those delicious non-filtered Camel cigarettes. Soon, however, I ran into two formidable obstacles.

My cardiologist expected me to spend a lot of money each month on three or four heart pills (an expenditure that was way more, incidentally, than smoking was costing me!). Second, my cardiologist -- let’s call him “Dr. Y” -- wanted me to get a “primary care” physician. That meant I’d have to answer to two doctors rather than just one.

That was it! I just didn’t want to keep going to doctors. Since I wasn’t going to listen to Dr. Y, I knew I’d be wasting both his time and mine. At the time I made that decision, I was deliberately living a lifestyle designed to ease the pain of my romantic heart, even though I knew it wouldn’t help my God-given one. It was a choice deliberately made for a possible price I was then willing to pay. As to the specifics of that lifestyle, I’ll leave that to your imagination.

About five months ago, on August 4th to be exact, I had grown sufficiently tired of that lifestyle to start losing weight. As of this writing, I’ve lost over 50 pounds. My weight is fluctuating in the mid to low 180’s and headed downward toward my goal of 150 pounds which I expect to reach by May. Life is so good these days that I was even willing to consult Dr. X. Then it happened.

“Mr. Cooney,” Dr. X began, “your cholesterol is 247 so I’m prescribing these pills. I also want you to take blood pressure medication because your blood pressure is 140 over 92. By the way, you’re not still smoking, are you, Mr. Cooney?”

“Not as I used to,” I assured Dr. X, but that wasn’t good enough for him.

“Mr. Cooney,” responded Dr. X, “you’re in your mid-sixties and you’ve had one heart attack. In the past four years, you haven’t done anything about it. It isn’t all your fault. Your liver is depositing junk in your arteries which we can counter with medication, but smoking triples the problem. Either quit smoking or you’re gone in two years.”

I knew I was going to hear something like that but I didn’t like it. In the first place, I’ve always been a bit of a risk taker—especially for pleasure. When I was in third grade, my teacher used to call me “the darer”. Back then, I’d jump backward off railings and frontward down multiple groups of stairs just to see if I could do it. However, I can assure you I’m not nearly so brave anymore. Okay! I’m not so foolish anymore -- or maybe, just maybe, I am!!!

My problem is that I’ve now received that proverbial tap tap tap on the shoulder. I’ve been warned to stop all smoking, pipe as well as cigar smoking, not just cigarette smoking and I LIKE to smoke. Yet, I like living, too.

The next question is obvious. Do I like living as much as I like smoking? That question puts me in mind of the story FDR liked to tell about the New England farmer who was warned by his doctor that if he didn’t give up drinking, he’d lose his hearing. The old gentleman then said: “Doc, I’ve thought it over. I like what I’ve been drinking so much better than what I’ve been hearing, that I reckon I’ll just keep gettin’ deef.”

However, this isn’t about hearing or not hearing, it’s about my future. Dr. X is more right than he is wrong. He’d probably concede that it’s quite likely that if I smoked very moderately I’d possibly last another decade. Even more important, however, is what I am willing to concede.

One of the most difficult things in life is when someone tells us something that we need to hear, but don’t want to hear. We often get our back up, just because we feel cornered. Doctor X says if I start taking the medicine, my chances of growing old gently are pretty good.

So, I’ve been told, not consulted or advised, but told. Part of me concedes, but part of me is in rebellion. Perhaps I’ll just suspend rather than quit smoking. Maybe I’ll smoke only occasionally. Cigars and even my pipes haven’t tasted all that good lately. It’s also true that doctors are in business to sell medicine. I wonder how much they get from the pharmaceutical companies for…never mind!!!

Guess what I like even better than smoking? Yah, that’s it. I like to write. Just writing about this most unsettling experience helps. I like writing for you.

Hmmm! I wonder what I’ll be writing about when I’m ninety!

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

EDWIN COONEY