A Heart-to-Heart with the Heart Guy

Jun 19, 2010
My cardiologist is working closely with engineers from British Petroleum to get me back in the hunt.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?"

I followed my cardiologist's gaze out his office window to the cherry red Alfa that sat in the parking lot below.

"Yeah, really sweet ride, Doc."

"You know they only made forty of them. Very rare beast. And you should see her on the Peak-to-Peak. Oh my God."

"Yeah, nice car, Doc. I'm wondering about this procedure you're going to do, though. I'm a little concerned about a few things."

I'd briefly pierced his reverie. He broke off his shameless slobbering over the car long enough to talk medicine.

"Oh yeah, your procedure. Piece of cake. Don't think twice about it. I've done a million of these. Well... four, actually. Enough to pay off the Chris Craft. Do you like mahogany? You should see this boat of mine. Amazing."

"On your website you said the angio-whatever-you-call-it would give me a forty percent increase in aerobic capacity."

"We have a website?"

"Yeah, and there's a graph there that shows before and after. It says that after the procedure I'll feel thirty years younger."

"Oh that. That's a rough estimate. Why the hell do you want to be thirty years younger, anyway? You'll have acne. Say, does that look like oil under my car?"

"No, I think it's just water from the sprinklers."

"Whew... Now, what were you saying?"

"Look, let's cut to the chase. I ride bikes with these young dudes who beat me up on a daily basis. I only want to go through with this if you can promise me I'll be back in their league."

"Holy crap! What, do I look like a miracle worker? Maybe you want Mother Theresa. Or a time machine, ha ha."

I could see his attention drifting back to the parking lot again. An elderly woman had just climbed into a battered white Montego parked behind the Alfa. She started the motor and I saw the reverse lights flash on.

"Uh oh..." My cardiologist was rising from his desk.

I heard her gun the engine a few times and saw a haze of mud-colored smoke belch from the tail pipe. The reverse lights blinked menacingly like the eyes of a dull, but very poisonous reptile.

"Oh no!"

The car rocked once.

"Oh God, please no!"

Rocked twice.


And slammed its two full tons of pure Detroit venom backwards into the innocent, doe-eyed Alfa, which shuddered and crumpled pitifully like an empty soda can. The reverse lights went out, and the Montego lurched forward, out of the parking lot and onto Mapleton.

My doctor, wan and shaking, sank back into his chair. In a wavering voice that was barely audible, I heard him say, "Yeah, thirty years younger, I guarantee it. My receptionist will schedule it for Wednesday."

I can hardly wait.