Going in for a cardiac ablation this morning. Kickoff is at 7:30 am at the Arlington Memorial Hospital and Home for Wandering Boys. Get this: a sober, well-rested doctor runs a catheter into my heart, MY heart, mind you. Attached to the catheter is a TV camera, miniaturized for the occasion. The catheter then plows through my flabby heart muscle until the highly educated, steady-handed doctor finds the NERVE that is causing arterial fluttering.
In the ninth grade I kissed the lovely Jezebel von Baconslice and my heart has been fluttering ever since. Anyway, the sharp-eyed, highly focused cardiologist then grabs his trusty soldering iron and BURNS the end of the nerve. This stops the fluttering and nothing else, like my heart beat.
My doctor has won the Cardiac Ablation Derby the last three years, so I don’t want to hear about anybody taking BETS.