Heart in Throat but Powering on

By Nancy Colasurdo

I’m sitting in my cardiologist’s waiting room. Checkup time.

“If we take to the streets, is The Felon going to mobilize the weaponry?”

No one else is there on this gray morning. This is my mind talking to me. In fact, it’s having a whole conversation with me.

“I think the answer is yes. So do I want to protest? Well, I’d have to. It’s the right thing to do.”

Still waiting to be called into an examining room.

“I mean, given the choice between jail and death, I’d probably take death. Who am I kidding? I’m not hardy enough for even two hours in prison.”

My turn has come. A nurse has taken my vitals and I’m waiting for the doctor. The board on the wall is digital and it flashes all sorts of helpful medical information about heart attacks, strokes, and blood pressure. I am currently on low doses of meds for hypertension and cholesterol, having given in kicking and screaming to the reality of genetics years ago.

Dr. P comes in and he’s friendly, as always. This guy has a good bedside manner. He listens. Last time I was here, in the fall, I told him I’d drop weight so he wouldn’t have to raise my med doses. I begin there.

“Well, doc, I dreaded coming here today even though I like you. I didn’t lose weight. In fact, I put on a few pounds. Here’s the thing. When I agreed to this in October, I hadn’t counted on my country descending into fascism. I’m an emotional eater. Also, this was the first December in years that I could actually enjoy a social life. I had been hindered by my two knee replacements and before that the pandemic.

“So, you know, I finally tried Razza’s pizza. And I went to a cocktail and cookie pairing at the W. I had some holiday treats. I threw myself a birthday brunch. Typically I jump back into healthy eating in January, but after the party (Dec. 29), my freezer wound up full of leftover cupcakes, muffins and mini bagels. It was delightful but deadly.”

Dr. P looks at me and I’m nervous to hear what he has to say.

“Every one of those things you did, there’s not one that I can say you shouldn’t have done. You should be living your life. You should be enjoying the holidays and celebrating your birthday. So let’s not make this a punishing thing. I don’t believe in that. And you’re not the first person to talk about the stress of what’s happening in the news.”

He thinks for a minute.

“Well, maybe you could have thrown away the muffins instead of saving them.”

Point taken. I laugh and we continue talking about my health.

Bottom line, my blood pressure is 140/100 and so he doubles the dose on my BP meds. Orders bloodwork and a calcium test.

Just the day before I had been on a solo Zen ride in my friend’s car, coming home from my mother’s, chilling to Bruce, Chicago, the Cars. It always expands my heart when I reach that point on the New Jersey Turnpike where I can see the Manhattan skyline and know I’m almost in my happy place.

What a difference 24 hours makes.

I leave Dr. P’s office and run into a friend. We spend an hour in a coffee shop dissecting the state of the world. I stop to buy $9.89 eggs and then head home to prep for a Zoom meeting with someone I’m potentially going to hire to help me with a project. It goes well and when I end that meeting, I feel like I’m doing something for myself that I richly deserve. I’m giddy.

That was the bulk of Monday. Now it’s Tuesday and I have a long-awaited appointment with a new dentist. I need a cleaning, but also, I want to get started on fixing this bridge in my mouth. It’s overdue.

I’ll cut to the chase. Six-tooth bridge at $3,500 a pop = $21,000. That’s the proposed treatment plan. Am I buying a fucking car or am I sitting in a dentist’s office? Wowee.

Grateful that Dr. P isn’t putting the blood pressure cuff on me after this bit of news, I start thinking about how I had two knee replacements and two cataract surgeries the last two years and if you totaled everything I paid out of pocket it wouldn’t even be $3K.

Ah, America. Why isn’t dental part of health care? It’s moronic.

I get home and hunt down the scratch-off I’d purchased the day before. You never know, right? But no miracle, just a bunch of useless numbers on a card.

Meanwhile, CVS is reminding me that I have new meds to pick up. My life coaching clients are trying to keep it together in light of 401K drops that are unthinkable. I get a major lift from a woman who lives in my town who has posted glowingly about my memoir – published nine years ago -- on Instagram and Facebook and it feels to me like a sign to keep the faith.

Speaking of Facebook, when I see on there a “Map of the USA after Losing World War III” and my part of the country is now owned by Europe, I can’t help but write, “Finally, universal health care!”

It’s flip, but I vacillate between that and utterly serious as a coping mechanism many times a day now.

I think back to the stream of consciousness dialogue I was having at the cardiologist. We have plenty of evidence that The Felon and his Adolescent Billionaire sidekick are pushing us to the brink while simultaneously mobilizing law enforcement, the military, and the MAGA Jan. 6 warriors he released from prison.

Why? He’s waiting for us to get full-throttle fed up and hit the streets. And we will, even knowing what could happen when he unleashes his armed forces. What choice do we have? Don’t we owe it to ourselves and the rest of the world?

Eat the muffin. Take the meds. Sing in the car.

And yes, fight the good fight, no matter the danger.