It Isn't Gonna Be That Way

                        "You've traveled so far, the wind in your face,

                                     you're  thinkin' you've found the one special place,

                                      where all of your dreams will walk out in line,

                                        and follow the course you've made in your mind.

                                         Well, it isn't gonna be that way...."

                                           -Steve Forbert, It Isn't Gonna Be That Way

Our lives change instantly: in the doctor's or bosses' office, on a road, in a plane, catching a train. Suddenly: "It isn't gonna be that way."

One moment you settle on the couch to watch the game, and before you can figure out that day's strike zone, your Darling Girl says,"I'm exhausted. It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest, and there's a pain in my left arm." It was the elephant that did it for me.

Three strikes and you're out and getting into the car, ever so calmly headed for the Emergency Room. Except that neither one of you has brought their cell. Has it come to this, my friends? We turn around and retreat from such a race to retrieve our phones? Yes. Good thing too, as it turned out. (Advice: keep a charger in the car at all times).

                            "you're thinkin' you've found the one special place."

Here's a little secret: if you want to get fast attention at the E-Room counter, even if you've stubbed a toe, just mention your Darling Girl's severe chest and arm pain. She will find herself in the cardiac room in seconds, tied to various monitoring machines, while people in green coats stick things in her arm, on her chest, while placing nitro under her tongue. Nitro? Wasn't that the thing that was always blowing Wile E. Coyote to smithereens? No matter: she's in.

If you try this, after a while you can re-direct attention to that stubbed toe.

Or, not, as in my DG's case

                    "Where all of your dreams will walk out in line."

There are certain phrases that resonate in American culture; "heart attack" is certainly one of them, even if it's proceeded by the qualifier, "very mild." Believe me, when they say the words about your own Darling Girl/Boy, you both begin to pay attention and no longer wonder how the Yanks are doing. You've got your own strike zone to worry about.

Here's another secret: an "emergency" happens very, very slowly.  After the initial drama, long periods go by before usable information is exchanged. Extremely professional people seem to disappear for hours, although it's really just minutes. At some point, you realize that neither of you is going home anytime soon, and that you have been out-texting your eighteen-year-old daughter consistently for the very first time; small victories are good victories, no matter the circumstances. Besides, being the male of the species, you crave distraction from the crisis in front of you.

                       "And follow the course you've made in your mind."

Healthcare has become an abstraction for most of us, a series of op-ed stories or pages of billing explanations that come in the mail, which appear to be composed in esperanto. But, if you are very lucky, as we are, you might live near a hospital that looks and feels like a Four Seasons hotel, maybe even better. If you have to stay overnight, this is the place to do it. Even Congress couldn't ruin it.

Eventually, one of you has to go home, and that is a very lonely ride. You are no longer a bundle of nerves, the adrenalin has worn off, and you fall into a zone much like the "suspension of disbelief" required when viewing science fiction movies. In short, you want to be a responsible adult, but actually you are a being from another planet, a cross between a zombie and The Blob. While your DG is scared and has people attending to her, you are entering a zone you've never before inhabited. Luckily, your children realize this and just let you bobble along, while they hold your hand.

                       "you think you can live and dream your own fate."

As in Hollywood, this has a happy ending. The ambulance takes her to another hospital, led through holiday traffic by a State Trooper. The elephant is resting now, a victim of that nitro. A handsome cardiologist with a drawl immediately has her confidence and schedules a "procedure." Blockage is cleared by one "stent." And you take her home the next day. In time, she will actually be much healthier.

Sixty hours, during which you were both on hospital time, which seemed like sixty days. After you arrive home together, it seems as if only an hour has passed, since the umpire was setting his strike zone and the elephant walked into the room.

It isn't gonna be that way. But, it is going to be some way for years to come. And that, my friends, is a very good thing indeed.

Ed Note: I first listened to Steve Forbert's song in 1978 and immediately went out to buy the album/LP (above). I have been listening to it ever since, not only because it's just a good song, but because it is so painfully and, at the same time, gloriously true. Many thanks to the Greenwich Hospital E-Room staff, the Yale New Haven Hospital staff, Dr. Craig Thompson, and Barbara The Room-Mate. Health is Wealth.

Listen at,  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6XGjxjETis