I went to see my cardiologist three weeks ago. I had the appointment at the new branch hospital they had built off of Old Henry Road. When I was much younger, Old Henry Road was a one lane gravel affair out in the boonies. Now it's a four lane concrete affair with plenty of traffic.
My brother and his roomie used to live on the one lane gravel Old Henry. They hosted huge keg parties outside in the summer. Winter parties featured bon fires. Under age beer hounds from miles around would come, pay admission, and get tight to their heart's content. It was quite a money making operation. The last keg party featured several police cars and a police helicopter.
Looking out of the exam room two on the fifth floor the cars were flying east and west on Old Henry. The tires were making a muffled breathing sound from behind the window glass. I tried to imagine where my brother's old house stood and surmised that it was approximately where I stood, five stories beneath me.
I jumped when my doc came in the room. My EKG was fine but he wanted to do a stress test in three weeks.
On my way to the stress test this morning 'Suzanne' was playing on the radio, calming my nerves. In the back of my mind I had thoughts of the worse that could happen while on the treadmill such as tachacardia or another heart attack. They want your heart pumping fast. I made it through without incident. Tomorrow's part two test involves an injection of a tracer, after which you eat something fatty. They recommended a big sloppy cheeseburger. A fatty meal makes the pictures show up better.
When I told my wife this, she told me I was lying in order to eat a big sloppy cheeseburger but I have the instruction sheet to prove it. It's true, I swear.
Leonard Cohen 'Suzanne' 1966.