Lenox Hill Emergency Room is decorated in typical hospital bland. Beige. Formica. Plastic. My EMS angels wheeled David in, calling out his status in their medical shorthand as a swarm of activity formed around him, "Male, MI, post arrest." The emergency staff looked at David, incredulous. "Post cardiac arrest?" one of them asked. "This guy?" It was true. David looked remarkably healthy for someone who had just cheated death by a hairbreadth.
He was whisked into an examining room while I tried to settle myself outside. I sat. I stood. I answered questions. I paced. I phoned David's son who said he'd drive in immediately from Connecticut. I phoned my best friend who did what friends do when you can't bear the weight of what's happening - she told me everything would be fine. Our family doctor arrived within minutes. Gary, my doctor who has seen me through 20 years of colds, flus, herniated discs, bladder infections, and allergic reactions to the drugs that cure bladder infections. Gary makes every problem seem solvable. I like that.
Gary told us that our bad news had some hidden good news. The cardiologist on call at Lenox Hill that night was a god in the world of cardiac intervention. He'd been an important researcher on the trials for a newly released type of stent, the little bridge-like device that holds an artery open after angioplasty clears the blockage. "If I had a heart attack," Gary said, "this is the guy I'd want working on me." We headed up to the 11th floor to meet the heart god.
5:35:56 PM 
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