It's not Cancer
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Bob bounced back, his Troponin sky high, for the third time in as many months.
Under sixty and full of modifiable risk factors, a jolly round fellow, reclines relaxedly in his bed.
The cardiologist tells Bob he's in serious trouble, his angina's unstable but his risk factors for surgery are gargantuan, especially his fifty a day smoking.
Bob's round face bobs with laughter, he drives the speed limit and he doesn't chase the women, he says. There's no drama with half a dozen each night, eh doc? And what's a few smokes too, he says.
Objectively, his prognosis is terrible. The cardiologist tells him - in numbers - the chances of death, and when.
Bob bobs some more, "At least it's not cancer.", he smiles.
And the cardiologist pauses, looks square into Bob's eyes and gently says, "With most cancers you'd have longer."
And Bob, kindly, round, red-nosed, white bearded Bob, just doesn't get it. Because it's not cancer.
Under sixty and full of modifiable risk factors, a jolly round fellow, reclines relaxedly in his bed.
The cardiologist tells Bob he's in serious trouble, his angina's unstable but his risk factors for surgery are gargantuan, especially his fifty a day smoking.
Bob's round face bobs with laughter, he drives the speed limit and he doesn't chase the women, he says. There's no drama with half a dozen each night, eh doc? And what's a few smokes too, he says.
Objectively, his prognosis is terrible. The cardiologist tells him - in numbers - the chances of death, and when.
Bob bobs some more, "At least it's not cancer.", he smiles.
And the cardiologist pauses, looks square into Bob's eyes and gently says, "With most cancers you'd have longer."
And Bob, kindly, round, red-nosed, white bearded Bob, just doesn't get it. Because it's not cancer.
