I talked to a woman at work.
She said her dad was a
lawyer
so stressed out all the time
that he developed a heart
condition.
His metronome, an overworked
mule,
driven to exhaustion and
madness,
went on a rampage.
He was walking down the
boardwalk
No time to notice the
seagulls—
his heart sped up, up, up
to 400 beats a minute
and he, a grown-up, a hummingbird,
said, with a gasp:
“It’s doing a funny thing.”
And then collapsed.
The paramedics had to rescue
him with a defibrillator—
pressing those powerful
toasters to his chest,
zapping his wonky ticker.
He would say later, with a
smile, that those toasters felt like being punched
by Muhammad Ali
in the heart.
His hummingbirditis
worsened, but he dared not leave the courtroom
For the suit was his
identity
And his knowledge of red
tape
Earned him a pretty penny.
With his money, he bought a
sailboat…a second one…
And of course he feasted on
caviar,
though everything he ate
tasted like pebbles.
Then his “heart did that
funny thing” again
While he was at work.
He decided he didn’t want to
be that guy—
That guy at the firm
Who always had to have the
paramedics called in.
He asked the doc what his
options were
The doc said he could be the
proud new owner
of surgically implanted
defibrillator.
He looked this up online:
The National Heart, Lung and
Blood Institute states
that an implantable cardioverter
defibrillator (ICD)
is a device the size of a
pager
that is implanted underneath
your skin
near the clavicle.
Wires from the device
are attached to your heart.
The device, which runs on
batteries,
contains a small computer
and a pulse generator.
The size of a pager, he mused
The size of a cigarette pack
“Okey dokey,” he said
casually, “Sew the damn thing in!”
And now, if he hasn’t got a
shirt on,
You can see the clear
outline of the cigarette pack-sized metal box
Implanted just under his
skin.
A high-tech, geometric tumor
of the lower collarbone.
A fairly pricey item
in the Oriental Trading
Company of cyborg implants.
“That’s what he wanted,” said the man’s daughter.
“And he didn’t quit his job.
He says the only crazy thing
about it
Is that they have a remote
control for the ICD
Somewhere at the hospital.
Imagine feeling a fist of
lightning punch your heart
Remote-controlled by sadist
interns.”
