HIM: When it comes to an emergency she becomes Jello. This, in contrast to the cool, calm and collected manner in which I face bad news. Let’s take health. She hates doctors and avoids them at all costs. For my own part, I’m on the phone at the first real sign of trouble. Our most recent situation with this heart attack business drained the color right out of her.

Me? I took the pronouncement in stride; it was a small crisis and it was clear what had to be done. She called daughter Susannah to drive us to the South Shore Hospital in Weymouth because she didn’t want to drive back home alone. She hates driving and loathes Route 3. Come to think of it, 3-A can give her hot flashes. She sat next to the hospital bed as I initialed 14 pages of paperwork without a thought since I had no control over the situation.

She insisted that I read the fine print, which would have exceeded the duration of the catheterization. She cringed when a tube was inserted into a vein on my hand and went out to find a place for a cigarette. I could imagine her standing against a wall, asking for a blindfold and one more drag on a True Menthol 100.

She returned with a coffee and apologized for drinking it in front of me. As all schedules must be kept, they came to transport me to the procedure room. As we pushed toward each other for a quick kiss, it turned out to be more memorable then anticipated.

My body surely had sprung a leak somewhere along my right side. Warm liquid was flowing and saturating the gurney, but from where? As the medical staff, with some sense of urgency, sought to identify the problem, tension mounted and then abated.

She had not moved her coffee from between us. As we hugged, the Styrofoam cup’s lid popped off and drenched me with its contents, requiring a change of bedding and a new johnny. We did a re-run on the hug, this time under the direct supervision of the nursing staff. No problem, the cardiac team didn’t mind waiting the 15 minutes.

Oops, one more thing…she got all misty eyed when they asked that I remove my wedding ring. I’m certain she would have cried had I not been the rock that I was.

The Cath result was not good. The 80% blockage was not at issue but the 90% was at a critical junction point with another artery. If a stent could not be placed in the required exact position, open heart surgery would be the only other option. We were asked to mull over our decision. Again, it was my cool demeanor and my Superman-like attitude that helped her deal with the sobering decisions that had to be made.

I wished Dr. Joseph Jiang well and told him to “bring it on” if the stent could not be placed. I knew that she was grateful not to have made that decision. Think about it, during a highly charged period in my life, I was only thinking of her.

I was transported to the Brigham & Women’s Hospital for the next procedure that would either lead to successful stent placements or bypass surgery within 1-3 days. Having attended Raynham Park with Mauro Mazzilli on many occasions, I knew he would put his money on Jiang, and so I did. While I had a cushy ambulance ride between the two hospitals, she had to suck it up and venture forth into the city with Sue at the wheel. I think Nancy felt more at risk then I did during that ride.

Once again we awaited the appointed hour that we would once again hug, take off the wedding ring and be carted off. Again, it was not without incident. I asked Nancy to “double my pillow” and place it under my neck. At this point the staff arrived and Sue asked if they could increase the meds that would calm me during the procedure. “Not without a consent form” responded a nurse. At this point I wanted to know why Sue was making this request. “Because you asked for it” she responded. Now I know my memory is not as sharp as it used to be, but I thought I’d remember such a request. “Dad, you just made the request through Mom! You don’t remember?” Well, thank goodness we now figured it out…I had asked Nancy to “double the pillow” not “double the pills.” With my sanity intact, they wheeled me in to see if my heart would also remain intact. As it turned out, Dr. Jiang and the Brigham Staff were ‘right on’ and made child’s play of those stents and after a night’s stay I returned home to her and the writing of yet one more Him & Her column.

HER: He has told you the truth. If you’re having an emergency, don’t call me. It’s not that I don’t want to help, I’m simply not capable of it. The sight of blood makes me faint, and johnnies, ducks, and the like are hideous things to me. It is also true I don’t submit myself to medical treatment because today, if you’re a smoker, the prevailing attitude is, “You smoke. You deserve to die.” My belief is this, God will decide who lives and who dies. There are lots of people who tend meticulously to their bodies and have sick souls. I’d just as soon trust God to take me when He deems it, but let me say this, having seen the quality of care that Dan received at the South Shore Hospital and at Brigham and Women’s, I would put my trust in those people whom I would like to mention. At South Shore: Ella, Mary, and Suzanne, you are wonderful, and you are exceptional, and you should get big fat raises. Everything was explained to us clearly, every courtesy extended, and I cannot praise these professionals highly enough. Even Donna at the reception desk was impressive in her kindness. At B&W, Dan’s nurse Katy joined in with her dry humor at a time when tears wouldn’t have been helpful. I would have hugged her, but I didn’t want to be carted off to a ward for demented smokers, though I have hugged her in my heart many times since. As for Dr. Jiang, he is spoken of with reverential respect everywhere, and the praise is deserved. He looks you in the eye, and you believe what he says. He gave me back my husband, and on good days I’m grateful.

My daughter Suzy, was my rock that terrifying day, and I say “Thank you”. I wish I had better words to express my gratitude. It is so wonderful to have all of your family there when you need them, and they were there, for sure.

But on to the post-op. As many of you know, a low cholesterol cardiac diet is not what I’m used to preparing. This is the first time in my life, I have been without butter. Not good. I do admit, however, that the pain in my left arm has subsided since I stopped eating delicious food a month ago. Like the late great Erma Bombeck once said, “It’s like hosting a famine.” All the food looks so naked without hollandaise and other creamy, buttery sauces laced with sherry or crisp white wine. All the meat is white and anemic looking. I can’t bear to read a supermarket flyer anymore. If I have any more fiber... But of course, these are small prices to pay. One day, David and I, desperate for grease and salt, ate a fast food meal in the basement so we wouldn’t get caught. I felt profoundly guilty and haven’t done that since. My grandson Evan asked me to make popovers the other day, and I refused on the grounds that we didn’t have butter and eggs at Grandma’s anymore, but we do have Grandpa. And rice cakes.

EDITOR’S NOTE: We are fortunate to live where we do with some of the finest hospitals and staff in the world. Brigham & Women’s is internationally known and respected. Although much smaller by comparison, South Shore Hospital is a local gem also offering a high level of care. The staffs of both facilities were professional, warm, gracious and offering just the right balance of something we find equally important…humor. Our love and appreciation extends to you all.