The Observer is a bit overdue. While we hope that it was missed by most, we realize that there is a little band of scallywags that “Wish us everything but the best.” As the Chief Cook & Bottle Washer of this little enterprise, such things as deadlines fall squarely on my shoulders. With that reality in mind, I must confess that, “Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

I learned last month that I am not the workhouse I presumed myself to be. When the nagging chest pains teamed up with additional discomfort between my shoulder blades, I shrugged it off. When tingling appeared in my left arm combined with a slight numbness in the left side of the neck, I began showing more interest. The cold sweats, flushed skin and little heart blips was the last straw. Dr. ElAmine agreed to see me right away and saw no identifiable issues with the EKG results but was unconvinced and sent me to Weymouth where Cardiologist Dr. Joseph Jiang conducted a nuclear stress test. The next evening he called with the news that it would appear I had recently suffered a mild heart attack. On May 8 a Cardiac Cath was conducted by Jiang at South Shore Hospital.

Two arterial blockages of 80% and 90% were detected and needed immediate attention. A backup plan was determined for an open heart surgery if the 90% blockage would not take a stent; it lay adjacent to a neighboring artery…repairing one could adversely affect the other unless it was perfectly placed. That aspect would be done at the Brigham & Women’s Hospital in Boston late the same afternoon. I think it was at that point that my life was flashing before me. While not a deeply religious person I have always believed in prayer, Nancy has been working on that aspect of spiritual development for over 42 years.

This seemed like a good time to step up the faith. I also knew that others were keeping me in their prayers and…you know, I felt it. Now don’t go thinking that this quirky, bearded, political curmudgeon was about to stop on a dime, see the evil of my ways and transform into Scrooge after the visits. Nope. None of that stuff. My detractors have to understand that I believe what I write. I couldn’t write it if I didn’t. I couldn’t be a hypocrite during a period of such vulnerability and suddenly determine that my life was off kilter so far as my convictions.

What I was, was grateful. Grateful that I have a wife and children and grandchildren that love me, and who I love back. Grateful for the skills of the doctors and staff that made the insertion of  both stents a success.

A one night stay was all that was required. My stomach took some time to adapt to the related required medications. The presence of metal objects in your heart also fatigues the body. This ‘ol warhorse was slowed down by the intrusions but not yet ready for the glue factory. One of the most difficult things was attending the wake and services of my dear friend Mauro Mazzilli. He had visited me at home just two days before he died.

So, I missed a deadline…big deal! Like Papillon said as he floated out to sea on his makeshift raft, “I’m still here”, and for that I too am grateful.

So here you have it…your favorite paper, still free…and still here.