<h1>Spiritual Fodder or how the good luck (nearly) tanked </h1>

Some time ago I described my brother as "bombastic". I was surprised to learn that the true meaning of the word. What I meant to say was he can be eloquent and is certainly self-assured and totally unpretentious. I don't know how I got confused. I blame it on PD as I am wont to do with every mistake I make and every ache I take. I am always lucky with aches and pains and verbal issues. Like my siblings and children, I enjoy what has been called "the Jord*****Luck". As one of my brother's posse said, "You Jord***** could fall into a bucket of shit and come out smelling like roses." He could be right but that good old luck was strained two weeks ago.

I was in a boxing ring with the Canadian heavyweight champ when he hit me with a jackhammer blow to my chest. I sat up in bed, wide awake and alert and I cried out, "What the hell was that?" Had the blow been real or had it been my imagination, brought on by one of those parkie dreams?" Only a dream, I decided, only a dream." Heart problems are not part of the Jord***** culture. But, I knew the thump in my chest had been real. I tried to go back to sleep and, just in case, I offered up a prayer to a deity that is not part of my consciousness. You know the type of prayer....please lord, get me through the night and I will....Yadda,yadda, yadda.

I awoke early in the morning with terrible pain in my left shoulder, excruciatingly so in my left bicep. Oh Oh. Was this just parkie pain or was I having a heart attack? After all, we PWP can't blame everything on Parkinson's. We do; but we shouldn't.

I ruled out a heart attack. That would be bad luck, totally contrary to Jord*****luck. I decided to ignore it, but I dwelled upon some advice offered by my brother a few decades back, that had involved an irregular heartbeat. That advice was, "You would be stupid not to get that looked at!" Advice that was subsequently echoed by a friend on a separate heart incident 20 years later. I pondered their advice but each time I had gone to a doctor and each time I had been deemed healthy. No heart problems. Therefore, this time I decided to ignore my symptoms, even though this time it looked like the real thing.

My mind was changed by my wife, and I reluctantly went to the clinic.

To shorten this cathartic moment, my doctor proclaimed me to be healthy but just in case, he ordered an EKG, chest x-ray and stress test and a visit to the cardiologist.

A "cardiologist!" That can't be good.

The initial test results were fine, except the stress test showed a possible blockage.

A "blockage"! I didn't like the sound of that.

The cardio doc called me in. I was nervous. Would I be able to box again? Would my daily workout be ruled dead?(On the plus side, would I get a free membership to the ReFit Centre?) Would I need an operation? Was I in the initial stages of my demise where the next attack would kill me?

In the 20 minutes it took to get to the cardio's office, I silently offered myriad prayers to my invisible friend in the sky (as Bill Maher would say). I sat across from the doctor who had entered the office with an odd smile on his face.

"How are you?" he asked.

"OK," I replied and thus began a 15 minute interview which ended when the verdict was rendered. I was pronounced healthy and able to participate in any sport. To be on the safe side he added, "Don't go over 100 beats per minute and take one 81mg pill per day". He also wrote a prescription for some pills to control cholesterol.

I had been to the dark side and called on God for help. I doubt that the prayers had any effect. But, you never know. We won't find out until we pass on down the road apiece.

As Woody Allen once remarked "To you I am an athiest; to God, I am his Loyal Opposition."

PAR RUM A PUM PUM, ME AND MY DRUM.