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Jaspersongs
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Funny as
a heart attack
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
I don't know about you, but every time I get whisked away to surgery I
always get that gurney with the bad wheel. You know the one I'm talkin'
about? Makes that funny whompa, whompa, whompa noise?
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
I remember my mom telling me, "Be sure to wear clean underwear. You
never know when you might get in an accident and wind up at a hospital."
Fooled you, mom. I'm not wearing any underwear.
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
Four nurse faces looking down at me. My pants are undone and rolled
down to my knees. It's cold, freezing.
"You nurses know about shrinkage, right? I don't have to explain
shrinkage to you, do I? I will if I have to."
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
I had walked into the emergency room after mulling it over for a good
12 hours. It was a Sunday afternoon and I had just finished mowing the
lawn. I was drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette when I felt this
sharp pain in my chest. Dammit! Do I have acid reflux?
I figured it would help if I drank more beer and smoked more
cigarettes, but just to hedge my bet I chugged some Pepto-Bismal as
well.
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
The doctor told me I would need an angioplasty and possibly a couple of
stents. Apparently they start at your groin and then snake a tube up
through your artery until it reaches your heart. I thought it was odd
that the doctor would start at my groin to get to my heart. But the
more I thought about it the more I realized, hell, that's how everybody
gets to my heart.
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
"I think I have acid reflex," I told the doctor in the emergency room.
"No, you mean acid reflux," he said.
"No," I said. "I mean if you hit my knee one more time with that
hammer, I'll probably throw up on you."
Everybody laughs.
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
The test results come in. "Yes, you definitely had a heart attack," the
doctor says quietly. Nobody laughs except me. I stop laughing when I
realize he's not kidding.
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
"You can't joke your way out of this," I thought. But that thought
was quickly replaced by, "Sure I can. Just watch me."
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
As the nurses roll me down the hallway I look up to see my girlfriend
crying. What the fuck is she crying about? Oh, that's right. I just had
a heart attack. I'm going to surgery. I guess I could die. I don't feel
like I'm going to die, but I suppose it's possible.
That marked the exact second I quit smoking.
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
Well, at least you're not thinking about Jesus. Thank god for small
miracles.
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
So. This is what happens when you turn 50. Definitely not doing that
again any time soon.
Whompa, whompa, whompa. Whompa, whompa, whompa. Whompa, whompa, whompa,
Whompa, whompa, whompa.
STANDARD DISCLAIMER:
This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it,
you're on your own.
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Mike Jasper
is a writer and musician living in Austin, Texas.
Originally
from the San Francisco Bay Area, he claims strong ties to Seattle, St.
Petersburg, Florida and North Platte, Nebraska.
jasper2atmikejasperdotcom
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