Eddie woke up on the table; his surgeon, Anton, was quizzing him, testing his alertness. "Eddie, count down from ten for me. Come on..."
By six, Eddie was awake. "Did you drop something in there?"
"Eddie, we're not done yet..."
"Well, why did you wake me up for?"
"Because you're a control freak who insisted that I run every major procedure by you before it's done!"
"Well, what is it?!?" Eddie's head waggled back and forth; given the amount of anesthetic, an impressive display of rage.
"My team just did a scan while we were prepping the stent; you're lousy for plaque. I count 12 so far, with 3 imminent risks. I gotta scrub you."
"Well, why don't you do it?"
"Okay! We will! Rumi, get the release form!" An assistant activated her tablet, and began scanning for the electronic document.
Eddie began to calculate. "...hold on. How much is this gonna cost?"
"Eddie, if we don't clean these up, this stent is just money down the drain!"
"Right, but it's my money!"
"Geez, Eddie! You got the inheritence, because I got a job! I don't want the money!"
"Yeah, but your hospital's gonna get it!"
"Eddie! Will you shut up and sign the thing, so we can save your life, you penny-pinching bastard?"
They stared at each other for a moment. Eddie muttered, "You are lucky I'm pinned down here."
"Yeah. Can we do this now, please?"
Anton motioned, and Rumi came forward with the e-form. Eddie winked into the camera. "If you kill me, Annie, I'm going straight to Mom."
"If you die, you're probably gonna see Dad instead." Anton motioned to the anesthesiologist. "Count to ten..."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Tracking Bad Plaque to Prevent Heart Attacks"
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