Is there anything to say about etiological-extrinsic-cardiomyopathy that hasn't already been said? Frankly, I have no idea. My eyes always start to glaze over whenever anyone raises that subject, and so the entire etiological-extrinsic-cardiomyopathy discussion remains a closed book to me. I suppose I should be interested considering my condition, but life is too short, even if a general familiarity with the basics of etiological-extrinsic-cardiomyopathy might actually lengthen mine by a year or two.
Fortunately, since I've left the hospital, stethoscope-toting medicos no longer stop by my bedside to deliver their incomprehensible, multisyllabic lectures about what's wrong with my heart and arteries. However, sometimes listening to the perfunctory doctors was worse than not listening to the long-winded ones, since they would insist on calling my Coronary Artery Bypass Graft by its unpleasant acronym: CABG.
"When is your cabbage scheduled?" they would ask, as if my heart was being stuffed with some sort of boiled leaf vegetable: a permanent Saint Patrick's Day feast in my chest.
But all that is ancient history now. My recovery began with slow and steady progress but is speeding up in installments. Each installment seems to unveil a new me: a more active me; a less achy me; a me who is occasionally forgetting that he ever experienced surgery. Indeed, I can barely remember how it felt to require assistance when standing and shuffling two feet across the floor. It's rather like paying off a large debt: there is a little less interest to pay each month as the debt declines.