Now is an excellent time to write about my syncope. That’s the 25-cent word for fainting. It is not part of the schedule I released on coming letters, but it offers some background to my health.
While I had fainted during extreme exercise in heat when I was younger (most memorably at mile 16 during the run of an Ironman-distance triathlon), as I wrote yesterday, passing out (or nearly passing out) has become a part of my life since the Pupu Platter of Death seven years ago.
Below is a photo of one of my charts upon discharge after five weeks at Maine Med. Not everything is listed, for some reason. Most notably, my stroke. But when this was handed to me, I did not care all that much because I simply wanted to get home to Atticus, who was also ailing at the same time.
During my month-plus stay at MMC in Portland, I went through tests I can’t even remember. They sent probes into my heart, down into my gut, and through my blood vessels. I was poked and prodded, hooked up to numerous wires, a…
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