Health update

I don’t quite know what to do about the fact that I played a gig in Berkeley last night and didn’t feel even the slightest bit of hesitation about giving it every bit of juice I had in me – which was considerable. It was a memorial gig for Al Feldstein, who himself had a heart attack two months ago. The club was packed with friends, some of whom I had not seen in thirty years. The band played with great passion and a sort of winning sloppiness, and I spent the whole night romping and stomping and screaming. It was a gift, an occasion to rise to; I felt uplifted by the moment and inspired to send Al off with everything we had.

When I got home from the club, wired and tired as I have been after every rock gig I ever played, my blood pressure was right where it oughta be, maybe a little high for my new usual, and my pulse was in the high 60s (four samples). No one who hadn’t gotten the memo would ever imagine that I was in the cath lab eight days ago.

I will (obviously) continue following instructions and easing back into physical activity, but jeez, I am feeling kinda sheepish about calling myself a heart attack survivor, victim, whatever. At the moment it feels as if it had never happened.

I have no intention of forgetting, of course. Last night I was greeted warmly and cautiously by various people who delivered the cliché “you’re going to turn over a new leaf” bit, and I said, “Thanks, but I have been living a healthy lifestyle and I intend to live a healthier one from here on out.” It’s not like I have to give up buffalo wings and beer and start taking 100-yard walks to satisfy my exercise requirement.

Better, though, were the people who told me they intended to sharpen their vigilance on their own health.

They could make a commercial for angioplasty with the footage of me from last night.

Photo by Stuart Steinhardt