Phil’s mother is flying in tomorrow morning. She’ll be picked up at the airport, then dropped off at the hospital. To wait with me. "No one should have to wait alone in a waiting room," she said. Dr. Natale said he could do another ablation, but really, he said, "It won’t help all that much at this point. With heart function that has deteriorated as rapidly as yours has, it’s unlikely the drugs causing that. And an ablation won’t make that much more of a difference now that that your EF is so low. When you were in the 30s, I thought maybe an ablation could get you back to the 40s, but now that it’s so low, an ablation at this point won’t do too much to help with that." Phil could have another ablation, then go in again, a week later to get an ICD (Implantable cardioverter-defibrillator) Bi-ventricle device, but once Natale spoke with Phil’s heart failure/transplant specialist, they all decided, the best course of action right now is for him to get the internal defibrillator with the third lead (the new bulkier device capable of shocking him should his heart ever get all funky). It’s happening tomorrow. If he needs another ablation, he’ll have to wait six months (as to not risk dislodging one of the new leads). Phil walks around the house asking what I want for dinner. "No, what do you want for dinner?" I ask. "Yeah, that’s right! It’s my last meal! I better make it a good one." "Lobster, then? I’ll make them." "Yeah, that’s all I need. Kill something in a pot, or knife it between the eyes, right before I go under the knife. Not too good for my Karma." "Tofu scramblers it is, baby!" "…" "I’ll get the wine opener."

4 YEARS AGO: Pearls

 5 YEARS AGO: Proof, The Past, Hamptons Traffic