Today
was my last session of cardiac rehab.
I
brought two bags of dark chocolates for the candy basket at the rehab room. (Yes, there is a candy basket in the rehab
room. It’s right next to the grill where
they make the pork chops and half-pound cheeseburgers.)
A good
rule of thumb to keep in mind is this:
When you leave a large amount of chocolate as you are departing, you
depart as a beloved hero.
Before
I left I said good bye to each of the nurses and technicians who I worked with
over the past 12 weeks. They were all so
nice. Several of the folks gave me big
hugs. One of the nurses was even
crying. (Although I found out, later,
that was because we were blocking her access to the candy basket.)
I had a
feeling that was similar to what I have experienced at other times in life when
I graduated from a program. There is happiness
that a worthwhile endeavor has been successfully completed but there is sadness
because I will no longer be seeing these good folks that I’ve come to know and
like and joke around with.
Mark—one
of the exercise physiologists—did a debriefing with me, going over some of the
data that had been collected from all of my sessions. It was very good. It was encouraging. I appear to be in an excellent state of
health.
Mark
said, “Dan, you are not a statistic, of course, but what your numbers tell us
is that statistically speaking you have a very good chance of living a long,
long life.”
I said,
“That is such good and encouraging news, Mark.
Thank you.”
He
said, “On the other hand, you never know, you could die tomorrow. That’s how these things go.”
He
probably needs to work a little bit more on the “comforting aspect” of his debriefing
skills, but he’s a nice guy and I understood what he meant.
With
that, I took a chocolate from the candy basket and waved good-bye.
