I feel obligated to give you follow up on the end of the evening at Asbury Park, two nights ago. No the title is not a typo, so just be patient. I know I can misspell with the best of them and thank god for spell check, but this time, I’m right and everyone who corrects me is wrong. As my favorite Pixie would say, “Absolutely Totally Awesome for me.”
We, Elsa Neinstine, Tink, Dr. Heart-throb and I finished our cakes and coffee at the Baker Boys <http://www.thebakerboys.us/> without the presence of the interloper, whose name shall be Atlantic City Maestro. It was pleasant, and we decided to walk back on the boardwalk together as our cars were parked in the municipal parking. They had space # 117. No charge after 9 PM, what a bargain.
The boardwalk makes you remember the days when Asbury Park was a resort for New Yorkers and evenings strolling the boards meant families and friends playing at games of skiball, miniature golf and jumping on rides. Tim Mcloone’s Supper Club <http://www.timmcloonessupperclub.com/> was still busy with people spilling out onto the boardwalk, and music playing. It must have a great view of the Ocean. I’m not sure what the difference is between it and Mcloone’s Salt Water Café < http://www.saltwaterbeachcafenj.com/>, but that’s Mcloone’s problem not mine. Maybe one is downstairs and one is upstairs, since they are both listed at 1200 Ocean Ave.
Tink says the buzz is good, but the food is average.
We were still walking on the boards when Dr. Heart-throb’s beeper alarmed. It’s 12:30 AM. 4 hours since we ordered at Baker Boys and 3 ¼ hours since we sent Atlantic City Maestro on his way. Dr. Heart-throb announced he has a patient in the ER at Jersey Shore with a supraventricular tachycardia that won’t break. He is developing Angina, and at risk for a heart attack.
Translation à The patient’s heart is going too fast (140 – 180 beats per minute) because the usual trigger for a beat has been superseded by a faster trigger in the top half of the heart. His heart is out of control, and going to crash, like a virus plagued PC.
Dr. Heart-throb had to go in and start drugs with the possibility of inserting a pacemaker tonight, and other acute treatments before the patient has permanent damage to the muscle wall of the heart. Other than death, that is what makes a heart attack bad for the patient in the long run. It weakens and damages the heart muscle called myocardium.
Tink and I agreed to drive Elsa home. Dr. Heart-throb left but not before introducing himself by his full name. Dr. Ertan Hart. Tink gave me a pixified smile, saying wouldn’t you know with her eyes, but you never would. I had to look off into the ocean to avoid laughing in his face and being rude. People who live in the Mad Mutt’s shoes, shouldn’t throw moans, but Tink’s look didn’t help. He really is a nice man, who could be the title of a Johnny Cash song, A Boy named Ertan.
He should have become a Urologist, then his mother might have name him Richard. How confusing is the name, Dr. Dick Hyman OB-GU? Oh but I digress.
I’ve known many doctors with similar messy monikers, which I call truth in labeling. Dr. Mark Colon gastroenterologist. Dr. Lawrence Bone orthopedic surgeon. Dr. Waterhouse nephrologist. Dr Brain, psychiatrist. There are many others, but tonight, and with what had happened earlier, this was the perfect end to the evening. We reserved the right to laugh when Tink and I were home in the shore house. Bubs wouldn’t be embarrassed. But the night wasn’t over.
Elsa told us on the way to her house, she introduces him as her boyfriend, Art, because of his full name. She says his mother was a fan of country western music and they always sing about that stuff, so she branded him.
It wasn’t until I took Jayson to Elsa for his preschool pre-school physical that I learn the completion of the story, which only got better.
The patient with the supraventricular tachycardia was A.C. Maestro. His girlfriend drove him to the hospital. Apparently she lives in Neptune and he was biding his time on the boardwalk while she got off work. When she got home, they got busy.
Extra-marital sex gets the heart going, as per a certain Ertan Hart M.D.
Dr. Hart could not break the rate in the Emergency Room and with all the drugs A. C. Maestro demanded and received in the ER for comfort prior to Dr. Hart’s treatments, he could not legally sign his consent for insertion of a pacemaker. This is a problem I have tackled. {see The Fatal Blow. Lew P. has written about what happened when my patient had this problem.}
So unknown to Maestro, they called his wife who presented at the ER bedside while Maestro and bimmy were lovingly holding hands. Elsa said this was the PG version since Jay was in the room, so who knows what was really being held. His red-haired wife went infrared, and launched the flight of the blonde bimmy. Did NASA deny UFO sitings that night on the Jersey shore?
Red chased Blondie around the ER until Dr. Hart called security and had the mistress removed. She had no legal standing to be there. The wife did.
The chase scene and its tension broke Maestro’s tachy-arrhythmia, and here tacky is being used and spelled appropriately once again, a new world’s record for Mutt. The scene was super-tacky and as Tramp sang in yesteryear, Super Freak-y.
Maestro will get a pacemaker inserted electively, and he actually produced insurance cards when he was told he was clinic ineligible by the social worker.
The hospital and Dr. Hart are now able to go after him for the payment of services recently rendered. If he has to pay out of pocket, it might hurt more than it did in the past, since his net worth looks to be decreasing by at least, fifty percent.
He may have to recuperate in Neptune. Although his wife said, “On Uranus. That’s where I’m throwin’ ya, out on Uranus.” As everyone already knows, if he wears a Johnny coat home his moon will shine all over Neptune.
When Dr. Hart first addressed him in the ER, he spoke about suing me for terroristic threats. Remember I had asked if he was packin’? Of course, I have three witnesses that will say that never happened.
By the time he’ll be discharged his lawyers and accountants will be working full-time auditing assets and hidden reserves, trust funds in Grand Cayman. They will get to play with his wife’s lawyers and the IRS for the near and foreseeable future.
Yes, that was how he qualified for the clinic. Did you know that you can’t claim to be the executor of an off-shore trust fund for your underage dog, Fido? Even if he is dependent on you, he is not your dependent for tax purposes. This includes the situation where he is a full time student in obedience school. You still can’t claim him. You can’t divert your salary. You still owe taxes, even if the money is in the dog’s name, and dogs don’t file tax returns. Are you listening Jerry Koosman?
Of course, the disclaimer for the preceding statement excludes politicians as they can claim any deduction and tax shelter that they want, if they have been in office long enough.
Ain’t life grand.
à Dr. Madison Muttnick
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