Lewis Grizzard is dead and now they are after me

On March 21st, 1993 the southern humorist and writer Lewis Grizzard checked into Emory hospital in Atlanta to have his aortic heart valve replaced. Things did not go exactly as planned and the ensuing complications provided Lewis with enough material to bang out a book on his typewriter. The book called I took a Lickin' and kept on Tickin' was published that fall. Just about the time Lewis was able to cash his first royalty check, things began to go wrong and on March 20, 1994 Lewis died, one day shy of a year after he first checked-into the hospital. An earlier book by Lewis was called Elvis is Dead and I don't feel so Good Myself.

Well I don't feel so good myself, thus the title of this blog. Doctors have decided that I need the same surgery and have concocted a plan to plunge into my chest shut my heart off so they can tinker around and replace my aortic valve. Needless to say I'm not thrilled about this. I mean if they could kill Lewis then what's to say they won't kill me.

Like Lewis, I was born with a defective aortic heart valve. A normal aortic valve looks like the hood ornament on a Mercedes-Benz, mine is called a bicuspid, which has only two flaps. Also like Lewis I was unfortunate enough to suffer from an infection known as endocarditis. This nasty and reclusive bacteria called Streptococcus viridans finds heart valves delicious and eats them up, chomping a good size hole in my already less than perfect heart valve. As they say, genetics loads the gun – environment pulls the trigger. So now when my heart pumps, much of the blood runs right back in. Doctors say that this overwork would cause my heart to enlarge and eventually lead to a heart attack. Jimmy Buffett sang about surgeons "I don't think that I would ever let 'em cut on me" but given my alternative, I'm going to let 'em cut on me. As I write this I am 6 days away.

A smart man facing heart surgery would read optimistic tales of the 98% of heart valve replacements that are successful, but I read Lewis's book. Now my odds are significantly higher than his. For one thing, the surgical technique has improved in the sixteen years since Lewis's heart refused to restart. Lewis also had two previous heart surgeries while surgeons have not cut into me since a small hernia when I was three. For another, Lewis's lifestyle choices were somewhat less healthy than mine. His first meal after being discharged from the hospital was a Chilly dog, fries, and a milkshake at the Varsity. Lewis also had a cocktail named after him. A double Grizzard is a glass of Vodka and another glass of orange juice. Lewis ordered his drinks that way to keep bartenders from mixing more than a dash of juice into his vodka. My eating habits are a good deal healthier while bottles of alcohol around my house risk being arrested for loitering.

The surgeons may be after me, but I am very confident in their ability. My surgeon has done more than 8,000 operations (and no, I don't have any idea how many didn't make it – and I don't want to know.)