A-fib
: As I write this, my heart is exhibiting the rhythm of an ornery, coked-up jazz drummer, which is to say, no rhythm at all. It’s in a-fib, as we say. So I take another pill and sit (and blog) and wait and hope it “converts.” And if it doesn’t, it’s to the damned ER I go. This is what Tony Blair had and Bill Bradley, too. It’s apparently a liberal affliction.
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