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HERE ARE THE DETAILS--(of my semi-bovine existence ) After the lemonade incident, I worked like a dog, and the following day, too: I kept right on preparing for week-long house guests. The weather kept on with its sweltering heat. I cleaned like a fiend. I worked in the yard. I didn't drink any more lemonade, but something around my upper body kept tightening its grip. (Gee whiz, I thought, my bra must be shrinking!)

"My chest feels funny," I complained on the phone that evening, and the doc at the medical center gave me these instructions: "Take off that bra!" (Juuust kidding, Dear Reader) He said: "Go to the E.R!"

"But...well...my left arm feels fine!" I tried to make a convincing case for two aspirin and a call in the morning. "I have no trouble breathing."

"Not yet!!" he ominously responded...(kidding once again, Dear Reader! It sounded good. I couldn't resist.) Well, at any rate, I ended up being poked and pummeled and closely monitored in a bed in a room full of other beds, and a white-coated guy intoned these words: "You've had a substantial heart attack!" (Exclamation point mine; he spoke calmly--I assume he was used to hearts misbehaving.) But, wow. It was shocking news to me. And especially to The Yard Man. I know he'd have bet me three horses and a gallon of lemonade it was all in my head!

So...yada, yada, yada...turns out I had a malformed heart valve. I suppose, Dear Reader, that you know enough about modern science, or modern medical care, or...well, do you know anything about Modern Bovine Organ Donation? I was scheduled for valve replacement surgery.

After some begging, they--all the white-coated people--let me go home and host my guests, and go to an out-of-town wedding with them (with the guests, of course; don't be silly!) I had two full weeks to wrap my head around joining the bi-species crowd.

(But) FIVE DAYS LATER: Mr. Yard Man returns from taking our guests to the airport. He walks in the door, and I say, "Let's eat. I've got supper ready."
He says, "Sure, I'm hungry." 
 I'm putting food on the table. "Mmm," he says, "that smells good!" (Okay. Believe me, Dear Reader, I'm not writing fiction, but I made up those words--I have no idea what the conversation was before I suddenly stopped and stood still.)
 I said, "I have a funny feeling in my chest."

This time that yard guy would've bet we were in for a fast ride! We were out the door in a flash, and off to the E.R. again. And the very next day they sliced open my heart (don't be squeamish) and made me into the partially bovine creature that I am today.

(Small final detail: You may find this corny, but cows always love it--whenever I see the sisterhood I say, "I'm a little moooody today, how bout you?")



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