As a cardiologist, we all have one: our best “chest pain” case.
I thought I had the best… until last night. That’s when one of my colleagues, a very skilled cardiologist, told me his. I’m afraid his took the prize, hands down.
You see, he has two daughters who grew up during his residency and fellowship years in cardiology. They heard the millions of calls he received to return to the hospital for a heart attack victim. These daughters were about ages 3 to 5: you know, those years where his daughters really didn’t want to go to bed when they were told to. But he and his wife were bound and determined to have the girls get to sleep, so one night they jointly vowed not to respond to the girls’ requests at bedtime:
“Mommy, can you bring me a glass of water.”
They held fast.
“Moooommmmmmyyy, can you turn on the light in my closet?”
They laid quietly together, and gently whispered, “Get to bed girls.”
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
They stood fast and failed to reply.
Finally, the room fell silent. They felt victorious. But the victory was short-lived. Before long they heard:
“Daddy..... I have chest pain.”