Today was my annual visit to the Cardiologist, a reticent, soft-spoken man – the only male doctor I ever see – who locked onto the novel I was reading while waiting for him: “There, There,” by Tommy Orange, a wonderful book. Dr. Annistan asked me about it and I recommended it highly.

I like him, we often talk about books and music, he is deeply into heart data, and I usually hear about the latest study that might keep me alive a bit longer. Like most male doctors, he doesn’t take much time and doesn’t have too much to say. But he seems knowledgeable and takes good care of my heart, which is all one can really ask.

He is an avid reader and he asked me if I could drop my book off for  him to read when I was done, and perhaps it was the writer in me, but I asked him if he was really too cheap to buy a hardcover book (I am a book writer, still). He said he had a huge stack of books to read, and we laughed.

I can’t tell you how many people tell me – a long-time book author – that they never buy hardcover books. They read e-books, or go to the library, or wait for dog-eared paperbacks, and get them at used bookstores in 10 years They do not ever seem to realize this is my livelihood they are talking about. I guess there is no reason why it should, but still…I was thinking to myself that a busy cardiologist probably could afford to buy this book.

“I think I read about it in the New Yorker,” he said. I nodded. “There you go,” I said. Hmmm, I thought, the New Yorker costs about $80 a year. The novel costs $14.95 on Amazon.

The exam was quick and very good.

He gave me good news all around. My EKG was excellent, my blood pressure was excellent, my blood work and cholesterol were excellent. He asked about my angina and I said it only bothered me walking uphill. I said I shoveled snow all winter. He  said shoveling snow was five times more of a strain than walking up hill. I’m complex, I said. He said I was, in fact, unusual.

He said he had nothing to discuss with me, everything was good. He asked me about exercise, and I said I was active and walked when I could, that  was about it. He asked if I had any questions, and I did not.

Well, he said, you are doing so very well, my advice is to keep doing what you are doing. See you in 2019.

I was happy, and I supposed relieved, to hear this, I have grown fond of my broken heart and wish to keep it intact. I don’t want them to take it out and refurbish it again.

The doctor and I had our annual statin fight and I agreed to take a higher dose, he said people who take higher doses live longer than people who don’t. He said cholesterol doesn’t really matter all that much any more. It did for the last three years, as I recall.

I said I didn’t want to live forever, and he said with a dry smile, don’t worry, you won’t.

I could tell he was finished. He said he was “thrilled” with the condition my heart was in, angina murmur and all. In gratitude, I agreed to try a higher statin dose. The session took 14 minutes.

He said goodbye, and reminded me about the book, and gave me paperwork for a blood test in a month or so, and I got dressed and went outside to make an appointment for next year.

On a mad impulse, and as I was signing out, I gave the book to the receptionist and signed it, “Since you can’t afford it, here’s a gift.” He was shocked, and said he didn’t want me to just give it to him before I finished it, he wanted me to take it back..

I rushed out the door, and before it closed, I turned and winked at him: “Hey, don’t get your heart in a lather,  you are even cheaper than my grandmother, keep the book and enjoy it and  give it to somebody! See you next year.” The nurse was laughing so hard I thought she would fall over.

I think it was the best cardiologist appointment I ever had. I called Maria, and I said I couldn’t quite believe I called my cardiologist cheap. Good for you, she said.