Progress

“We’ve discovered that you have a hole in your heart,” said Dr. Amos Bobbitt, vascular specialist at Pantheon Medical Center. It’s called Patent Foramen Ovale, or “PFO.” It’s a hole between the left and right upper chambers of the heart. Everyone has this before they’re born, and for most people, well, 80 percent, it closes up soon after birth. It didn’t actually cause your TIA, but it could be bad news if you had an actual stroke.”

“People— I won’t say who— are saying it’s because I’m overweight,” Ben said. “I know I’m not shaped glamorously, but I’ve been in this body for a long time, and I feel OK, in general.” Ben glanced at Orville, who was sitting in a corner trying to be invisible. Orville had driven Ben here, since Ben had been advised not to drive for a week. “I walk a lot, you know,” added Ben.

Dr. Bobbitt, rather hefty himself and sporting a dark beard/mustache assemblage like Sebastian Cabot’s (thought Orville, who had spent some evenings of his youth watching reruns of “Family Affair”), continued his report: “I found no real problems with your veins except for that temporary blockage in your carotid artery— in your neck. Your blood pressure’s not low, but it’s not very high either. Your cholesterol wasn’t a problem, so we're still investigating what could have caused that constriction. We can find out more with an ultrasound and an MRI, probably, so I’m scheduling those for tomorrow and the next day, if you’re available.”

“I do have a business to run, Dr. B,” retorted Ben, trying for some familiarity. “Ben! I’ll be there! Mrs. Johnson will be there!” Orville erupted, then shrank back. The matter of Ayana’s move to a full-time schedule had not been settled.

“I’m going to put you on a mild blood thinner, Mr. Stillman,” was the final word from the good doctor. “My secretary will give you your appointment times for the tests.” Amos "Mr. French" Bobbitt smiled magnanimously.

Orville for once was in the driver’s seat. Of course, it was simply that. He was literally driving Ben back to his little house on School Street. But Orville felt that, metaphorically, he had the upper hand at this moment. “We should definitely bring Mrs. Johnson on full-time, Ben. Especially now.” Ben barely audibly harrumphed and looked out the car window. The football team was rattling around on the field next to the high school. Their last game of the season was coming up, and they weren’t favored to win much of anything. Ben had half-heartedly followed their progress from year to year, though when he was attending the same high school he’d mocked the jocks.

“On principle, I’m against it," Ben intoned. But I can understand that YOU might feel better having 'Ayana' there in case of another CRISIS.” He was pretending to view Orville’s suggestion as an expression of Orville’s dependency on others, but also implying that his own near-stroke “incident” was not much to dwell upon. Ben could vacillate like that between “macho businessman” and “sophisticated sympathizer.” This used to drive Orville to paralysis. But this time, Orville took the bait and the line and ran with it where he wanted to go.

“I WOULD feel better with her there full-time! And so will you, eventually. I’ll give her the go-ahead. She’s the one preparing her own paperwork anyway. Ben, it’s an expansion, and expansion is GOOD, you always said so!” Orville rested his already-won case just as he was pulling up in front of Ben’s Craftsman-style bungalow with its rickety front porch and overgrown azalea bushes about to burst into song.

— Macoff