Recently I’ve spent more time viewing rock music performances on YouTube than echocardiograms. When my phone rings, it’s more likely a musician needing a set list than a patient needing a prescription. The eggplant-shaped bruise on my right thigh is now caused by my tambourine, not my long-standing habit of running into hospital beds. The reason is my return to music, after a 15-year hiatus, as organizer and backing vocalist for the Rock A-Z music fest in Glasgow Kentucky. The instigator of my comeback was a patient and a most unlikely encourager.
Anthony John Thomas was a surly man in his early 80s who’d fired most of his doctors over the years. The fact that he kept me as his cardiologist was nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps he liked that I gave it right back to him. He tried my patience often, but when he eventually ran out of good medical options, I feared every visit would be his last. And so it was when he came to my office one day without an appointment: White beard. White shirt. Olive-gray pants. Bent sharply as he rested both hands heavily on his cane. "Walton-Shirley. I need you to do me a favor," he said, breathlessly.
