11 August—The first civilian prisoners arrived at Alcatraz, which had been converted from a military slammer, 92 years ago today. It closed only 29 years later, in 1963, at the order of Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy (father of Donald Trump’s creepy HHS unstable asshole charlatan boss) because it cost too much to operate compared to mainland slammers.

Alcatraz is currently a popular tourist attraction. Of course Trump wants to reopen it as a prison for immigrants, honest politicians, political dissidents, journalists, critics, and other people he doesn’t like, but Congress hasn’t given him the scratch he wants for it. Yet.

That naturally raises the delightful prospect of Trump being sent up for all or even a small fraction of his countless crimes. We’ll dream on. I hope I live to at least see him out of office.

Meanwhile, Death kindly stopped for me last Monday. Well, he invited me to join him, anyway. Because, as anybody not asleep on the gurney should have known, I was suffering from pulmonary edema, an abnormal buildup of fluid in the lungs. Classic symptoms, schmuck! The weight anomaly along with the breathing problem should have given it away months ago. But I was invincible.

So what caused my pulmonary edema? That’s the part that matters, after all. The etiology is cardiogenic, literally originating from the heart. Good, old-fashioned heart failure. Rather surprising, since I never thought I had a heart.

In heart failure, the heart, which physiologically is just a muscle, can’t pump blood as it should, causing plasma and water to back up in the lungs. So what caused my heart to fail? Same old, same old. Simply put, credit or blame blockage and aneurysm of a coronary artery as well as a stiff and narrowed heart valve.

Could my dissolute, profligate lifestyle, along with an unhealthy diet and excessive alcohol, nicotine, and tar consumption have caused my heart and blood vessels to fail? Could be. Except it can’t be for reasons too numerous—and obvious—to go into. So who knows? When the roll is called up yonder. And Death is taking a pee break.

So that takes us—finally—to my new electric bra. That’s really a Zoll Wearable Cardioverter Defibrillator Model 4000 LifeVest that’s supposed to keep me alive should my aching heart ever skip or add a beat or three. For a few months, anyway, until the experts decide what to do with me using miracle drugs, miracle surgery, miracle prosthesis, and miracle electronics.

And, of course, Medicare Advantage . . .