One of the things my cousins and I share, along with a love of reading and a deep connection to the outdoors, is a familial tendency for tachycardia. Out of the 21 of us, 9 have regular episodes of tach, and take medication for it.

Atenolol seems to be the most effective. I still get occasional episodes when a gas bubble gets stuck and sets off the rapid heart beat, but it's nothing like it was when I was ten years younger and had episodes twice a week, lasting 6 to 8 hours.

The first of us to have it show up was cousin Kenny (not not that cousin Kenny, the *other* cousin Kenny). He thought he was going to die and started calling all of us to say goodbye. Cousin Barbara is a registered nurse and she ordered him to get medical help, and told him he probably wasn't going to die, but she was going to kill him herself if he didn't get off the phone and into the emergency room. Like most nurses, she has little patience with people who don't do the simple life-saving things.

I know how he felt. When it happened to me the first time, I thought I was going to die, too, and I did the same thing. I stopped at the first pay phone I saw (this was before the proliferation of cell phones) and called my family to tell them I love them. They said, "You nincompoop! Remember cousin Kenny and cousin Alice and aunt Alice and all the others who have the same thing? Hie thee to a doctor soonest." I did and it's pretty much under control.

But there are the occasional days, like today, when I have an episode, mild, short-lived, I take an extra 25 mg of the meds and sleep it off. Just a good reminder of my mortality and how grateful for the time I have on this earth and for the people I love and the machine I love to hate (computer) and my four-footed family as well. It has been a good life so far and I look forward to each additional day, for who knows how much longer.

Carpe Diem!