They will run a teeny camera* into the ticker and either install an inflatable catheter or, should the landscape descried prove too cluttered, go full-on chest-cutting coronary bypass. The latter course, which I did not realize was a contemplated course of treatment until yesterday's consultation, has definitely moved the psychological marker from "man, a stent, what a drag" to "that's certainly the more appealing option, yessiree!"
cordially,
cordially,
*Soranzo: Did you but see my heart, then would you swear—
Annabella: That you were dead.
—John Ford, ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore, ca. 1629