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My Heart

We're going to have to do last night again, properly, with some serious beer sampling next time, as I had an open-heart surgery appointment this morning.


Belgian beers and small Norwegian moules et frites at Brussels Sprouts (not "absolutely awful" at all, just mildly disorganized) last night with Indy, Milos, Izzy and private blooger T, but I finished the evening on boring old sparkling mineral water. The fact that I was on Benzedrine cough syrup didn't help my conversational skills either...

I think the NZ mussels they have at Oosters in Far East Square are much larger and juicier, but they don't have the range of beers of BSs. Having said that, BSs had run out of three of the beers on their extensive menu last night, including my favorite, Kwak. It is not my favorite because it is nice, it's quite pedestrian actually, but because it should come with a cutesy wooden holder for the mini, yard-style, bulbous-ended glass.

Topics of conversation included:

What makes people "attractive" - is there a universal "beauty" or is it relative? Same may be asked of "entertaining". Why is one's idea of fun so different from another's?

Is "International Pervert" a REAL person? Yes, was the answer, not a thing made up. The visual aids when describing his bobbing erection were most amusing.

Should we all go see 251 as soon as? Yes, must do. This action item however was not marked against any individual's name so chances are it will slip. Plus I get the impression that it's a SELLOUT!

Where did your dad hide his porn stash? I sat back on this one, as my dad died when I was just a wee bairn. All I know is that my son found mine!

Is Gerrie Lim REALLY totally obsessed with porn, or is just another job for him? Yes and yes, we decided... sorry Gerrie your not-so-secret secret is out...

Most men in history did not have sex. Due to the prevalence of "big man" polygamous societies... Possibly.

Other topics: I forget, but as I said, I am on cough syrup...


Watching open-heart surgery was cool; first time I had been in a theatre and poked over the anaesthetist's drapes to observe it all, mostly, from the initial incision and chest bursting, through to the by-pass being set-up and the heart stopped.

My job was to drive the machine that drove the trans-oesopahgeal echo scope - a tube down her throat - in order to assess the damaged heart valve, which was a bit tricky as the machine didn't have any cardiac measurement software -- could have been embarrassing, but luckily no-one asked me to measure anything!

It was extremely humbling and interesting to watch the heart jumping away there inside the chest. Yellow fat on the atrium (that'd be the right atrium), bright red muscle, veins and arteries tracking across. He opened the pericardial sac and tethered it to the chest wall, producing a little cavity in which the heart was contained yet approachable.

All those tubes for the by-pass machine, man o man, talk about complicated. Are these the same nurses and doctors who can't operate a VCR?


The heart. What a symbolic, metaphoric place. There it was askipping around in this person's chest. Her life itself before my eyes. I am trying not cough any Strepsils remnants into the surgical wound. The seat of her emotion (probably due to its connection to the X cranial nerve, the vagus nerve, which lowers heart rate and affects just about everything in the abdomen, ) and home to the warm cockles of her personal loves.


My chest swells with my big heart, sigh, when a cute babe wiggles her pert little arse in my general direction.

My heart holds my secret loves. My heart breaks with despair. My heart turns to stone. My heart is melting. My heart is yours. My heart is stolen. My heart is with my home. My heart is full. My heart is laden with rue. My heart is on my sleeve. My heart rules my head. My heart is deceitful above all things. My heart is calling. My heart will go on. My heart is my own. My heart is in trouble. My heart is not made of wood. My heart is bleeding. My heart is on fire. My heart is at peace. My heart is achy-breaky. My heart is buried at Wounded Knee. My heart is not being phunk'd with. My heart is an open book. My heart is with you. My heart goes PoP! My heart is a fist. My heart is bitter. My heart is full of vengeance. My heart is in my mouth. My heart has secrets that my mind knows nothing of. My heart is a lonely hunter. My heart is crying. My heart skips a beat. My heart is heavy. My heart is batter'd by a three-person'd God. My heart is touched. My heart has your name signed across it. My heart is crossed and I hope to die. My heart is sad. My heart is light. My heart is happy. My heart has your picture in it. My heart is beating like a drum. My heart is so lonely. My heart is pumping...

[Songs lyrics, etc... I kept dreaming about after posting this last night:

My heart is like an open highway. My heart beats like a hammer. My heart is unchained.]

My heart, being that of a man, the way to it is through my stomach, but a mid-sternal incision would be recommended by the vast majority of cardiothoracic surgeons, irrespective of the person's gender.

This person's heart has a damaged mitral valve and the latter approached was used today.


As my feet were killing me in gum-boots, I went out to the tea-room to sit down, promptly fell asleep (I told you I am on cough syrup! Oops, I shouldn't be operating important equipment! Too late!) and missed the actual surgery. This part only took an hour once all of the preparations had been properly gone through. Like most well done things, the potential for success is maximized by careful, systematic and completely adequate preparation. [That's why this post is a hodgepodge.]

I forgot to say that it was quite strange to watch the blood pressure monitor while the by-pass was hooked up - systolic pressure kept dropping and dropping until it practically was the same as the diastolic. It wonder about the effect on vessels in the end organs of the lowering in pulse pressure (the difference between the squeeze and relax pressures in the heart beat), it must change renal and liver perfusion significantly. I suppose that's why they do it as quickly as they can, eh?

But I missed the actual operation itself... Did he take the heart all the way out in order to access the mitral valve or do they twist it around in the pericardial sac, or what? I know they enter by the left atrium which normally is sited at the back near the spine...

We weren't asked to come back until the valve had been replaced, the by-pass removed and the heart restarted. We turned the machine back on and checked that the valve was not leaking (color Doppler show the direction and velocity of flow) and then we packed up. We only scanned for about 2 minutes all up, before and after the valve replacement, but I was in scrubs for four hours. Yes, they were a tight fit. I also noticed that the assistant surgeon was not wearing shoes.


My heart is tired. But I think it may be the cough syrup.

Please add any obvious "my heart" cliches that (Google and) I have forgotten, missed or need to be made aware of. My heart would be forever in your debt.



Posted by: expat@large on Apr 05, 07 | 10:56 pm | Profile


I have no heart.

Lost it some time ago. I lose things way too easily.

le sigh.

This though, is for you my dear E@L


Posted by: VirginPornStar on Apr 06, 07 | 11:51 am

Kool! Thanks!

Posted by: expat@large on Apr 06, 07 | 11:57 am

oh man pornster that looks awesome! i'm still trying to decide where my 2nd one should be.

e@l - i once told a guy (local none the less - you only get such stuff from Singaporean men) that beauty was relative, and different people had differing taste. and he said, if beauty is so relative, why don't you have short or fat Miss Universe contestants?

Posted by: The Ivy on Apr 06, 07 | 4:30 pm

Thanks Ivy but its just a spray on I got at a party. They were free and I wanted to see if I should get another tattoo on my ankle. My real one is on my shoulder.=)

Posted by: VirginPornStar on Apr 06, 07 | 4:59 pm

how long did the spray on last?

Posted by: The Ivy on Apr 06, 07 | 11:02 pm

well, thats the thing with most singaporeans - they're insular. they're stuck in a claustrophobic country with myopic thinking. a good example of that would be the recent tremours. just tremours, and it sparked off panick island wide like it was an earthquake. i could go on and on, but i won't, cos it's time for bed!
btw i think tattoos are a personal choice, and i don't see how fashion dictates this personal choice. I got it way before it was fashionable. even if it became not so cool to have one, i'd proudly wear mine for sure.

Posted by: The Ivy on Apr 07, 07 | 12:11 am

I heart my tattoo. And I'm not one to really go by the dictations of fashion, I mean the current trend is now leggings but you won't ever catch me dead in a pair!

And you have very sexy skin darl. *grin*

Posted by: VirginPornStar on Apr 07, 07 | 11:22 am

Yes, of course, you're both right, absolutely. Personal choice, nothing to do with fashion, peer group, rebellion from older generation, nose-snubbing at parents, nothing like at all. If tattoos didn't exist, you would have invented them, right? Far be it from me to impugne your independant thinking and individuality... ;-)

Q: Why haven't I got a tattoo then?

A1: Because I am a blind follower of the trend NOT to get tattoos? or

A2: Because I nearly did when I young but I pulled out because I reckon they'd HURT!!!!!!


"Tattoos (1691) - Self-mutilation fad which first became popular in the 1600s when explorers brought the practice back from the South Seas [!]. The fad recurred as an upper-class craze in the Edwardian era. Jennie Jerome, Winston Churchill's mother, had a snake tattooed around her wrist. Tattooing became popular again in World War II, this time amongst servicemen and especially sailors, again in the sixties as part of the hippie movement, and yet again in the late eighties. Tattooing has the disadvantage of being a passing fad with permanent results." Connie Willis - Bellwether 1996.

A great read! If you see any Connie Willis books, read them, they're generally outstanding - astute often amusing social commentary usually in a science fiction (time-travel) genre.

The tattoo trend that started in the 80's is still on-going, so this is a very persistant fad.

Much more so than say, the popularity of the Coonskin Caps, made famous by Davy Crockett (king of the wild fronteeeeeer) in the period May 1955 to Dec 1955. This fad collasped just before Christmas, leaving retailers with huge stocks no longer wanted as presents, and America saddled with the irretrievable loss of many Raccoon-skin coats (of the 20's fad), which were ripped apart to make the hats.

see further: Tulip Mania


I do think that modestly done (as in % of flesh area disfigured) tattoos are sexy, but only because I am human being, slave to the vicissitudes of peer pressure, personal insecurity and an exploitative mass media that knows how to tweak my hormonal buttons.

Bring me up differently, and I'd suspect that you were all members of bikie gangs, or ex-cons or WWII sailors with excellent rejuvinative surgery, and I'd be VERY SUSPICIOUS that you'd all have Hepatitises B through H.

However I reckon the skin over a girl's tattoo tastes sweeter... especially one on the lower back, the back of the shoulder, or at the start of the groin crease, or on the upper inner thigh... oooh, time for a cold shower!

Posted by: expat@large on Apr 07, 07 | 12:54 pm


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