* This is what I told subscribers earlier today…

Long story short: Despite several attempts at quitting, I’ve smoked cigarettes most of my adult life. I wasn’t feeling right about six weeks ago. So, I had a heart stress test, which found a problem. I had bypass surgery last Wednesday and it went so well that I was sent home on Sunday morning. I’ve also been medically cleared to briefly attend Governor’s Day and Democrat Day this week. My schedule will be somewhat reduced for a few weeks, but I really do feel pretty darned good, so don’t worry. All’s well that ends well and I will NEVER smoke again. Promise.

* Jerry Garcia may have saved my life.

For as long as I can remember, whenever my shoulders ached I knew I was coming down with something. They started hurting several days before the Grateful Dead shows in Chicago. And then when I was walking up a ramp to Soldier Field, my shoulders felt like they were on fire and I was short of breath and felt dizzy.

Later that Sunday evening during a random conversation, somebody mentioned that Jerry was 53 when he died.

I’m 53.

I went in to see my doctor and requested a stress test.

* I only told a few people what was going on. Even Barton didn’t know because I didn’t want to put him in an awkward position and I wanted him to focus on the task at hand, not on me.

My mom is staying with me this first week, so I’m in very good hands. My daughter was surprised yesterday that I was walking around my house like nothing had happened. I’m not in much pain and my lungs are rapidly improving. I’m pushing myself to get better, but not so much that I become exhausted. I want to improve a little every day, not regress. There will be some coverage gaps over the next few weeks, but I love my job and it keeps me sane, so I will keep writing.

* When I went in to meet my surgeon he told me he does a ton of bypasses every week, even sometimes on weekends. I asked him if that stressed him out. Nah, he said. Surgery isn’t stressful, it’s a calling. He told me his only stress comes from things that happen outside the operating room. From that point on I knew I was in excellent hands. Piece of cake.

The last thing I remember saying to my anesthesiologist before going under was, “Let’s get this show on the road, doc. I have a life to live.”

* Thanks, Jerry…

You just gotta poke around