Dave Emory’s entire lifetime of work is available on a flash drive that can be obtained here. The new drive is a 32-gigabyte drive that is current as of the programs and articles posted by 12/19/2014. The new drive (available for a tax-deductible contribution of $65.00 or more) contains FTR #827. (The previous flash drive was current through the end of May of 2012 and contained FTR #748.)
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COMMENT: Some listeners may be aware that investigative reporter Daniel Hopsicker had open heart surgery some months ago, accounting for his absence from the blogosphere. Fortunately, he is OK and still with us.
Daniel has been a long-time guest on For The Record, and his articles and books are important contributions to the body of American political science.
With Jeb Bush having finally announced his candidacy, we have more need than ever for Daniel’s efforts on the fascist, narco-sewer that is Florida, the state governed by the presumed “45.”
We hope listeners will join us in wishing Daniel a continued recovery and good health. He is a true American hero and deserves your thoughts, prayers and well wishes.
. . . . Last Fall, in early October, I nearly died. Or, as they say in the South, “I liked to died.”
Months earlier, I’d noticed some shortness of breath at a speaking engagement in Los Angeles, been diagnosed with bronchitis, and prescribed antibiotics. Whatever was causing the worrisome shortness of breath, I assumed, was lung-related.
It wasn’t. During a second visit to the doctor for more antibiotics, he uttered this fateful line, “I want you to get an EKG.”
Long story short, in early October my younger brother (we both live with our aging-yet-ageless Mom) drove me to the Emergency Room at Venice Regional Hospital. When the triage nurse at the admittance desk asked why I was there, I replied, truthfully, “Because I can’t breath.”
It was as if someone had pulled the fire alarm. I’d apparently just said the magic words and was swiftly dragged to the front of the line with what felt like unseemly haste. Minutes after shambling through the Emergency Room’s sliding-glass door, I’d been admitted, placed on a gurney, and wheeled down a long featureless corridor to the cardiac care unit, where one week later I underwent open heart surgery to replace a faulty aortic valve.
Breathing: It’s simple. In. Out. Repeat.
Later I began to become dimly aware of what a near thing it had been. I had (literally) not had a moment to lose, the surgeon told me later, when he swung by on his post-op rounds.
When the operation began, they discovered my heart was weaker than they’d thought, he told me, and it had inhibited the anesthesiologist’s ability to sedate me, out of fear it might stop my heart. Whoa!
Coincidentally, the date of the operation, October 13th, is famous as the date of the Western World’s first extraordinary rendition. On Friday the 13th of October, 1307, hundreds of Knights Templar were arrested in France, then moved to secret locations (not on CIA planes), and tortured into confessions of heresy. Ever since, or so the story goes, Friday the 13th is considered an unlucky day.
But the 13th of October was not an unlucky day for me. (For one thing, it was a Monday.) Today, almost four months later, I am enormously grateful and humbled just to be alive, feel healthy, even fairly vigorous. . . .