I was in my front yard, a roofer standing next to me. After a few brief words, clipboard in hand, he stepped away, then paced back and forth along the length of my lawn. His sun dried eyes squinted at every angle of my house, and he recorded each observation on a form.
“Dbl. peaked roof,” he said. “House 1800 sq. ft. 30% grade. 2 skylights. ” He spat out his words in short, tight breaths, the very tone of his voice implying that he spoke as well as wrote in abbreviations. After filling in a few blanks on the form, he punched up some numbers on a calculator, tore off part of the sheet and handed it to me. “Here’s your est.”
I glanced down at the paper, and couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the cheapest roofing estimate I had ever seen. “Are you serious? You can replace my whole roof for this price?”
“Sure can,” he said. “I just got a new shipment of roofing materials from a friend in Mexico. Cheapest stuff you’re ever gonna see.”
“Cheap? As in cheap price, you mean? This is good roofing material, right?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” he replied. “Junk. Pure junk. The shingles are a light as paper. That’s why I can put it on so cheap. So light one guy can lift 5 sq. on his back and climb up the ladder one hand free. We fasten it up there with plastic staples. Cheap, cheap stuff.”
Now I was just confused. My voice halted. “Why . . . why, would I want a cheap roof? I want a good roof.”
“Now, think about this, Mr. Hebert. I’ve been talking to a lot of people lately and selling a lot of these cheap roofs. Hear me out.” His hand moved to his breast pocket instinctively. There was a pack of cigarettes there. “Today is nice. Light wind, sunshine. You don’t need an expensive roof today.
“Consider when it rains. Most of the time the rain is light. A few 10 mph gusts. Nuthin’ much. You don’t need an expensive roof then, neither.”
“Friend,” I said, “I appreciate your concern for my financial well being. But I would like to point out that within the last year we had a hurricane. Hurricanes bring one hundred and twenty-five mile-an-hour winds.” I was in no mood to talk in abbreviations. “I am not concerned about sweet winds jostling the daffodils. I am concerned about a storm sending my roof into the swamp.”
“Yes, but, hear out, hear me out. A storm like that comes every 100 yrs. A T-storm bad enough to knock this roof off will come once a year. That’s 4 hrs. in 1 day, or only 0.04% of the time. On the flip side, that means the roof is fine 99.96% of the time. I don’t know about you, but a roof that works 99.96% of the time sounds like a great deal to me.
“You’re a doctor, aren’t you, Mr. Hebert? How would you feel about a medical treatment that worked 99.96% of the time? 99.96 . . . .99.96 . . . . 99.96 . . . .”
I blinked. My house was gone, the roofer was gone. I was in my office, in an exam room, talking to one of my patients, Mrs. Plum.
“Ninety-nine dollars and ninety-six cents. That’s what my cousin pays for one prescription of blood pressure medications. I can’t afford that.”
Rising out of my daze, I said, “Mrs. Plum, you don’t need anything as expensive as all that. I can write you a generic. The point, though, is that your pressure has been a little high the past two visits. It is a problem we ought to address.”
“Doctor Hebert,” she said nicely. I stiffened in my seat. When a Southern lady suddenly turns honey sweet, that means she does not intend to be denied. “My pressure is only high when I come into your office. When I take it at home, it is fine. I think it is just the anxiety of coming to the doctor.”
“Yes, I understand that, but . . . “
“I only come here once every few months. The rest of the time I am at home, calm and relaxed, and my blood pressure is fine. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it is fine. Why do I need to take pressure pills when my pressure is only up one percent of the time?”
I opened my mouth to answer the question, but I thought I heard tremendous roar of a hurricane gust strike my office. I looked out the window, and the view was calm and peaceful. Stalks of pine bark crowded the slopes outside, and the honest sun shone beneficently down upon it all.
It went against reason that a single hour, one twenty-fourth of one three hundred-and-sixty-fifth of one seventy-seventh of a life could make all the difference. Experience said otherwise.
That kind sun was shining on thousands of little Hurricane Katrinas at that very moment, thousands of tiny little blockages in the coronary artery system that would only last a few hours but would produce enough damage to splinter an entire life.
“Mrs. Plum,” I finally said, “you don’t take heart medicine when your heart is sick. You take it to keep your heart from getting sick. Now is the time to start taking your medicine because you are well. If you wait until the damage is done, all you will be doing is picking up the debris.”
“Debris?” she said. “Debris? We’re not talking about a tornado here, doctor. We’re taking about my heart!”
I wrote her a prescription for an antihypertensive. She said something to me as she left, but I can’t remember if she told me she was going to take it or not. I was distracted by the view in the window, the silent spring day, ever so placid.
The winds that will be howling at all hoours
And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers.
-- W. Wordsworth.