The early days of 1972 profoundly affected my life. Unexpectedly and prematurely, at forty-one years of age, I became another sufferer of coronary heart disease. In time, the inner wounds healed sufficiently for me to rejoin the workforce and continue life in a manner that accommodated a newfound attitude: to learn to live with my new destiny. I aggressively persevered, pretentiously concealing the psychological injury life had dealt me so harshly. I carried no guilt. I had always treated everyone with respect, even if I had not always been given the same in return. I thought I had been good to my family and had behaved soberly. So why had I been punished in this way? Perhaps these thoughts were whiffs of self-condemnation.
