📱: ⊹˚₊ 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝗘:𝗜 𝟮𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗥 "𝗠𝗘:𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗬" #SUZU# x #MOMONA# x #RINON# 🔗特設SITE.⋆꙳ #ME_I_Royal_Energy# #ME_I_WAY# #ME_I# #ミーアイ# #미아이#

🫧 : #今日のミーアイ# 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝗘:𝗜 𝟮𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗥 "𝗠𝗘:𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗬" TOKYO - DAY1💐 #오늘의미아이# #ME_I_WAY# #ME_I# #ミーアイ# #미아이#

🫧 : #今日のミーアイ# 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝗘:𝗜 𝟮𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗥 "𝗠𝗘:𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗬" TOKYO - DAY1💐 #오늘의미아이# #ME_I_WAY# #ME_I# #ミーアイ# #미아이#

𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝗘:𝗜 𝟮𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗥 "𝗠𝗘:𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗬" .・゜✭・. 𝗗-𝗗𝗔𝗬 .・✫゜・. #ME_I_WAY# #ME_I# #ミーアイ# #미아이#

I'm a cardiologist. I've had my hand on the human heart for more than twenty years. I've felt it race with fear and go still with grief. And somewhere along the way I stopped believing the thing they taught me in medical school — that the heart is only a pump. The heart is a witness. It keeps a record of everything we were too afraid to feel. Let me tell you about a patient. I've changed her details, but the truth of her is exact. She came into the ER gripping her chest, certain she was dying. Her EKG was alarming. Her cardiac enzymes were up. We rushed her to the cath lab expecting a blocked artery. We found nothing. Her coronaries were pristine. Beautiful, even. What she had was Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. We call it broken heart syndrome. Under a surge of overwhelming stress, the heart muscle balloons and fails — mimicking a heart attack down to the last detail, with no blockage at all. The artery is innocent. The grief is not. When she was stable, I pulled a chair to her bed and asked her a quiet question. Not about cholesterol. About her life. And it came pouring out of her. She was the one everyone leaned on. The daughter who never said no to her aging parents. The mother who never said no to her grown children. The wife who never said no, period. She had spent fifty years being everyone's reliable vessel — and had not, in her own words, "taken a full breath in decades." Her arteries were flawless. Her heart had simply had enough of holding what she would not put down. I have thought about her for years. Because she is not the exception. She is most of us. And here is the part I need you to understand — because it is not poetry, it is physiology. Swallow yourself for forty years and your body keeps the score. Your sympathetic nervous system stays quietly switched on. Cortisol runs high. Blood pressure climbs. Inflammation smolders in the vessel walls. Heart rate variability — one of the truest signatures of a resilient heart — narrows and stiffens. Her ballooned heart was not a metaphor. It was her body doing the math on a lifetime of unspoken no. We think we are burying our feelings. We are not. We are storing them — in our arteries, in our sleep, in the tension we carry so long we forget it isn't part of us. Two hundred years ago the Kotzker Rebbe said a thing I can now confirm on an echocardiogram: there is nothing so whole as a broken heart. He didn't mean it as consolation. He meant the heart that has been broken open is the only one large enough to hold the truth. Rumi, from the other side of the world, said the same thing: the wound is the place where the light enters you. Your broken heart is not your malfunction. It is your assignment. The break is where the light gets in — and where your light finally gets out. So here is the one question I now ask before I write a prescription. It is so simple it embarrasses me that I did not learn it in medical school: Where in your life are you not saying no? Almost everyone knows the answer before I finish the sentence. There is a no you are swallowing right now — to keep the peace, to please someone, to stay the strong one, the reliable one, the one who never needs anything. And every swallowed no is a small dose of stress hormone. A quiet tax on the heart. Paid daily. For years. Until the bill comes due in a cath lab, or a sleepless 3 a.m., or a body that suddenly won't cooperate and no one can tell you why. If that question just landed somewhere in your chest — don't rush past it. That feeling is not nothing. That is your own heart, finally getting a word in. My patient went home. She started saying no. Small ones first. Then real ones. She let people carry themselves for a change. The last time I saw her, her blood pressure was down. Her sleep was back. And she laughed — a real, unguarded, surprised-by-itself laugh — right there in my exam room. Her arteries were still perfect. But now, so was her breathing. You do not have to wait for a broken heart to learn what it came to teach you. Call the friend you've been meaning to call for a year — call, don't text. Say the no you've been swallowing. Feel the thing you've been outrunning. And let yourself be happy anyway, even with the world on fire, because your joy was never a betrayal of anyone's pain. The wound is where the light enters. Your heart already knows the way home. It's just waiting for you to stop holding your breath. I wrote and essay — the five regrets of the dying, why nobody was ever born a coward, and how the heart keeps its record — on my Substack:

THINGS MY PATIENTS TAUGHT ME — No. 1 She was ninety-one, and she'd driven herself to the appointment. That was the first thing that got me—the valet ticket still in her hand, her keys in a little coin purse with a broken clasp she kept snapping shut. Her heart was failing. Ejection fraction of twenty percent. I'd seen the echo before I walked in, so I came in the way I always do—fast, already talking. Medications. A possible device. The numbers, the odds, the plan. She let me get about thirty seconds in. Then she put her hand flat on the exam table and said, "Doctor. Sit down." I sat. "You people always come in like the building is on fire," she said. "I've had four cardiologists. Every one of you talks to the chart." She looked me up and down. "You're the youngest. And the fastest. I don't know if that's good or bad." I told her I'd take it as a compliment. "Take it however you need to," she said. "At my age I've stopped explaining myself." Then she got serious. "I'm not here to be fixed today. I know where this is going. I came so somebody would look at me while I said it out loud." So I put the folder down and I looked at her. She told me she was born in Poland. That she'd buried a husband and a son. That she still made her own soup, and that the soup was better than anything I'd ever eaten, and she was sorry but that was simply a fact. That she didn't want to die in a hospital with a tube down her throat. It took maybe eleven minutes. I didn't write a single note. I've spent thirty years learning to repair the human heart—the stents, the rhythm, the medications, the mechanics of it. Nobody taught me the harder skill, which is how to sit still next to a heart you cannot fix and not reach for a pen. She died about three weeks later, at home, the way she wanted. I wasn't her doctor that afternoon in my office. I was the person who finally stopped talking. And I've come to think that was the more important job. We assume the holy work is the fixing. A lot of the time, the holy work is just staying in the chair. Somebody in your life right now isn't asking you to solve them. They're asking you to look up. Blessings, P.S. She was right about the soup. I never got the recipe. I think about that more than I should. (Things My Patients Taught Me — No. 1. There will be more. They taught me more than I ever taught them.)

Jake Retzlaff discussing whether he had another year of eligibility on @espnthefan: Q: I love that insight because fans never get to hear those stories. If you had another year of eligibility, would you have followed Coach Sumrall to Florida? Retzlaff: That's a tough question. There's no doubt it would've been really tempting. If I were entering the portal again, Florida would've been an incredible opportunity. Playing in the SEC under Coach Sumrall would've been exciting. He's an unbelievable coach. I've said before that Coach Sumrall reminds me a lot of Kalani Sitake. They're similar in a lot of ways. Sumrall is probably a little more Southern and rough around the edges, but they're both authentic leaders who build great cultures. One difference was definitely the language. At BYU, because of what the university represents, the environment naturally keeps things pretty clean. Down South, it was a little different. I think we literally had pass routes named after curse words. That was a culture shock for me. I definitely had to work to keep my own language the way it had been in Utah. Q: Speaking of toughness, let's go back to your time at BYU. Against Oklahoma State, you threw an interception late in the first half, hustled back to make the tackle, and then looked like you were in a lot of pain. Everyone watching thought your shoulder might be seriously injured. Then BYU came out in the second half, ran the ball 10 straight plays, and the first pass afterward was a touchdown to Keelan Marion. Take us through that moment because you showed a lot of toughness throughout your career. Retzlaff: I appreciate that. One thing fans don't always realize is that the only time a football team is truly healthy is before Week 1. After that, everybody is dealing with something. Hopefully, during those early nonconference games, you can stay relatively healthy, but once the season gets going, everybody's managing injuries. Even in my first game against Southern Illinois, I rolled my ankle because the turf gave way while I was running near the goal line. From that point on, you're constantly trying to get as close to 100 percent as possible, knowing you'll never actually get there. That hit against Oklahoma State hurt. I remember running into the locker room trying not to show how much pain I was in. Our trainers and team doctors did a tremendous job getting me ready. The biggest thing I learned is that being healthy is just as much mental as it is physical. If you don't believe your shoulder is healthy, it doesn't matter what the doctors tell you—you won't play freely. Coming out in the second half, after we'd established the run, my first throw was that touchdown to Keelan Marion. Mentally, I had to trust that I was okay and just let it rip. Credit to our medical staff. They got me ready to go, and once I convinced myself I was good, I was able to play my game. Link to interview: 📸: @TulaneAthletics

ELON MUSK: “I'M NOT GOING TO BE PROMOTING CRYPTO, AT MOST, IN A JOKING WAY. IF YOU SEE ME PUMPING CRYPTO, IT'S NOT ME. I DO THINK THERE'S MERIT IN BITCOIN. I'VE SORT OF GOT A SOFT SPOT FOR DOGECOIN BECAUSE I LIKE DOGS AND MEMES.”