“You fixed yourself.” Those were three little words I wasn’t prepared to hear on the last Wednesday in August. Here I was at a local hospital in out-patient cardiology pre-op, hooked up to an electrocardiogram machine with two white patches stuck to my chest and back, being prepped for something called cardioversion, a quick, low-energy shock to restore my heart’s normal rhythm. I felt like a human battery about to get boosted by a tow truck driver in a white coat. Which I was. The IV port planted in the crook of my right arm longed for the perfect dose of “conscious sedation” to make me sleepy and unaware of…