This guy. He helped save me twice. We met more than 20 years ago to discuss my course of treatment for “something behind my heart.” I was 41. He was, I know now, just three years my senior. This guy seemed older, but not because of some avuncular demeanor with big ears or errant nose hairs. Short, tanned and handsome, he treated me more like a sister than a stranger. He cared. This guy wasn’t just my cardiologist. He was warm, funny and downright silly at times. He wore kindness on the sleeve of his white coat. Unlike some doctors, he never seemed to take himself too seriously, except when…