“Mr. Gottlieb,” said my cardiologist’s secretary, “I would be afraid to have an operation or procedure. Were you nervous before your cardioversion?”

“Gwen,” I replied, “anyone who tells you they weren’t nervous before one is either lying or a fool. All medical operations and procedures have inherent risks. Never mind the statistics in your favour, nobody will be ecstatic if they’re odd man out.”

I remembered the half-hour I spent during pre-admission talking with a doctor doing his fellowship in cardiology. Doctors doing fellowships will spend much more time answering your questions than a seasoned specialist. I asked him at what stage in my irregular rhythm they would give my heart a jolt. He drew me an ECG-like tracing and pointed to a certain spot.

“But why wouldn't you do it here rather than there?” I asked, pointing elsewhere.

“Because,” he said, “at the spot you chose you would go into cardiac arrest.”

“Oh boy,” I replied, “who-ever presses the button on the cardioversion machine better choose the right moment.”

“Don't worry,” he said, “the machine does all the work. After the button is pressed, the machine itself monitors your heart and delivers the energy at the correct time.”

“I hope,” I replied, “the machine’s program works better than the Norton Systcmworks I just bought, or than XP Professional.”

Can you imagine having in one's obituary, “Died from a computer glitch?”

I went robotically through the morning of the procedure and did not think about my law practice while I was on the gurney; my upper torso covered

with sensors and large elect-rode pads on my back and chest. When an anaesthetic was administered by intra-venous in the back of my right hand, I felt a harsh burning sensation, and when I looked at the dock on the wall I saw it was 8:55 a.m. Then an oxygen mask was pressed firmly on my face.

The next thing I remember was returning t0 conscious-ness at 9:25. The preceding half-hour will forever be a complete and utter blank.

I did think, however, about my law practice and life when I first learned I was not immortal and that a number of medical procedures loomed in the near future. I was ill prepared for an interruption, temporary or permanent, in either my practice or my life.

No lawyer is more vulnerable than a sole practitioner who manages to practice, albeit competently and conscientiously, without any support staff. Planning for a catastrophe is not a prioriry item on your to-do list. It should be.

When my medical issues arose, t0 put it charitably my affairs had not been adequately pre-arranged. Nothing focuses you so clearly, however, as the possibility of impending doom.

Think for a moment. If something happened to you tomorrow, would your executor and family know where everything is and what to do? What about your practice and your clients? Would you leave them in the lurch?

A sole practice with no support staff is all too often a

recipe for disaster when carastrophe strikes, whether in the guise of serious illness or sudden death. In this event, there's a department of the law s0ciety whose efforts are invaluable but often unheralded. The work of Trustee Services involves almost exclusively sole practitioners.

It is ironic that a sole practitioner, who has laboured honestly and well and managed to stay off the society’s radar screen for many years, should be drawn, through lack of foresight, into its embrace when illness or death strikes.

As for me, with weekly medical tests and appointments disrupting my life, I reduced even more my already restricted practice and began the preparations I should have made time for many years ago. That's why if you walk into my law chambers you will find numbered labels on the drawers of all my file cabinets and desks. I began in earnest a detailed mem-orandum to be referred to in the event I am ever incapacitated or am where not even the law society can keep me in its clasp.

Alas, my memorandum is still a work in progress. I am dumbfounded by how complex the life and affairs of a sole practitioner can be.

On my web site, I trumpet the virtues of advance planning to prevent future problems and declare that it offers options that may not be available at a later date. That’s advice many of us would do well to heed.

Gary LIoyd Gottlieb, a Toronto lawyer, is a Law Society of Upper Canada bencher and a Toronto sole practitoner.
His e-mail address is glgqC@interlog.com