A cardiologist who got tired of arriving late.

I have spent three decades doing what interventional cardiologists do: opening blocked arteries, often at two in the morning, often on people who had no idea anything was wrong until that day.

Somewhere around the ten-thousandth procedure, a pattern became impossible to ignore. The disease I was treating in a forty-minute emergency had taken twenty years to build. It had been visible — in a lipid panel nobody explained, in a family history nobody mapped, in a waistline everyone joked about, in blood pressure readings filed away and forgotten.

Hospitals are extraordinarily good at rescue. They are structurally incapable of prevention, because prevention needs years of small, unglamorous, repeated contact — and an eight-minute outpatient slot cannot provide it.

Viretonaa is my attempt to provide it.