It was 1993, and you were the governor's daughter. You recently found out that you had an aortic aneurysm. You were in your bedroom after walking out on your family dinner. Your hand was placed just below your cleavage; unable to breathe, your room swung open. A tall, young man with a stethoscope.    “What are you doing here?” Panickingly, you say, “M'lady, take off your clothes.” Konig says this as he is getting his stethoscope out.   “What?”    “Don’t flatter yourself; I said take off your clothes; I need to listen to your heart.”