The
morning of Wednesday April 30, 2015 time slowed down. It started
like any other typical day. I usually wake up around 6am visit the
bathroom and go back to bed for a little more sleep before starting
the day with an hour walk. On this morning an unusual sensation hit
me. I frantically sought a way to resolve this feeling? I began
pacing. I tried lying down. Nothing worked. It slowly dawned on me:
something was seriously wrong. I needed help. I woke my wife up
and she called for help.
She
was clearly startled by what was happening but quickly grabbed the
phone and dialed 9-1-1. She told the dispatcher about my symptoms:
chest pain, and difficulty breathing. She followed his prompting and
gave me baby aspirin. Interestingly enough the aspirin was so easily
accessible because I had put it close to the bed only days before.
By
now it felt like the hands of time had slowed down dramatically.
Although the first responders probably arrived within 10 minutes, it
seemed like an eternity. Immediately they did an EKG and confirmed
what we all suspected: I was having a heart attack. One of the men
made a comment about heart surgery. It was at this point that I
started a mental countdown to what I thought would be relief in the
form of general anesthesia. Not only did that not happen, the
journey to treatment was painfully slow. I was hyper conscious of
every single moment, every simple movement, and every painstaking
step in every process on the way to the treatment that would save my
life.
I
was taken from my bedroom, in an evacuation stair chair, down the
steps to the first floor, and then outside to a waiting stretcher.
Again it felt like forever waiting as the Medic administered
nitroglycerin and established an IV line. Inside my soul was crying
out: “why aren’t we moving yet?”
Then
finally! The siren sounded and the ambulance pulled away. I could see
a couple of curious bystanders outside the window sporting looks of
concern. Though time seemed to creep by, I sensed that this was not
the end of my life’s journey. I did wonder how long that awful pain
would continue and when I could finally rest.
As
the ambulance made its way through early morning traffic, I felt way
too aware of every street on the way to the hospital. I noted the
roundabout leaving my neighborhood, the boulevard and the exit to the
interstate. The speed increased a little more on I-85. Fortunately we
were able to zip through, even along areas where traffic had come to
a standstill. As we weaved through the heavily congested ramp to
I-77 South, we slowed down a little but fortunately never stopped.
What seemed like eons later I glanced out the window again: still on
77. I told myself “we’re almost there”. We moved to the
collector lane to get on the final freeway. Three more turns and
we’re there.
I
expected quick preparation for surgery and felt anticipation building
for the anesthesiologist to ‘put me under’. Instead I found
myself in a strange lab with heart monitors and other equipment. One
of the men told me “we’ll have you feeling a lot better in just a
few minutes.” Next I was warned to expect a sharp stinging
sensation on my wrist. He also mystified me by saying I was about to
get a local anesthesia. LOCAL? Isn’t that for the dentist office?
Thankfully, that was one of my last conscious thoughts. Sometime
later, I woke up in ICU to learn I had had a stent installed to
restore circulation to my heart. My crisis was over.
This
“adventure” was certainly not what I expected just days away from
my 50th
birthday. But I am thankful for God’s hand of protection, the
quick response from my wife, the first responders and the medical
team.
There
was never a question in my mind that my assignment on earth is not
complete. I will be intrigued to see what unfolds during Act II, as
the clock has returned to normal speed.
