Three months ago, I should have died in my yard.

That’s what the health professionals keep telling me, anyway.

Someone Else had other plans.

How else can you explain escaping what one doctor told me was a “Widow Maker”?

I certainly can’t.

Today, I feel better than ever, am engaged in rigorous rehab, take multiple medicines daily, and eat much better. I’m probably more fit than since high school days more than 40 years ago. (Did I mention that I’m ancient … a seasoned citizen going on 63.)

I have been given a third life.

What do I mean? Well, we are given one natural life. Ten years ago, I survived Stage 3 colon cancer. So, my third life began when physicians at WakeMed installed three stents and began restoring a heart that had lost about half its capacity due to one 95-percent blockage in what was described as my “I-95 South” artery.

I attribute my survival from a “major event” as the emergency room pros first described it (apparently they didn’t think I could bear to hear the word “heart attack”) to three things:

1. Faith coupled with prayer and healing.

2. Extremely good medical care.

3. Rapid response from two sources:

  • My oldest son, Ross, who raced me to WakeMed Raleigh faster than any ambulance (but next time I will call 911 – at the instance of my wife, family and medical professionals!)
  • Especially the cardiac response team at that splendid WakeMed hospital.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

End of the road?

On the morning of Sept. 10 around 10:35 a.m. (I looked at my watch), I was struck by a wave of sweat. I was working in the yard quite vigorously, digging out some roots in a drainage ditch. I wiped my face. What is going on?

I was in very good physical shape. I ran/walked miles daily (hope to again, soon) and I love yard work. (Well, I used too, anyway …)

Next, I had no energy. None. I had to lay down my axe and try to catch my breath.

Then somebody turned on a blue-hot blowtorch in my chest.

Was this a heart attack?

Onset of a stroke?

I didn’t believe I was going to die. Why? Well, my life didn’t flash before my eyes.

But my eyes turned skyward.

“Lord, I don’t know if this is You calling … but if it is I pray that I be forgiven and that You take care of my family …”

He didn’t answer – but I didn’t fall over, dead, either.

I staggered up the hill to my house, never losing conscious.

The pain was searing hot and constant. I went in the house, fell on the bed dirty clothes, sweat and all. No relief.

Turned down the air conditioner all the way. I was hotter than, well, you know …

No help.

Took my blood pressure. 190 over something … so I took aspirin.

No relief.

Headed for the shower. My Mom always warned us kids to always wear clean underwear. Who knows if you would have to go to the hospital.

Finally, after cleaning up and with the pain even more excruciating (think torture), I called my doctor.

“Don’t you come here,” he said. “Get yourself to the hospital – but don’t drive yourself.”

I should have heeded the voicemail greeting: “If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911.”

Didn’t do it. Foolishly, I didn’t want to bring an ambulance sirens screaming and lights blazing to the house.

Called me son.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Ross, I need your help.”

“OK.”

“I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“On my way.”

Amazingly, when he arrived minutes later, I was able to walk across the yard and climb up into the monstrous 4-wheel-drive truck without any help.

I certainly knew I was in t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

But I wasn’t panicked. I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell “Why me?”

I also didn’t think I would die – at least not yet.

Faith in a Higher Being. How do people live without it?

Ross drove safely but quickly to WakeMed.

God was watching. We didn’t hit one stop light.

From ER to ICU …

At the Emergency Room, the attendant asked very nicely: “How can we help you?”

As soon as I said chest pain …boom!

Moments later, I had an EKG.

And within 12 seconds or so, there were 12 WakeMed pros at the foot of my bed.

That’s when I was told “Incident.”

Not long after – and as I watched the entire process – I had three stents inserted in my heart through a catheter inserted in my groin and run directly into the beating muscle.

By then, my wife Lynda and my younger son Ryan had joined Ross. We said a lot of prayers.

The immediate crisis had passed. Next came the trip to the Intensive Care Unit – a place I never wanted to experience first hand.

Then came lots of meds and monitoring – and exquisite care from Amos, my nurse. (World’s best, BTW).

Two days later, I went home.

Unbelievable.

I still can’t really comprehend what all happened, how fast all this unfolded, and how blessed I was every painful step of the way.

How many times was I scolded about not calling 911? I forget. A lot.

How often was I told I had to change my diet, my lifestyle – well, just about everything.

I’m obeying.

I was very lucky. Extremely lucky, they said. (They all read off the same script, I think.)

I don’t believe in luck. I believe in Something Else.

The road back

I couldn’t drive a car for TWO WEEKS. That was the worst part of rehab.

Rest is a painful thing – even reading on the sun-drenched deck – when it’s mandatory.

Next came rehab. Two months in, I’m stronger, more fit, thinner – and ready to go every morning.

“You look great,” several people have told me.

Hey, you’re talking to ugly’s twin. I guess I REALLY looked bad before the “event.”

Helping the recovery immensely were the Get Well cards, the emails, the visits, the flowers, the food (healthy snacks and fruits, of course), the phone calls – even uplifting messages on Twitter and Facebook.

Love, respect and friendship are as important parts of prescriptions as the latest meds.

After more than two months off (I pushed back my return on the doctor’s advice due to unexplained pain, which finally has dissipated), I returned to work on the Monday before Thanksgiving.

How appropriate.

To close, I am thankful.

  • Thankful to all you who reached out to me.
  • Thankful to the physicians, nurses and med techs who kept me alive – and provided the opportunity for a third life.
  • Thankful to a loving family.
  • Thankful to God.

We survive such tests for reasons that we may never know. But when I now am given a chance to share my story of near-death and recovery, I share it.

“Prayer works,” I say.

The rest of the story begins from there.