Dead Man Walking

Happy anniversary to me! Exactly 6 months ago today, I died. If you don't know the story, feel free to read my earlier blog entry where I talk about it. The short version is that I had a severe heart attack and died, twice - as in no pulse, no response, plug pulled, all systems shut down, clinically dead. Both times I was brought back into the land of the living by mouth-to-mouth, chest compressions and having the crud shocked out of me by medical people welding those little electric paddles. I suffered the blue screen of death and got rebooted. Even though I remember none of that happening, it was a life changing experience to say the least. So today I feel like I need to say something about it, about getting a 2nd chance, about the extra 6 months I've been given (so far) and hopefully many more. I don't have anything prepared and haven't thought a lot about what to say; I'll just wing it and if you don't want to read my ramblings, no hard feelings.

I am well aware it sounds weird, but in a very strange way, a piece of me considers what happened to be a gift. It's real easy to say, "Stop and smell the roses" and theoretically everyone knows they should, but few really take it to heart and it's oh so easy to forget with the little day-to-day crap that always seems to come up. There's always tomorrow to spend time with your kids; there's so much stuff that needs to be done at work and there's not enough time to go see that friend. We all get through life knowing that some day we will die, but some day is never today. Until it is. And then it's too late. For most people anyway. Just not for me and the approximately 12 million  other people who peaked behind the curtain and beat a hasty retreat back for a 2nd round of life. And that's why to me, my heart attack was a gift. I've gotten to look into my daughter's eyes for 6 more months and give her lots of hugs and butterfly kisses and tell her goodnight every night and sing her the goodnight song and hear her say, "I love you, Daddy." And I've gotten to hold my wife's hand and give her kisses and eat her cooking and occasionally sit on the couch together just enjoying being next to her and hear her say, "I love you, babe" when we go to bed at night. I've really felt and appreciated each and every time. No taking any of it for granted now or not enjoying the moment just because some bozo did some bozo thing at work and I'm all upset about it.

Don't get me wrong and think I'm now this angel person who never gets upset and goes out of his way to help little old ladies cross the street. I still get pissed at a bozo at work, I still do not like playing kids card games, and I still hate going shopping with my two girls (being with them is wonderful, but shopping with them is pure torture). However, being pissed off at Bozo usually now ends by about 5:01 every evening and I have made myself play kids games with my daughter a few more times and smiled the whole way through. The shopping, well, no, I still don't do that. My God, what do you expect? I'm only human, you know. I have found myself to be a lot more tolerant of people (even the bozo's; well, some of the time), I enjoy the little good things more, the smell of honeysuckle, coffee in the morning (especially when I didn't have to make it), the feel of cool water cascading down my body in the shower after I've gotten hot and sweaty working in the yard. Enjoy more, get pissed less. Not a bad thing at all.

On a different level, another reason I consider it a gift is because I'm really not afraid of dying now. No way am I looking forward to it, but not because it's some big unknown scary thing; I want to spend more time with my family and friends, I want to see my daughter graduate, I want to see more places (so many places, so little time) and meet more people, and I want to see if my Texas Longhorns win another national championship. But dying itself is not that big of a deal to do. It's not something in and of itself to be afraid of. Pain goes away, there's no hot or cold, no anger, no wailing or gnashing of teeth, and you don't think about having to pick up little Johnny after school today and take him to soccer practice or buying the groceries - all of those annoying day-to-day hafta's go away. No, I didn't see a bright light or my dead relatives or hear angels sing. What I felt and was totally aware of was floating in blackness that was comforting and soft and peaceful, no regrets, no longing, and I didn't have any fear at all. I felt safe like a baby falling asleep in their mother's loving arms. There are answers on the next level, answers to questions we think we know the answers to but don't; answers to questions we don't even know to ask. It was so nice. And then, I was being gently, but very quickly pulled back and in the blink of an eye, I woke up surprised as hell to find myself in the hospital and most surprising of all, to find out it was almost 5 days later! To know death is not this thing to be so frightened of brings peace.

I consider it a gift to learn who my true friends are and who truly cares about me. Laying in that hospital bed in a coma with tubes sticking out of me everywhere and looking like death warmed over, well, it could not have been a pleasant visit for anyone. But I had people who came and stayed, people who went out of their way to visit and check on me multiple times, friends and family members who helped my wife and daughter get through the long days and nights when they didn't know if their husband and daddy was going to come back or not. Friends who sacrificed vacation days and drove hundreds of miles to come and stay until I got back on my feet again. Those wonderful folks will never know how much that truly meant to me unless they find themselves needing help and they will find I'll be right there for them for as long as they need. You need somebody to have your back? I got it, my friend. I also found that a few who I thought were friends and loved ones were actually strangers. Hang with me when times are good, but disappear if you might have to go out of your way or use a couple of precious vacation days or drive a few miles. I'm glad to know that about them. Forgive, yes. Forget? I don't think so. When the bullets are flying, you need to know who you can trust.

When I first started to comprehend what had happened, I lay there in that hospital bed thinking, so this is what it feels like to have been on the other side and come back. I didn't have broken bones, but I did have a broken body, a broken life. Will my body repair? Will my life repair? Will I ever be the same? What about me is going to be different than before, different than before my body turned traitor on me. Yesterday I was myself. Today I'm somebody different. It was forced on me. My old me was taken away, never to be seen again. I didn't realize how I felt until I didn't feel that way anymore. And then I so wanted to feel that way again.

So here I am 6 months later, happy to be alive and mentally probably in a  better place, but I still have a way to go physically to regain the old me. I'm not sure that's possible. The old me thought nothing of hiking 4 or 5 difficult trail miles just to see a waterfall or a natural stone bridge; the new me cannot as yet walk more than 1 mile without my body saying that's enough and I can't go further. I have to remind myself that when I first got out of the hospital, walking from the bedroom into the living room resulted in sitting on the couch for 10 minutes just to recover. I used to hate taking any kind of medicine, especially anything stronger than an aspirin and now I take 5 pills every day. I used to never bruise, now, because of the blood thinner medicine, I bruise so easily I often don't know what caused it.

Life is different now, but all in all, it's all pretty good. There are so many others who have it a lot worse than I do so yeah, 6 months after I died, I consider myself to be an exceptionally lucky fella who was given a rare and precious gift. And I fully intend to keep on enjoying it.

4 Month Anniversary - Alive!

The trip down to my overnight watering hole (my brother-in-law's home in Dallas) yesterday was pretty darn boring & uneventful. But that's how it is when you travel via the interstate highways. BFT ran great, the sound system sounds great, and all of the toys in her worked great. The seats could use a little more padding and be a little less firm according to my butt, but they're not too bad and they look really good. Gas mileage was almost 21 MPG, which isn't bad for a truck with a 5L V-8 under the hood, but at $3.72 a gallon, that's a dollar bill flying out of the window every 5 1/2 miles. I prefer to look at it as me doing my part to stimulate the economy. I'm doing it for you guys. At least Michael isn't charging me anything to crash at his house. The Hampton Inn in Kerrville where I'll be bedding down the next 4 nights won't be so nice.

After a good steak at Logan's last night, we watched a movie on pay per view (he had a coupon to get a movie for free that was about to expire so we HAD to use it!), "Unstoppable," which provided some decent action, but had parts that stretched the limits of believability a bit too much; then a few rounds of boxing on HBO accompanied by a serving of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream (that's the heart healthy kind, right?). It's always fun to watch a couple of yo-yo's beat the crap out of each other. I would say it's a guy thing, but there were a good many women I saw in the audience getting in touch with their primitive side. We bid our goodnights around 11:00 PM, went to our respective rooms and dreamed of the good times I expect to have the next few days. Well, I did; I have no idea what he dreamed. 

I'll get back on the road shortly. There's a Starbucks just down the way by the interstate so I'll stop there for a cup of go-juice and maybe a slice of banana nut bread and spend a couple more hours driving south on I-35. Then I get to start having fun! 2-lane roads await me and I'm looking forward to seeing what's around the next bend. I'll let ya know what I find.

You may be wondering about the title of this blog entry. It was 4 months ago today that I had a massive heart attack and died - twice. That sure as hell feel's strange to say. I am so fortunate that both times I flat-lined, several very competent medical personnel were right there with the proper equipment to bring me back among the living. Four different doctors have told me that I'm a friggin miracle - over 90% of people who have as severe of a coronary as I did get to leave the hospital in a box. As I write this, it's 8:00 in the morning, just about the exact same time I suffered what I now refer to as "The Event."  I'm not only still above ground, but I'm probably healthier than I was when it happened. I have a lot to be thankful for and I'm very aware of that.

I'm not going to get all maudlin and Lord knows I'm not going to get preachy, but I've been asked by a number of folks if The Event changed my life. Dumb question, but very understandable. Of course dying changed my life! And what I learned is an old saying I wish everyone would take to heart - be happy while you're living for you're a long time dead.

And with that said, it's time for me to hit the road, crank up Willie Nelson and start singing along with him - On the road again...

(Please click here for the first post in this series.)

Not Dead And Maybe A Bit Wiser

I have had so many people asking questions about my recent NDE (Near Death Experience) when I had my heart attack that I'll just go ahead and answer here. I am asked over and over, "What was it like?" or "Did you see anything?" or I see the looks on people's faces and can tell they want to ask those types of questions, but for whatever reason, don't feel comfortable enough to voice them. So here it is as I remember it. And if you have other questions, go ahead and ask; I really don't mind talking about it. I would ask me too if I weren't me.

The answer to the question it seems everyone wants to ask is no, I didn't see a bright light, I didn't see any dead relatives or friends waiting to take me by the hand (maybe they went to a different place than I was going?), I didn't float above myself and look down at my body, I didn't see my life flash before me or stand at any pearly gates. I saw and felt what I can only describe as "cosmic consciousness." It was warm, it was indescribably comforting, it was extremely serene, it was, for lack of a better word, heaven.

At first, I was very reluctant to tell this. I was afraid people would think me strange or crazy. People would treat me differently; with distance. But I feel free now to give a glimpse. Take me or leave me, it's what I experienced and your reaction is up to you. There's really no use trying to describe it to those who have not experienced it. It's just impossible to fully comprehend unless you've experienced it too. And I don't have the words, the writing talent to do it justice. What I would like people to know is that the fear of death is unjustified. Like most things, fearing it is worse than the reality. All pain goes away; all worries go away; only comfort and peace remain. You become one with everything. Everyone is different, but in a manner I don't understand, you as an individual will be given whatever you need to make the transition easier. If that is seeing loved ones who have passed before, that's what you will receive. If it is a bright light of love, that's what you will receive. I received what I needed. I wanted to stay there. It wasn't my time though, so I came back.

I've been asked, "Do I feel changed?" Absolutely. Here is the biggie - I'm not afraid of death now. I don't desire to die (again!) or anything like that. I never had any great, huge fear of it or thought much about it before and  I didn't dwell on it, but like most everyone, I certainly wondered about it with trepidation.  I promise you, dying itself is not that big of a deal really. Think about it this way - millions of people before have done it so how hard can it really be? It's not like you have a choice in the matter any way. I want to spend more time with my family, I want to see my youngest daughter grow up, I have lots of things I want to do or, in some cases, do again, but now I'm free from wondering what happens when you die.

From the moment it happened through now, over 4 weeks later, I have not once wished I had spent or wish I could spend more time at work. Some of the best friends I could ever hope to have are people I met at work and I received a surprisingly large number of get-well emails & cards from folks I have worked with, but not one communication from any of the "big dogs" - you know, the ones who asked me (and my fellow workers) to take pay cuts, to work more overtime, to do more with less, all for the good of "our" company. And my employer didn't miss a beat due to me being out - business didn't stop, clients didn't cancel. I have enough certificates and letters of appreciation and acrylic "headstones" awarded for jobs well done to fill up several file drawers and cover several shelves on my bookcase so thanks, but I really don't need more. Let the young and enthusiastic take their turn. What I need now is time with my family and time to do the things I put off doing while giving my all for the good of the company. Working so hard, putting in so many hours, and being away from home for my job so much is the biggest regret I have now.

Actually I'm pretty pissed about this whole thing. I haven't finished doing what I want to do. Hell, I feel like I've barely started. I'm pissed that it happened to me when I had just celebrated turning 60 such a short time before. I see people shuffling around that outweigh me 100 pounds or more and their only exercise is squishing themselves into their 25-year-old Honda Civic with the busted springs and floorboard and back seat covered in fast-food take-out cartons and driving from their house to the grocery store for more frozen dinners, beer, and another carton of cigarettes, but I'm the one that had a heart attack. I'm the one who has to be on a heart-healthy diet and do cardiac rehab exercises and take five different medicines every day.  I know, nobody said life is fair, but it sure should be more fair than this. And I also know there are good, decent folks who don't deserve it, but have it a lot worse than me. I feel bad for them, I really, truly do. Life hasn't been fair to them either. But right now I'm writing on MY blog and it's about me so waaa, waaa, waaa - it's not fair to me! Thanks. I feel better now.

I'm also really pissed that it happened while I was with my youngest daughter and it scared her so badly. I know I didn't have any control over the timing and it's a good thing it happened where and at the time it did so a medical person was right there, but I hate, hate, hate that something associated with me scared my sweet little girl and no wise, soothing words of comfort will ever change that.

Now that I've got my bitching out of the way, in a perverse way, I'm almost glad it happened. Someone or something (choose according to your belief) tapped me on the shoulder and got my attention. OK, maybe it was more like a sledgehammer upside the head. Time to start slowing down to enjoy what I have - my family and my friends mostly, but also the everyday things; a shared laugh, my daughter's smile, my wife's eyes, a beautiful sunrise, a golden sunset, shapes taken by clouds, the ability to still do things I enjoy like traveling, photography, writing. It's time to smell the proverbial roses, son.

I know how sugary sweet that sounds and how everyone has probably heard it all hundreds of times before. And if you want to dismiss this as the talk of someone who came very close to being just a memory, it's OK, I understand. Not too long ago I would have read this and thought to myself, "Blah, blah, blah." But if you happen to be lucky like me and get some borrowed time to live after your death, you'll be thinking, "Damn, that dude was right. Son of a gun!" It sometimes isn't true that you only have one life to live. I'm proof and I fully intend to enjoy this second chance I've been given. I wish I had been wiser and enjoyed my first one a bit more, but I'm not going to waste precious time thinking about it. Be happy while you're living for you're a long time dead!

I Died Last Friday; Give Me A Call

I'm not sure the difference between a New York minute and an Arkansas or Texas or any other minute since they are all 60 seconds, but I've always heard your life can change in a New York minute. I now understand and believe. You see, Friday morning,  12/17/10, at the ripe young age of 60, I was just fine one minute and dead the next. It's kind of a long story, but what the hell, I've got the time if you do.

My daughter is a very good little girl; now 12-years-old, her teachers have always loved her, and she has never gotten in trouble at school. At least not until that week. On 12/15, she was taking a test. Everyone's books were on their desk and one of the questions indicated "Using a phrase from your book to prove your answer..." Not understanding she was supposed to only use memory, Katie opened her book to get a phrase and the class tattle-tell of course ran to the teacher and told her Katie was cheating. Katie had to go tell the principal and we had to have a parent/student/principal discussion the next day. But the next day was Thursday and we had to leave that afternoon to get to Little Rock for the wife's Master's Degree Graduation Ceremony and the principal wasn't available in the morning so the parent/Principal discussion would have to wait until Friday.

The grad ceremony went fine Thursday night, but at the point where the wife was finished and met us in the hallway downstairs is the point where I have lost all recollection. I don't remember driving us to IHOP to eat, driving us home, relatives staying over for the night, conversations or anything else. Having a heart attack and the resulting drugs administered by good doctors can and usually do have a wonderfully de-weighting effect of erasing the memories of pain, the total confusion of not really understanding what is happening or, even if you do understand, not being able to do anything about it. In my particular case, the loss of memory went back to 12 full hours before the actual heart attack; 12 hours I would like to have back as they were probably full of good conversation and happiness.

Friday morning (at least what I was told), I awoke and complained of slight chest pains and arm pains. My wife said it sounded to her like I was having a heart attack, but of course, being a rather normal guy, I poo-pooed the thought. Surprisingly though, I did take the 2 aspirin she offered and also let her drive me to the parent/principal meeting that morning, neither of which would be in any way normal for me to do. So the wife, since I wanted to handle this little nonsense myself, dropped us at the door of the school and found a parking spot. Inside the school, my daughter and I were sitting next to each other in the office, waiting on the principal to see us when, without making a sound, I simply slumped over onto her.  At this point, Katie started screaming for someone to come help her daddy and this set off a whole set of circumstances which would strain the credibility of a fiction writer.  Very possibly, if any one of these circumstances had not lined up so perfectly, my family would be casting my ashes into the wind now.  Outside, sitting in the car in the parking lot, the wife watched as police cars and an ambulance rolled up to the front doors of the school.

Lets go back a few years now, to when Ms. Teri was first hired as one of  only 2 school nurses for the 5 (now 6) Greenbrier schools. Much to her surprise, she found no defibrillators anywhere. After putting together voluminous studies indicating the need for one in each school and presenting it to the school board, the previous superintendent declared the cost to be too much and he would not approve purchasing even one. Convinced of the need, Ms. Teri, on her own, went to the individual PTO clubs for each school, made her presentation and convinced each of them to purchase one for their school. She took some grief from the school board for this "back-room dealing," but she placed these much needed machines in each building. Flash forward several years, with only two nurses for 6 school buildings, the odds of a roving nurse being in any one particular building is only 1 in 3.  And where was the very qualified Nurse Teri when I slumped over and my daughter screamed for help? She and one of her "back-door" defibrillators was in the nurse's office just a few feet away.  That machine and her knowledge were put to good use to get my heart started again after 3 - 4 minutes of death and to get me stabilized enough for the ambulance ride to the big town of Conway and the hospital about 20 miles away.

The emergency personnel at the hospital were top flight and it was a good thing because my heart stopped beating again as I was wheeled in. For the 2nd time, I was clinically dead. You may have seen scenes on TV where somebody is being wheeled in on a stretcher and a doctor is riding on top of the poor patient giving him CPR and medical people are running around yelling medical things and hollering "Stat!" Well, I was the one laying on that stretcher.

The doctor I spoke to later said he usually only uses the defibrillator 3, maybe 4 times before calling time of death. On the 4th try, I came back. Once again, I had stared the Grim Reaper in the face and spit in his eye! But it had been close. Very close.

From what I understand, I wasn't exactly the best patient. They cut off all of my clothes and I guess I didn't like that because I struggled and fought against them so much that I finally had to be tied down to the bed. I ended up with a tube down my throat, another one down my nose, another one up my manly part, 2 cardiovascular stints inserted up my thigh and into my heart, an oxygen mask, open IV lines for quickly dumping gallons of drugs into me, and many, many clips stuck to me for monitoring vitals. I couldn't do much once I was restrained and taped down except to bite through those tubes time after time.  I also bit clear through my lips in several places. Of course, I wasn't aware of any of this until days later and then I was very painfully aware of exactly what I had done to myself.

I stayed unconscious the rest of the day and night and the next day, the docs couldn't figure out why I was still under because the stints and drugs seemed to be working as they should. I stayed unconscious for a couple of more days and they kept me in the ICU. My wife was told to prepare for the worse because I might not make it and if I did, there was a very real possibility I would wake up only to lay there drooling for the rest of my life. They told her it was a miracle I was still alive because the kind of massive heart attack I had suffered, commonly called a "Widow Maker," was fatal 90 - 95% of the time and I had had two of them.

Finally, late Tuesday afternoon, 12/21/10, after being in a coma for almost 5 days, I opened my eyes, saw my wife standing there and wondered what the hell was going on. Why was she standing in what was obviously an ICU room? Wait a minute, why am I in this ICU bed looking like some half-man, half-machine freak? After tubes were removed from my throat and nose, I asked to see and speak to my youngest daughter, Katie. It was vitally important to me that she knows how much I love her and how proud of her I am. I remember leaning over to hug her and talking with her and then I don't remember much of the next several hours.

To those good people who came to visit me later that evening, I apologize because it was very confusing and almost impossible to make sense in my mind of what had happened to me. I'm not over-weight, in decent physical shape, just had a full physical less than 2 years ago which didn't show anything untoward. How could my body have turned on me like this? That afternoon, I was moved to a private room. It was interesting to see most of the doctors and nurses who had worked on me the first few days stick their heads into the room, explain who they were and what they had done on me and say they really were surprised to see me doing so well. I learned later that a couple of them had told my wife they would pray for us because they didn't have much hope for my survival and figured I had suffered some degree of brain damage even if I didn't die.

Now that I was awake, I wanted to go home. I wanted to spend Christmas with my wife and daughter. I was told to stay in bed to recover and get my strength back. I was told I couldn't go home until I could walk unaided. So I spent almost the whole night pulling myself out of bed and taking a few steps at a time, holding onto the side of the bed or a wall or a chair to keep me from collapsing on the floor. After each time, I fell back into bed, out of breath and exhausted. It was hard, it was painful, it was scary, but by the next morning, I could walk un-aided, (slowly, but still un-aided) to the bathroom about 6 steps away. Every doctor or nurse that came in, I kept asking, "Can I go home now?" "No," was always the reply, "you need to stay with us for 3 or 4 more days." And then when they left, I would go back to doing sit-ups in the bed or walking around the room, my portable IV unit always beside me like a faithful dog.

After 5 days of nothing but liquids, I was hungry. I kept asking for a cheeseburger, but was told no, no way. The next day, after a bunch of "swallow" tests, I was cleared to eat whatever I wanted. They were concerned I wouldn't be able to eat solid foods, but I surprised them again. I ate the bite of pudding the nurse gave me; I ate the bite of macaroni and cheese and I ate the cracker. I told the nurse I was very hungry and if she didn't get me some real food real soon, the next time she put something in my mouth, I couldn't be held responsible if I bit her finger. After proving I really could chew and eat and swallow, the hospital gave me some mashed potatoes, a couple of very soft vegetables and pudding. It wouldn't have filled up a baby. My darling wife went to a place a few blocks away and got me a cheeseburger & fries. She watched me like a hawk as I ate every bite. Not a fry was left and I didn't choke to death.

My doctor told me the staff was calling me their Christmas miracle. Just think about the odds I had beaten - with a fatality rate of 90 - 95%, out of 100 people who suffer a "Widow Maker" heart attack, only 5 - 10 will be alive afterwards. I had survived it twice. Tough or simply incredibly lucky? I still don't know the answer to that one.

After a lot of talking and pleading and walking up and down the halls in front of the staff,  slowly, but unaided, my doctor released me and I went home late Thursday, 12/23. I was still extremely weak and a bit unsteady on my feet, but I was home for Christmas Eve.  There were a few side-effects: Once I woke up, I didn't go back to sleep for about 28 hours and even now, 8 days after the first event, I haven't been able to sleep for more than 4 hours and then I'm awake for another 8 - 10 hours before going to sleep for a short time again. I'm thinking this is a factor of all the drugs I'm taking, about 15 pills a day now. At first I was concerned it was because I was subconsciously afraid to go to sleep for fear of dying, but now I don't think so.  I also seem to have some slight short-term memory problems with words. Occasionally, a word that used to just naturally roll off my tongue, I have to think about for a few seconds and sometimes it just won't come to me at all. We'll see if that too is from the drugs or if that will get better as time goes on. I'm hoping it's not permanent, but if it is, well, that's a small price to pay for getting a 2nd chance at life!

I seem to be doing pretty good. I'm getting stronger every day - I'm not ready for a marathon yet, but I can walk around the house without having to stop for a rest. I have an appointment with my heart doc 01/06 and he'll make a determination if I can go back to work.

I'm still trying to figure out what to make of this in my life. How will I change? How will my life change? For now, I'm going to bed and try to get some sleep. I'll figure the rest out tomorrow. Or the next day.