The following excerpt is from pages 124-126 of Summer in the Waiting Room: Faith • Hope • Love
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By the early morning of June 18, the clot closed off the blood flow to the heart’s lower-left chamber, causing my heart to pump furiously in its efforts to deliver oxygenated blood to the body. Within seconds of the artery closing, my heart raced to 280 beats per minute. It was alarmingly above the average heart rate of 65 beats. In less than a minute, I went into cardiac arrest.
Cardiac arrest is a medical way of saying that the heart stops beating. Without blood circulation and delivery of oxygen to the body and brain, the patient loses consciousness. If cardiac arrest goes untreated for more than five minutes, lack of oxygen could cause death or, if the patient survives, severe brain damage. The best chance of survival requires immediate cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) and the use of an automated external defibrillator (AED). The AED uses electronic paddles to shock the heart so it can start beating and return to a normal heart rate. Unless someone nearby is trained in CPR and an AED is readily available, the chances of survival for someone who suffers cardiac arrest are remote.
I was fortunate to be in the hospital ICU when my heart suddenly stopped beating. My memory of that episode is brief but harrowing. The entire scene was hazy and chaotic as doctors and nurses appeared to be moving in fast motion, then slow motion, as they worked to save my life. It seemed like one minute, I was watching the NBA finals with my boss and the next minute, I was sitting up in bed violently screaming for help because I couldn’t catch my breath. According to the medical record, I repeatedly shouted, “I can’t get enough air.”
A short and slender pulmonary doctor in his late sixties with thinning gray hair and a trimmed white beard was trying to calm me down. He instructed me to relax so he could help me. Fear of dying entered my mind for the first time as doctors and nurses hovered over me. They looked concerned and even scared themselves. As the doctor urged me to relax, I noticed a nurse standing calmly at the foot of the bed with a soothing smile, talking to me in a soft but audible voice that could be heard above the bedlam. She calmly said that everything was going to be OK, and I would be fine. The nurse looked exactly like my late sister Patty. Warmth and comfort came over me as the madness around me disappeared, and I peacefully fell asleep.
God entered the fray and intervened to calm me as my life hung in the balance. On the morning of June 18, my sister Patty was in the ICU as His messenger of hope. My medical condition was dire. I was in the right place at the right time. If I was anywhere else other than a hospital, I wouldn’t have survived.
At the moment I thought I had fallen asleep, my heart had actually come to a complete stop after racing to that stratospheric 280 beats per minute. The medical team immediately went into action to get my heart beating again. Nurses started CPR as technicians quickly prepared the AED paddles needed to shock my heart back to life. Seconds were rapidly ticking away as the heart monitor standing behind the bed stopped beeping with the familiar peaks and valleys of LED lines bouncing across the screen. In an instant, the monitor emitted a steady, high-pitched sound with a solid flat line, indicating that the heart was no longer beating.
With AED paddles securely in place on my chest, the doctor prepared to activate the shock waves that would send electronic signals to reactivate my heart. In most cases, doctors need to send several signals to the heart to restore a normal heartbeat. When the doctor administered the first shock, my back arched, my chest heaved forward, I sat up, and the heart monitor began beeping again. The procedure worked. God wasn’t ready to take me.
Two months later, a nurse walked into my hospital room with a wide grin and joy in her eyes. She’d heard that I was still in the hospital, so she came to see me to share an anecdote about the hectic morning of June 18. She recounted how she was on duty in the ICU and rushed to my room after hearing the public address system announce a “code blue,” indicating that an emergency life-or-death situation was unfolding. With a broad smile, she remembered how the doctor shocked me with the AED paddles, and I instantly sat up with a grimace on my face. With eyes wide open, I shouted, “Oh shit!”
She said that everyone stopped what they were doing, and for a few seconds, the room became quiet and still. With the deadpan delivery of a stand-up comedian, the doctor said, “I think we have a heartbeat.” The room erupted in relieved laughter.
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On November 9, 2023 from 6:00 to 7:00 pm, I will share more stories from my book at the Stanford Bookstore. Join me and my heart transplant surgeon for an evening of faith, hope, love, and signing books!
RSVP at this link:
ESEReport.com 