We are changing things up this week and doing an all-American ride on
Friday morning (instead of a non-American ride on Saturday morning). So,
I submit to you a contest: Come up with the most American route for a
new ride. The winner will lead us on it.

I responded:

To be All American I think the route needs to take in cannons and biscuits - violence and overconsumption, victory and bounty, the agony of defeat and the thrill of a grits and gravy, the haunting memory of gunshot and the prospect of heavenly praising.

In other words - lets do the battlefield loop and finish by praising the lord.

We started before the sun. Five of us off shortly after 6.

Rode through the country - this land that we love to explore and expose...
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Then to the Park. The battlefield where so many lost their lives defending different ways of understanding what this country means. Where it is hard to imagine the grit of war when the pastoral is so lush and the riding so cool and refreshing..

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Then on into the city. A different sort of riding.

Our anticipated southern overconsumption was dashed by someone else's concept of a holiday. What? How can freedom mean that? Its just not American... We couldn't praise the lord and thank him for this country. Oh well.

We felt we could park next door despite the sign.
Jeff had us covered with the super hair.
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So that was it. 45 miles of American glory. Happy fourth of July. Thanks for the riding.

On a personal note, this weekend represents a different form of celebration for me. After the first four months of the year each having some heart episode. Today I celebrated 3 months with no heart episodes. I haven't gone to the emergency room, I haven't had to struggle with the anxiety of wondering every day. The reality of my heart condition is still very present, but today is a wonderful milestone of freedom. And I'm grateful. I'm grateful that I can hug my kids, climb my stairs, kiss my wife, pray to my God and ride my bike. Life is rich. Life is good. Free.

1. February 6: A Wednesday morning. I got up at 5:45 a.m. and rode to work. It was really cold, but a great ride. I jumped back on my bike that evening and started hammering home. I had been on the bike 5 minutes and was riding down McCallie avenue when I felt the buzzing faintness, blurred vision and dizziness that was all too familiar. I got off the street as soon as I could. And there on the sidewalk the defibrillator shocked me 3 times. I called Marialice and she came to get me. We ate dinner and then went to the ER. By the time she arrived in the car I was feeling fine.

I met with Dr Salerno that week and he suggested that the incidents I have had are connected with the beginning of exercise. The heart works very hard at the beginning of exercise, before the blood system gets warmed up and is ready to send more volume to the muscles. It seems that this initial period is where I have problems. So the plan is to warm up more carefully, and to take some more intensive adrenaline blockers ½ hour before exercise to control heart rate in that risk period.

As a result of Dr Salerno’s recommendation and my understanding of the emotional impact on Marialice, I decided after that to stop riding to work on McCallie avenue. I have not yet worked through the emotional impact of this decision, but it’s the end of something that has defined me for the last 5 years.

2. February 15: I read about a Friday lunch ride up Suck Creek Mountain. This seemed like a great first ride back. It was with good friends who knew my condition, and it would be a chance to test the “warm up plan”. Well I didn’t get a chance to follow the plan. The deck seemed stacked against me. I left the more aggressive medication in the truck and so couldn’t take it ½ hour before my planned exercise. I got several last minute phone calls and so wasn’t able to leave the office with enough time to get changed, and warmed up at the Y before we rode out. And then I rushed out of the office building and up the stairs into the parking garage. As I walked back to my truck, I could tell I was breathing hard (to soon to fast) and by the time I got to my truck the dizzy, sweaty feeling returned. I had driven 15 feet when the defibrillator shocked me. I pulled into the nearest parking spot, called Marialice and walked slowly back into the office.

I felt stupid for not being able to follow the plan, for not doing the things I knew would be required to avoid the heart problem. I knew the plan, but couldn’t follow it.

I also felt really angry at the limitations this reality seem to impose. Can’t I fly up 2 flights of stairs on a whim? Will I be able to chase down my kids if I need to? Can I not be the fairly strong, active person I have always been? I started taking the elevator at work more consistently, changing yet another item of fairly significant personal identity. Even though I worked on the 5th floor, I always took the stairs. Now, even two flights of stairs seems too much – I take the elevator.

I haven’t gotten back on the bike since that day. 3 weeks. That is a long time for me…

3. February 19: On my way to work in my truck I was overcome with a sense of dizzy congestion, sweaty palms, short breath, warmth around the defibrillator. I started to panic, expecting to get shocked. I didn’t and it passed. I wondered whether I should just go to the ER, but made it to work and walked slowly into the office. But once I had been at my desk for 15 minutes it returned. I asked Melanie Roberts to walk with my to the medical facility. They could find nothing wrong with me, but recognized the reaction I was having. I was pale, shaking, sweaty. We called the ambulance, as no-one could face the risk of going by myself. I had to call Marialice again. She cried.

At the ER the waves of dizziness increased, and became worse. They grew into a buzzing feeling in my chest and abdomen, a difficulty speaking and finally, a visual aura that I normally associate with a migraine. Marialice tells me that during this time I was as intense as she has ever seen me, trying to communicate every symptom and feeling, almost as if no one believed what was going on.

The doctors could not find any source of problem. My heart was running fine, except for its normal funky thumping (Premature ventricular contraction). The defibrillator had not done anything (even the pacing function that I can’t detect). They gave me an anti-nausea / migraine shot and that seemed to solve all the problems. But we still don’t know what happened.

Marialice told me later that day that she wondered whether it was a panic attack. That was hard to hear because it made me doubt my own sanity. I haven’t tried to worry too much about the implications. But it is again evidence of weakness, of a lack of physical control over my own situation. Just as I have known I am powerless to know and control my emotions, I am now feeling powerless to know and control my body. Lord help me.

The experience has given me a new sense of self awareness, knowledge of when to simply take a deep breath and move on, and when to be more concerned. Its been pretty regular since then to feel a sudden change, and jump thinking its my heart – jump right into a panic, almost right into the sense that I am being shocked. I’m starting to be able to recognize those moments and breathe through them, rather than let them overwhelm me. Again though – it feels like I can’t trust my body, or maybe my mind.

Again we went to the doctors, and again they discussed more radical treatment – expanded medication, riskier surgery, other diseases that may be causing this. More uncertainty, more questions of control.

A theme throughout this is losing control. I feel like I'm losing the sense we all want of being able to control my own fate. I am not able to be and do what I want. I fight that new reality with anger and insolence. But it is a reality.

Several weeks ago on Sunday I was struck with amazing force by the scriptures. with messages that hit me hard.

In the gospel of Mark the story is told of Jesus and his disciples on an ocean crossing:

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, "Let us go across to the other side." And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, "Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?" And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, "Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?"

I heard this in a Sunday School class, and it struck me how completely I identified with the disciples. Christ has called me to a path, and along that path has brought this great storm into my life. I am in the midst of a storm and I really need Jesus to show up. I need to see the clarity of the quiet sky on the horizon behind the storm, but Jesus is asleep on a pillow in the stern. Silent, Absent, Un-voicing. And so I cry out against him, accusing, recriminating: “Don’t you care about me?” or maybe truer “I don’t feel you care for me, you almost kill me and then you don’t do anything..” That is where I am.

After calming the storm, Jesus turns to his disciples and asks why they fear, whether they still have faith. These are pretty amazing and difficult questions. In the face of death, rocked by a storm... fear.... faith? It seems so very normal to be consumed by fear and have not faith. But I think what Jesus is getting at in that comment is that in a storm our call needs to be “help me in this moment of need!”

What keeps me in anger rather than breaking down in need. Is it maybe because there is not enough fear? Am I rightfully aware of the fear in my heart toward what might lie ahead, or is my fear aroused when I face the truth of my savior? When everything in my heart wants to cower in fear, or shutter itself in isolation I am being asked about my faith, about my willingness to step out in trust, asking for help. I fear that! What if nothing happens. I fear that.

So I continue identified in my storm, identified in my angry recriminations, conscious of my faithless fear, asking God to help me believe, asking for an end to my unbelief.

One of the hardest things about my recovery has been the widely different emotional reactions that Marialice and I have had facing this time.

The experience itself was very different for each of us. I did not have to be ushered out of a room, where my beloved spouse was in trauma while emergency doctors prepared to perform emergency measures. I didn’t have to face the chance I’d never see my spouse alive again. I did not have to give that spouse up again 3 times, watching him wheeled down the hall to the uncertain destination of surgery. Nor did I have the joy of return, of being reunited with that person I gave up for lost (or feared might be lost). I didn’t face the same terrors and I didn’t rejoice with the same gratitude.

When I came home from the hospital, while I was grappling with weakness and illness, angry at new limitations, Marialice had the joy of seeing again one she thought lost. She was experiencing Christ’s love in my salvation. I wanted her to share my grief and she wanted me to experience the rejoicing. I wanted her to feel my pain and she wanted me to feel the love of Christ.

We weren’t on the same page.

And the differences have continued in the last few months. I think Marialice has given me up every time I leave the house on the bike. She asked me not to ride alone, or to ride on the main streets to work. And yet I have persisted, returning to old habits that had really become part of who I am. So every time I leave, Marialice has faced a little bit of the fear I might not return, and grieved my loss for that moment.

I on the other hand, have ridden off in joy, in exuberance and gratitude at the return of an activity that I love so much, something that is really part of me. I have been the one feeling the rush of riding and the possibility of strength.

We haven’t been on the same page.

In our marriage it has been hard to see through each others eyes. In the presence of these differences it is so easy to silence ourselves in our own worlds rather than face each other. It has always been hard to communicate our emotions strongly and honestly in the midst of difference’s discomfort. It has been far too easy merely to capitulate or disagree “Oh you are right…let’s not face this difference” “Oh, that’s not what you feel, it must be this way.” Neither have been helpful.

We’ve been prone to back away, to leave each other alone in the midst of our own emotions. We’ll touch briefly the differences we face in a quiet moment, or late at night when we are going to bed, but our normal behavior is to stay in front of the computer or dive deep into a book and not face each other. That has made our work difficult.

The story continues toward greater connection and communication, but that is another chapter.

In July of last year I wrote:

Lord I need you today. I want to feel your presence in my life. I want to know your love. I want to hear your voice showing me where to go and what to do. I feel the despair of Psalm 42 today. I long for my God. I say why have you forgotten me? Then comes rushing in the answers. Some voices say “You don’t deserve to hear my voice because you haven’t been disciplined enough” other voices say “don’t you see the way you’ve been lead and cared for and protected all these years? Is that not voice enough?” But the truth of Romans 8 speaks into the lies of the first answer. I will never be good enough for your love. Will your promise of no condemnation be kept for me today? The second statement is true enough, but Lord, I want more! I am grateful for all the ways you guide and protect. But I feel myself to be merely floating, never really passionate for you and for your work. I feel myself to be existing, not loved, cynical not engaged, distant and not dearly loved. You know this has been my life long feeling and so this is not some “Dry spell” but is this the normal experience? Lord I ask and I do not hear your voice answering.

There grew in me after that moment an anger – a challenge to God. Why are you silent? Why is there so little demonstrable change in my life? I’ve long wanted God to show up in a dramatic way that would expose my need for him in significant way, producing some transformative catharsis. My following has always been marked by the frustrating lack of God’s presence. I’ve always wanted God to break down the walls of my heart, and give me a powerful demonstration of his love.

I did not expect him to take my request so literally in October.

What I really wanted was the powerful experience of God’s love expressed to me in such a way as to clear my life of what might be inconsequential and motivate toward true discipleship, that would fill me with the boldness of true love, that would enable me toward risky love of the radical sort, that would help me to focus on what was really important and urgent in this life.

Or maybe I’ll put the whole issue more naturalistically, in the words of Steve Jobs:

I’ve looked in the mirror every morning, and asked myself; if today were the last day of my life would I want to do what I’m about to do today. Whenever the answer has been no for to many days in a row, I know I need to change something. Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything, all external expectation, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure; these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I’ve found to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked, there is no reason not to follow your heart.

So I experienced the physical trauma – the sort you might expect to shake things up – the sort you might expect to produce the sort of cathartic experience I have long desired. I experienced a near death experience – the kind you read about and hear that changed peoples lives.

But facing death has not given me the clarity of vision or purpose, it has not shown me the dead weight, or the true calling. Being saved from near death has not given me a deep and renewed experience of God’s love and transforming power. I feel very much the same crusty and lukewarm man. It has not produced in me the cathartic experience I yearned for. And so I’ve remained angry at the absence of God in all this. I think you’ve heard that in my words.

For Thanksgiving this year we drove to Peoria Il, to Marialice’s family. I took the mountain bike. Peoria has some great trails in the hills that climb out of the Illinois river valley. There was an organized ride on Saturday that I wanted to join. But I wanted to escape the cramped house on Black Friday and I didn’t want to shop. So I put my bike on the back of the van and drove to the forest preserve.

I got dressed, put the bike together and rode up the double track dirt road. It followed a creek up a tight valley, past fields and through trees. In about 10 minutes the road went through the creek 3 times. I was enjoying a cool sunny day in the woods. My pace was leisurely, I wasn’t out to be rushed or work hard. I was looking for side trails I might explore, thinking I’d get to a group of trails I’d seen the last time I rode in the preserve. I wanted to circle them all the way back to the bottom of the valley.

Right after the third creek crossing I stood up to push myself out of the ford bottom. Suddenly I noticed a strange dizziness, a light-headed absence. I felt no pain, no darkness, no lack of balance, I just knew something wasn’t right. I barely had time to identify the strangeness when my chest exploded. The shock hit me hard, it pushed the air out of my chest, I saw stars and felt warm. I didn’t fall off my bike. As I pedaled slowly trying to figure out what was going on - it hit me again. I took off my glove to try to get a pulse. With my fingers on my throat I felt the pulse slow and steady, but then it wasn’t there… BAM! It fired again. I got shocked 5 times.

I stopped and stood up over the bike and took a deep breath. A million questions running in my head. I realized that no one was around me. I heard other riders in the woods, but how long would it be before someone found me? I didn’t know if I had the cell phone in my back pocket. But did I even have coverage? Was this a malfunction of the defibrillator or was something going on in my heart? Was I an idiot or just unlucky?

I turned around and slowly, very slowly pedaled back down the valley. Through the three creeks and back up to the van. As I was putting the bike back on the van another woman was putting her bike together. Instead of asking her for help I made petty small talk about it being a beautiful day to ride. What would she do if she knew? I started to steel myself - no one should know about this. I started convincing myself I was ok. I wonder what I looked like. Was I white as a ghost?

I drove to the nearest town, slowly, but surely. I called the family when I got to the grocery store. I got the grocery list before talking to Marialice. “Hon, I need you to know something. It went off. I just needed to tell you.” I explained the incident and shared her grief. We hung on the phone for a long time while I wandered through the aisles. We talked about how hard this felt, to have been given the green light, and then have it snatched away. A darker side of this reality began to emerge. What could I really do? Was the bike riding really being taken away?

We found later that my heart had been in arrhythmia. It had jumped up to 230 beats per minute five times in a row, and every time the defibrillator had jammed it back down to 120. Again, I was grateful that the machine worked. But a whole new set of fears emerged.

I think I still assumed that the whole problem was caused by my stupidity on a long hot ride. I assumed that if I was smart and careful I’d never get in trouble again. I assumed the defibrillator was insurance, but wouldn’t ever be needed. I was wrong. We started thinking of how lucky I was even in this incident. I was on a soft dirt road and wasn’t riding the narrow lanes of McCallie avenue surrounded by rush hour traffic. But should I go there? Things get darker.

I went back to the Cardiologist in early November. This is a letter I wrote to my friends and family after that visit:

I wanted to write in some more detail this afternoon about my discussion with the doctor on Friday. This was the first time I had been back to see him since I left the hospital. Naturally I had lots of questions, and mostly what I got was good news. Let me tell you about it.

In the hospital Dr Salerno had found a cardiomyopathy –and in my research, all the athletes that die on the field suffer from what is called hypotrophic cardiomyopathy. (Essentially a thickening of the heart muscle, or enlargement of the heart). The marathon runner that died at 5 miles of the Olympic trials two weeks ago suffered from this. Well that is not me! Mine is a dilated cardiomyopathy, which means my heart doesn’t pump out completely. And it is a mild case. Now less is known about this case, including exactly what causes it, and whether there is prognosis toward it getting worse. However there is treatment, toward ultimately correcting the issue – and that is the medication I am on.

Another unknown is whether this is familial – or genetic. Doctor Salerno does not think I need to be concerned about my kids at this point. We will continue to watch my EKG to see if abnormalities persist that could be found easily in them. But my concern for them has greatly eased.

We then turned to lifestyle, and to exercise. I had accepted that high intensity exertion was not in my future at this point. The defibrillator I now have would interpret high intensity as arrhythmia and try to shock me out of it. But I asked Doctor Salerno if there was risk of long duration low intensity work. Frankly – this is the sort of activity I have enjoyed. I am not a sprinter or a racer – I enjoy the long ride at lower intensity. He cautioned me that electrolyte imbalance can bring on the arrhythmia that I suffered on October 6. I knew that, and will be much more careful with hydration and nutrition during rides. But when I asked if long duration would affect the cardiomyopathy he said he did not think so. There is no definitive knowledge here (no long term studies, etc).

Then Dr Salerno told me to go back to cycling. But to take it slow, to be careful with keeping my heart rate under 75% of max and to pay attention to what my body is saying to me. He told me about other patients who have continued active lifestyles combining their running with the monitoring of heart condition.

As you may imagine this is huge news for me. I celebrated this afternoon by heading out to the hills of missionary ridge for my first hour on the bike since that Saturday. It felt great to rush down and power up the hills. I monitored my heart rate after climbs, and recognized that I was pushing too hard. I will probably invest in a monitor to alert me constantly. But after an hour I felt great. I don’t think I’ll be doing centuries again, but I certainly am going to enjoy riding. Friends asked Marialice if she was worried about my return to the bike. She has seen how much I love and enjoy riding, and has been hugely supportive. Her joy with me has been a great thing. (so these friends said they would worry for her…).

All this good news comes in the midst of the darker reality. I did suffer a major cardiac incident. I did almost die. I have been diagnosed with a condition that in serious cases requires heart transplants. I am forced to depend on the technology of a defibrillator. In the midst of a very strong moment of my life this weakness has been exposed. All these things have emotional impact that I am slowly unpacking. But tonight, the emotion is gratitude. I’m happy to have flown down the back of Shallowford road and then climbed back up the hills to our house. I’m happy to hug my wife and walk with my kids. I’m happy to listen to a soccer game and look forward to good work tomorrow. God has been good, and I am grateful.

Sincerely
Rob.

Here is what I have in place so far about Heart Trouble and responses.

Prelude: The Year's Rides!
Chapter 1: Memor of a Heart Attack
Chapter 2: The Hospital
Chapter 3: Strength and Weakness
Chapter 4: My Dad
Chapter 5: The Doctor
Chapter 6: Getting Kicked in the Chest
Chapter 7: Where is God in all of this?
Chapter 8: Emotional Differences
Chapter 9: A theme from Scripture
Chapter 10: Three incidents in February

Enjoy.

That felt good.

Lili piped up. "But you know, you can't laugh in Spanish!"

What?

Now dad was always intending to get more physical exercise. He knew he needed to be more fit, but he wasn’t. And his life didn’t give him the room. Even the week before he died, he told mom about the blackouts and said “If I wasn’t leaving the country tomorrow, I’d go have these checked out” When I was a small child he even had a bike. I remember riding in the child seat to nursery school. But it was stolen, and by the time he replaced it - 10 years later – there was no room in his life for the exercise a bike could represent.

God used cycling to create in my heart a strength that was not present in the heart of my father. I have to admit that God use that strength to save my life. I am grateful.

But my consistent reaction is to think that God used strengths in my father to do work I can never imagine being done through me. So my thoughts when I compare our stories usually are “Why am I here and he is not?” How can it be that God’s plan was not to let him do what he was? Dad was so busy, motivated by a clear call, successful in his work, incredibly useful. He was 45. In the usual self-depreciation of comparison I think myself lazy, question my call, don’t see movement or success and don’t feel used. I’m 38. So I ask, "What is Gods plan that has been left for me for my future? This is part of it, but what?"

Neither caricature is true. I know of my father’s struggles and failures. I know the good work I do and where God has blessed me. I know the hard things in both our lives. But I still find myself asking: "God what are you doing? What am I doing here when Dad is not?"

At a moment in my life when I felt the strongest, God has chosen to expose a significant and life changing weakness. At a moment when riding 100 miles and climbing mountains was more and more possible, when I was climbing into the ranks of those hard guys who can push their bodies hard in that sort of thing. I was climbing over missionary ridge in faster and faster times. I was climbing mountains strongly without having to stop halfway up. I was joining the race club, and was looking forward to a winter of training rides that would push me into better and better condition. (In fact the ride on October 6 was the very first time I wore the race club kit, jersey and shorts full of color and sponsors. I was feeling like a racer!)

But now there is this weakness, this exposure in my body that says everything is not all right. It was really hard to take. Its hard to be told that it is dangerous to get stronger. Its hard to be told that I’ll be limited. Its hard to think that exploits are not possible.

It felt like an insult, like a statement from God: “So there, You can’t do what you want to do. In fact, I don’t want you to do what you enjoy” That’s hard to take. One thing I was passionate about and felt was a good expression for my body and balance in my life was being taken away. In fact that one thing had become for me a moment of worship and celebration. I remember several rides where I would start being consumed with all the “better things” I should be doing. Suddenly in the midst of my condemnation, I would be overwhelmed with the glory of God expressed in the East Tennessee landscape. I would celebrate God’s goodness and worship him while I was riding. But now, even this was being taken away.

The original incident was caused by my stupidity. I hydrated very poorly in that ride, I really overextended my self, and I thought that was the reason for my incident. I learned from that, felt like I knew what I should do in the future, how to be smart and not let this happen. Even with the pacemaker, I felt like I’d be ok, I’d be able to enjoy a hard ride. I’d get a heart monitor and not let my pace get into the range where there might be a problem.

But there is more, there is the cardiomyopathy – a weakness, sickness in my heart muscle. It doesn’t let me just keep doing what I wanted to do. That doesn’t let me be strong and smart. Its weakness in my flesh. It might be getting worse or better. That was a hard blow. The first day I drove up to the pharmacy to fill my prescription I was really depressed. It seemed like such a reversal to be joining the ranks of the chemically dependent. I didn’t want to be chained by the pill bottle.

So this became a new arena of my sickness: The emotions, the spiritual. Here I’ve discovered, recovery has been much different. This is the hard work for me. This is where the struggle is ongoing.

After the doctors got my heart under control I wanted to go home, but they wanted to know what was going on. We talked with the cardiologist about what had been happening and they explained more clearly what had been happening. Essentially my heart had been short circuiting, only the ventricles had been working, not the aorta. So only half the function was really going on. My body recognized the lack of blood pressure and pushed my heart for more – so it raced and raced. Again, a normally conditioned heart would not have survived for 3 – 4 hours at that pace. Ironically the passion for cycling had not only created a life threatening situation, it had saved my life as well.

The doctors now assume that the episode of Altitude sickness in Colorado this summer was really another arrhythmia. We knew that my dads fatal heart attack at 45 was also a similar arrhythmia. (we were not able to have an autopsy done at the time – longer story). Later as I was in the hospital, my heart did it again, entering the same high rate short circuit. However this time it lasted only six seconds and then jumped out on its own. This wasn’t just my stupid dehydration on a long hot cycling day. It was a bigger reality, the investigation became more critical – and they kept me at Memorial until it was figured out.

I was amazed at all the guests. The first few days I was in critical care, which has very restrictive visiting hours. But after my pastor dramatized the happenings in his sermon there were a lot of visitors who made it in, and more who could not. Friends spent the whole first night with Marialice in the waiting room, even though I assumed she had gone home. Remember…. I felt fine! Most of my fellow elders flashed their elder badges and got by security with a confident bluster. But one pastor got sent away in a moment of confusion. The staff asked me if I wanted to see him, but I thought they were asking me if I wanted them to call one of the pastors of New City Fellowship. Strange, I thought, pastors have already been here… No you don’t have to call. So they sent Jim Pickett away… This pastor has led a men’s group that has significantly impacted my life over the last 2 years and I was wanting to start exploring the emotions of this event with him. But we missed that opportunity. That would become a pattern.

Doctors spent the first part of the week waiting for the drugs I had been pumped with on Saturday to work their way out of my body. Any tests needed to be focused on my true heart condition, rather than any drugged state. After waiting all day Sunday for the doctor to come, it was really depressing to be told on Monday that he couldn’t do anything and that we’d have to wait more. On Wednesday Dr Salerno ran a test of the electrical system. He saw the place in my heart where the short circuit had occurred and was able to reproduce it easily in the controlled environment of the test. Sometimes cardiologists can burn off the offending cells – actually physically fixing the problem. He could not because of the location. He was also concerned about the physical structures of the heart and wanted more tests.

Thursday Dr Cohn did a study of the plumbing. An arteriogram. It was pretty cool to see the pictures of my heart muscles an arteries filling with dye and standing out clearly on the screen. But the results of the study were not so cool. They discovered a weakness, a cardiomyopathy of the heart. This was the reason I was prone to the arrhythmias. This was a sickness that could be getting better or worse. No one knew.

That same day Dr Salerno implanted a defibrillator in my chest. A computer the size of half a yo yo that would keep track of my heart. If it started acting up it would try to use a pace-making function to trick it back into normal. If that didn’t work it would give my chest a kick. He wanted to give me some independence, to let me go hiking in the woods and not feel like I always had to be 20 minutes from a hospital. But he also gave me a prescription – heart medicine that I will probably take the rest of my life.

I came home on Friday – 6 days after entering the Hospital. I had gone in on a 92 degree day and I left in the chilly clear fall. It took me a few days to want to get out of the house, a week to drive again, but I was back working (from home) on Monday. I was recovering. Physical recovery was pretty quick. There are other aspects taking a much longer time.

On October 6, 2007 I rode 100 miles in the Sequatchie Valley. An organized ride, well attended, well supported. I rode the last 40 or 50 miles by myself because most riders only rode a metric century and because there were no groups I was able to join and stay with. It was also 92 degrees and I had a hard time drinking enough. My stomach just didn’t react well to fluids and I wasn’t very forceful about pushing them down. At the church in Kimball I knew I was cooking hot and still had 30 miles to go. I finished going down through the towns of Whitwell and Sequatchie fearing every hill that rose up in front of me. Hoping I’d find friends but not finding any. Not drinking like I should.

I finished with a time of 6:45. With gratitude I got back to my truck. Laid out in the grass, limped off to the shower and rested in its coolness. I went back to my truck to put my stuff away, before going to eat and drink inside the Marion county high school. An unexpected gust of wind took a sock out of my grasp and push it away from the open door and under my truck so that I had to lean over and see it (where it was under the back wheel).

Standing up from finding the sock – I felt the rush, the spin, the darkness and the next thing I knew I was on the floor and several were attending to me. They shaded me and got me some water and helped me. At that point, and maybe sooner my heart went into an arrhythmia. It started short circuiting so that only the lower ventricles were pumping, and pumping very fast. No one took my pulse, no one really pushed at my condition at the high school, and I really didn't want anyone to. I kept saying I was fine. So after something to eat and more to drink I limped back to the truck and drove home, about 40 minutes away.

I knew I wasn’t 100 percent. I knew that I was tired and very dazed, but I made it home. Traffic jammed up at the usual spot on the bridge over the Tennessee river, but I just followed a truck calmly all the way home. I remember the relief of turning off the interstate on Germantown road. I was not really all there, but I was making it and would be fine when I got home.

Well I wasn’t.

I went to lay down upstairs and sleep off the effort while Marialice moved the kids out the door. She was off to friends for dinner with the kids. Keeping engagements previously planned. I was suffering, but she’s seen me suffer and be tired and want just to sleep. I didn’t really want to ask for her help, but I did. I called out, "Marialice, I'm not doing well" Why did I ask for help? I don’t know – but it saved my life.

What was happening? It was déjà vu for me of what had happened in Colorado when I had an episode of altitude sickness. The discomfort and heavy heartbeat. I knew the feeling – dizzy, sweaty, hot, uncomfortable, absent. It wasn’t till I lay down that I felt my heart thumping hard. I’m not sure I had identified any other particular symptom before that. There had been no single sensation other than the tiredness and dehydrated exhaustion. But now it felt familiar.

But those symptoms could not explained by altitude sickness. This was not that. I couldn’t figure out what they were. So I called Marialice. She came right up and said, “lets call Kathy Tun” who is our neighborhood friend / pediatrician.

Kathy came over right away and displayed the most straightforward professional calmness. She took my pulse in two places, tried twice to get my blood pressure right. Then she told me in steely determination that she was going to call the ambulance. "Why, I can get to the hospital by myself…"
"No! we’re calling the ambulance."

Then they left to get things arranged and I walked over to get the computer. I was sitting up reading soccer scores when Kathy came back up and read me the riot act. "You have to lay down." She never explained why, she just told me what to do. A minute later I threw up.

The EMT’s came and we walked down the stairs… I was ok, conscious and willing, able to do all they asked. They got me on a gurney to roll down the sidewalk from the front door to the ambulance. Once inside they hooked up the EKG and told Marialice that we were going to run hot to the hospital and that she couldn’t follow. They told me that they were just worried about some irregularities, but I didn't really understood what was happening. No one told me that my heart was running at 220 bpm. I was cold from the AC they were running hard in the ambulance, and I couldn’t stand the diesel fumes as we idled in the driveway. They started a IV line.

When we got to the ER I threw up again. They hooked me back up again and we started waiting. The ER staff told me they were going to try to convert my heart rate with drugs. My heart rate was setting off all the alarms on the monitors. I was joking with the nurses and the technicians about the Tennessee game. I felt the same dis-ease, but was not really hurting. I was uncomfortable but was not feeling critical. I really didn’t know what was happening. The drugs didn’t work.

Marialice got there and met Linda Jones coming off her shift in the lobby. Linda turned right around and stood with her through the whole affair. She called her husband and in less than an hour Brad Jones and Alvin Huffine were with us in the ER. They called other elders in the church. I appreciated their company. They kept turning off the heart rate alarm.

There started to grow a pressure in my chest. It felt like someone was standing on my chest. I threw up one more time, and it felt good when I sat up, it relieved the pressure. But the ER staff wanted me to laying back down, actually with my head lower than my body. So back into the pressure I went. It started feeling like I had a ton of weight on my chest.

Eventually the on-call cardiologist got there. I think he was at Erlanger watching something else and he had to come across town. Once he got there he took over. “We’re going to take care of this.” The visitors left. They gave me a sedative in my IV. I didn’t really feel any different but very quickly the team asked “Are you ready?” Well go ahead… BAM! I didn’t realize that they had already hooked up the pads to my chest. I was expecting some sort of paddles, but they just pushed a button, and shocked me off the table. Shocked all the air out of my lungs in one big groan.

Immediately I felt better. When Marialice came back into the room, I said “That felt good, I could do it again.” She told me that she wanted to hit me in the head with a 2x4. Things turned around pretty good and quick. I wanted to go home, but the cardiologist told me that I’d stay until they figured out what was going on. Before too long they wheeled me off to CCU.

As we settled in the CCU, Marialice told me that the ER doctor stated that I was very close to death. A typically conditioned heart would not have survived a VTach like that for several hours. My heart really almost stopped, but it didn’t, because I had done so much endurance athletics. I was safe.

Over the next week we uncovered the physical ramifications and causes of that VTach. Over the next few months we have been uncovering the emotional and spiritual ramifications of that day. This is a journey I am walking through that I want to write about and think about.

Maybe you want to walk through it with me.