Open heart surgery is no picnic, but with today's technology, it has become fairly routine. As least as routine as taking your heart out and working on it can be. Quadruple by-pass surgery at age 52 is not exactly what you're hoping for, but it saved my life. My father died at age 46 from a massive heart attack. That was in 1966. The technology wasn't there. There was nothing they could do. So I was a little torn between anger at having a heart attack at such a young age, yet thankful that they could save my life.
Ten weeks after the surgery, which went fine, I passed out at our local coffee shop, where I usually start my day. I ended up back in the ER. That was a Monday. They weren't sure what was going on. They couldn't find anything. On Wednesday, word came. They found a staph infection in my chest. I was rushed by ambulance to the hospital that had done my heart surgery, in a nearby town. I think I got there somewhere around noon. The heart surgeon took one look at my chest, which was now bright red, and asked where my wife was. I presumed she was following the ambulance and would be there soon. He said they were going to have to operate. It's not very encouraging to have your chest slit open twice in two months, but I figured I could talk about it and have some time to accept the inevitable. I asked when. The answer still haunts me. He said, "right now".
I woke up eight days later. The first thing I asked was how did the operation go? My wife didn't quite know what to say. She finally got out that the operation had been eight days ago. I had been in the intensive coronary care unit, with my chest wide open, for eight days. It's a weird feeling, losing eight days.
The eight days was a lot harder on my family than it was on me, since they kept me knocked out. The only thing I remember is a near death experience, or dream, or hallucination, or whatever you would prefer to call it. I was at a carnival. This carnie, with a beard, was helping me get on a ride. The ride was like a huge VCR, and he was putting me in the machine like you would a video. He asked what number I wanted, and I remember saying four. The next thing I knew, I was traveling down a racetrack, which was more like a bobsled run. There were all sorts of lights flashing by, and a techno-kind of music playing. Finally, the carnie ejected me out of the machine and asked if I was ready. Before I could answer, my wife was yelling at me from behind. She was saying not to go. I remember other people being around, some answering yes, others no. The last thing I remember, I was walking away.
When I woke up, I told my wife this story. As it ended up, I almost died one day, and she stood at the head of my bed and cried out for me not to leave.
Seven years later, I'm still not quite sure what to make of the whole thing. I think the one thing it does do is bear witness to the tremendous emotional and psychic connections that can bind a couple together after 35 years of marriage.
I would be interested in hearing from anyone who may have had a similar experience and would be willing to share it. My guess is, it's not all that uncommon.
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