Heart Attack Survivor
I was enjoying a Christmas picnic at Valentine Park, on Lake Macquarie, NSW, in 2001. I watched sailing boats race on the lake and, on the far side, smoke rose from a fire and drifted toward us. Just as Santa arrived at about 4 pm, Kaitlyn, my four-year-old daughter, began to get a bit “chesty” from the smoke, so we decided to go home.
An early tea for Kaitlyn and her twin sister Ashleigh, I thought. They were tired. I was feeling a little tired myself.
Around 6.30, Leesa, my wife, asked me to go and buy some milk, so I went to a nearby supermarket where I bumped into a cousin.
“Are you feeling all right?” he inquired.
I told him we’d been to the lake and it had been an exhausting day, so we both put my off-colour appearance down to that.
I returned home, ate and settled down to watch TV. But I was feeling worse, so went to bed at around 9 pm, not bothering to watch to the end of my favourite program. I’m diabetic, so I had my insulin and slumped into bed, feeling absolutely exhausted. Leesa, who was reading, noticed I appeared to find it difficult to breath and I was sweating profusely. She shook me awake.
We’d just concluded a blood-sugar test when I felt a crushing pain in my chest that travelled up and down my left shoulder. Leesa rang the ambulance.
The ambulance officers asked me what the pain level was “on a scale of one to 10.”
“About six, I guess,” I answered dismissively. “I’ll be all right. I’ll see a doctor in the morning.”
Leesa was less casual and insisted I ride in the ambulance to the hospital to be checked. On the trip to the John Hunter Hospital, I was given oxygen to help me breath easier, but the pain had increased—to about an eight.
In Casualty, nurses had just lifted me onto the casualty bed when my eyes rolled back and I started to convulse. A “crash team” arrived and gave CPR as I was rushed into the intensive care unit where they attached tubes and monitors.
A relative on duty at the hospital phoned Leesa telling her to bring Kaitlyn and Ashleigh, “and hurry. He’s having a heart attack and isn’t expected to survive the night.”
Leesa, Kaitlyn and Ashleigh came to the ICU, and stayed the rest of the night, comforting me and praying. With the help of God, I’m sure, I survived the night.
I stayed on life-support for 17 days. The doctors said I really needed a heart-lung-kidney transplant, but because of my diabetes, it was impossible.
Although I was largely comatose, I could sense people near me, talking to me some of the time. Kaitlyn and Ashleigh would hold my hands and sing songs of faith they’d learned at church, and tell me what they had done at preschool that day.
Friends from our church prayed for me. Their regular prayer meeting time was Wednesday, but when my kidneys shut down and pneumonia set in, they brought it forward to Friday. I wasn’t expected to survive that night either.
Every person in the church committed themselves to pray for me during the night. The church minister and leaders visited and continued the vigil at my bedside. Somehow I managed to recite the 23rd Psalm to myself, and I thought I heard it read to me as well.
I felt a Presence, and I prayed, telling God I was tired of fighting, I turned myself completely over to His wish for me. I was anointed with oil in the fashion of the early church, and I felt strength return. I knew then that God was with me and wanted me to survive.
The cardiologist was astonished that I was still alive the next morning. This was the beginning of a slow recovery. Then, after 17 days, I awoke completely.
Because of tubes down my throat, I couldn’t speak. My ICU nurse handed me a small whiteboard and I scribbled simply, “I’m back!”
Eight days later, I celebrated Christmas with Kaitlyn and Ashleigh at home. I returned to the hospital after about three hours but, with exercise, became stronger with each day until in March—three months after the Christmas picnic—I left the hospital for the last time.
The very next week, I attended church. Those who’d prayed for me were delighted to see me. They gave me a moment to speak during the worship service, but I was just too emotional, relieved at being back.
I owe my life to God, and to the prayers of my church friends. Although I have a long way to go, with the continuing help of God, my family and church family, I know I’ll make it.
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