A FAMILY OF VISITORS

A near death experience...

I saw them all. Dad, Mom, Jackie, Joyce, Dineen, and Tye. They are the members of my immediate family who have preceded me in death. They saw me too.

It was the middle of the night. A Sunday night in early November 2022. The hospital bed, the catheter bag, the IV unit dripping heparin, the struggle to lower my blood pressure, the push to slow my heart rate, and the rush to change the coagulation rate of my blood is what I recall from the flurry of activity going on all around me. I laid in the hospital bed, completely out of control, in the middle of the night, in the intensive care unit. I could not see faces very clearly; my world was blurry. Taut voices, short sentences, and crisp directives indicated something difficult was happening. The voices kept calling my name. I recall my chest heaving up and down as several shallow breaths moved in and out of me. I was not feeling very strong – but I did not feel particularly weak either. I just felt a lack of control, as if I were sliding, involuntarily, into some new space.

A new visitor quietly entered the room. The visitor reminded me of fear. At that moment, a nurse squeezed my hand tightly.

In background, the steady beep, beep, beep sound of machines connected to my body sped up and slowed down as the strain and struggle to reach some measure of stability and consistency counted down. I remembered that I knew my body. And I knew my body needed more time. More time to adjust. It did not need more chemicals.

“Please hear me, I want to survive.” I was scared.

A short time later, I had a flashback to December 11, 2006...

“Now, Michael, I want you to count backwards from one-hundred,” a low-pitched, male voice coached me from the side.

I remember saying “One-hundred.” That was as far as I got. No ninety-nine. No ninety-eight. No ninety-seven.

I woke up five and a half hours later that day. Those hovering over me indicated that I wondered, aloud, “What happened?”

“You just had successful aortic valve replacement surgery,” the ICU nurse advised. I recall laying in the bed, machines all around, and staring into space. I also remember smiling. I was alive.

Days went by before my mind arranged all facts and circumstances surrounding the installation of my new titanium heart valve. Recovery was smooth and uneventful, just like the operation itself. There had been no nightmares and no feelings of lost control. After the drugs and medications wore off, it was business as usual. I was surrounded by calm, smiling, and encouraging faces. I slipped into my new life with ease.

Surviving a traumatic brain injury event was something I had given no previous thought to. Afterall, who plans to fall, hit one’s head, and suffer a severe subdural hematoma?

When I was admitted to the hospital in Tucson, I never considered how close to death I was. What I did spend time thinking about was just how short this lifetime is.

My thoughts shifted to why I wanted to live.

In 2006, I had time to plan. I knew my heart would eventually stop working if I failed to take corrective action. Back then, I had time to choose my surgeon, outline everything for my partner and family, and count down the days. I had a full-time job and a life of responsibility.

In 2022, there was no plan. Only reaction. The medical teams were focused on keeping me alive. I learned very quickly that without a reason to live, I would die. Death was not part of our Tucson relocation plan, and I was not ready to make any sort of transition.

That night, when I saw my family, I realized that my time in this life would be finished if I lost sight of my purpose. I have a husband, a sister, a brother, along with nieces and nephews to care for. I have close friends, clients, and commitments to fulfill. I have purpose.

The heart and the brain are vital for life as we know it. I learned about the heart and all that it requires to function properly in 2006. In November 2022, I learned just how connected our brain is to our entire body. It controls everything. But we control how we use our brain. We nourish it, we exercise it, and we rest it. I also believe we inform our brain of our desire, our will, and our need to live.

When my family came to visit me that night in the hospital, I let them know that I had work to do, that it was not time for me to join them.

They understood. They retreated. I moved on.