We were all packed and ready to go!

Vegas in the Fall with our good friends Johnny, Janet, Gary and Genia has become a much anticipated tradition that Sandy and I start looking forward to as soon as we arrive home from our annual Spring trip to Sin City. Do you see a pattern there? We love Vegas – and being together. The six of us have a kind of synergy that produces non-stop laughter from the time we board our Southwest flight in Nashville to the time we return home to Knoxville. A week’s worth of Vegas is always good for our collective soul.

But…

During my annual physical a few weeks before departure this October, I mentioned to my primary care doctor that I’d been experiencing some chest discomfort. “How long has this been going on?” he asked. “Oh, about a year,” I replied. His eyebrows arched up. “Oh? Tell me.”

So I told him how I felt a burning sensation in my chest whenever I exercised. It wasn’t real painful and tended to disappear when I stopped the activity. However, as time went on that burning feeling lasted longer. And it started radiating down to my arms. It left me a little out of breath.

He said, “I think we need to get you a stress test and check this out.”

“I’m going to Las Vegas in a couple weeks. Can we do it after I get back?”

“I’m thinking we need to do this now – in the next week or so,” he answered.

Long story short…I flunked the stress test. Big time. I was sent directly to the hospital for a heart catheterization. The news was not good. Seven major blockages. The cardiologist dryly quipped that they usually see this kind of situation post-mortem. That got me thinking.

My dad died of a sudden heart attack at age 50. I don’t think there were any warning signs and I don’t recall him saying anything about having any symptoms of a problem. How fortunate I was to have had that burning sensation – and to have a doctor who jumped all over it.

The very next day, they wheeled me down to the operating suite. Despite the pleasure of having had two beautiful nurses shave my entire body during the night, the morning brought into sharp focus the fearsome reality I was facing. My kids – Pete and Bethany – had dropped everything in their busy lives in Massachusetts and Kentucky to come be with me. Outside the big double doors of the pre-op staging area, we shared one of those very tender moments when the hope of life collides with the possibility of death and you express feelings that somehow just have to find their way into words. How blessed I am to have such devoted and loving kids! Afterwards, Sandy and I had a sacred moment of “just us.” Her amazing love is the strength I held onto as they rolled me away. “See you on the other side,” I said, not realizing how that could be taken in different ways.

When I awoke from surgery I was in the Critical Care Unit surrounded by a rats nest of wires and tubes, feeling as if  I’d been run over by a freight train. Through the hazy mist of anesthesia I heard something about four bypasses – that all had gone well – and that I was a very lucky person because there was no damage to my heart. In a few hours they had me sitting up in a chair and the long journey toward healing was underway.

The trip to Vegas had to be cancelled of course.

Crazy friends help the healing process – Johnny, Janet, Bethany, Sandy and Pete.

While that was disappointing, it turns out that bypassing Vegas this time around was truly a winning bet.