I died Sunday.
That’s what everybody tells me, although I don’t remember much of it. Rachael and I were standing in the ticket line at SouthCentre AMC, waiting to buy tickets to the new Harry Potter movie, when I collapsed.
Rachael is trained as a first responder. She checked me for a pulse (she says) and when she found none, she started CPR and called 911. Five minutes later, two police officers arrived with a portable defibrilator, known as an AED.
Next thing I knew, I was in cardiac intensive care at Valley Medical Center.
I’m still in the hospital. I’ve been down-graded to a general care room, from CCU. The doctors aren’t sure what happened. I didn’t have a heart attack, no damage to my heart. For some reason Sunday, my heart just stopped for five minutes, then restarted thanks to Rachael’s quick action and that AED.
Waiting to find out what I have to do before I can go home. I’m hospital bored, my ribs are sore and it hurts like hell to move, to cough and sometimes just to breath.
But I’m alive.