One Year Later

Friday of this week marks a special milestone in my life, one I never thought in a million years I’d have to experience.
One year ago Friday, my life changed forever.
I had a heart attack.
Looking back, I can see the entire thing very clearly.  I know I’ve talked about it here before, but if you’ll indulge me, I want to go through it again – this time, as a story of survival.
On the morning of Thursday, July 31, 2025, I was getting ready to go to work. The time was around 6:20 a.m. and I was having breakfast.
As I was eating a bowl of cinnamon-spice oatmeal, I felt a pain in the center of my chest. It wasn’t all that different from others I’d had, which were easily resolved with some antacid tablets.
In my mind, I was having an acid reflux episode, and all would be well. Indeed, the antacids did ease the discomfort. I should have suspected something was truly amiss when the pain didn’t entirely go away, but since I had no other symptoms – no pain in the left arm, no nausea – it was time to go to work and I had things to do.
My Thursday progressed as they normally do, with the work in the office going as usual. The pain in my chest eased and returned, and my clearest recollection of the day is that it was an exceedingly strong case of reflux.
I found it difficult to go to sleep that night, as I struggled to get comfortable – which, in the end, I didn’t. But I managed to eke out a few hours of something similar to rest, and Friday morning got up to repeat the process.
The pain never went away, no matter how many antacids I took.
I made it through Friday and again found sleep difficult – more so, in fact, than Thursday. Again, I was able to get about three hours of light sleep.
Saturday, I went to work at the Pine Mountain Wild Animal Safari, and my fellow tour guides noticed that I was not “myself.” I mentioned the “reflux” and they expressed concern for my health. That evening, I attended the 40th birthday party of a dear friend, and everyone noticed I was withdrawn and quiet – my chest was hurting and I didn’t tell them.  I slept even less that night.
Sunday, I visited my daughter and grandchildren, and my ex-wife said I should see the doctor about the pain that wasn’t stopping.  I agreed and said I’d make an appointment as soon as I could. If I got one hour of real sleep that Sunday night, I would be surprised.
I made it through the following Monday somehow, but that night there would be no sleep. I was nauseous by that point, and when midnight came and I still couldn’t sleep, I finally called an ambulance to take me to the hospital, where I would spend the next week essentially fighting for my life.
I didn’t hear the words “heart attack” until I was hooked up to the medical miracles in the ambulance, and I found out later that it was the widowmaker heart attack and I’d survived the 100% blockage.
That survival was something of a miracle, and I’m grateful to God for that.
The rest of the story I have already told you, including the later development of congestive heart failure and a three-week stay in the hospital in October due to that and pneumonia, which also almost killed me.
Now, it’s one year since that fateful morning and that bowl of oatmeal.
I’m still here.
Thanks to some magnificent, dedicated people I can say I have a pretty good chance to see my 70th birthday in a couple of years.
I would love to relate how I’ve changed my lifestyle, gotten more exercise, reduced my weight, taken a more proactive approach to life … I’d love to tell you that, but I have a policy to never lie in this column.
The first thing I jonesed for after getting out of the second hospital stay was some fried chicken from the Butcher Block restaurant in Manchester.  I know that isn’t what a heart patient is supposed to eat, but it’s good, and I wanted it.
I know I need to lose weight, and as of this week I’m taking medication to help me do just that. As soon as I get rid of about 100 unnecessary pounds of me, I’ll be doing much better.
Once the strain on my leg muscles (which have never really recovered from three weeks flat on my back) is eased, I do plan to go back to walking for exercise.
I don’t drink or smoke, so I don’t have to worry about giving those up.
I can truly say that I’ve spent the past year just living and enjoying the fact that I am still doing so.
Now, the journey to a better, more fit me begins.