My flesh and heart may fail or did fail
Two weeks before Christmas, my heart stopped. Seated next to me in a congregational meeting, my wife sees me close my eyes and slump. After a few seconds, the old ticker providentially revives “on its own.” It happens four times during that meeting. Maybe I’m just too inactive, I think. Perhaps if I get up and walk around a bit, I can get the juices flowing, and whatever is going on will clear up. While I’m pacing in the church lobby, one of the elders says he doesn’t think I look quite right. I call my physician, and he recommends that I get to the emergency room for an evaluation. I’m not to drive myself. In the emergency room, the surgeon hooks me up to a bunch of wires and asks a whole battery of questions to diagnose what’s going on. “Are there heart problems in your family?” “Yes, my dad died of a heart attack at 60. So did his dad.” “But do you feel pain?” “None.” “Did you feel dizzy?” “Not really. The room wasn’t spinning. I wasn’t nauseous.” “Did you pass out?” “Not really. I