This time they stressed the urgency

Six months ago I wrote a column telling you how my cardiologist's office had not stressed the urgency in getting me to submit - quickly - to having some dye pumped into my system. The dye would allow them to perform a better, and more accurate, test of how well my heart was doing its job. Unless you are dead, you can appreciate the fact that you cannot live without a heart.

Well, after I finally submitted to the testing like the cardiologist wanted, I had a stent placed in my heart. That was it. That was the point of the column six months ago.

Now, there is a new tale to tell.

First, allow me to warn you that I have a doctor's prescription to hit you with a baseball bat if there are any attempts at giving me a hug over the next few weeks. You see, I am now like the title of one of Lewis Girzzard's books. I am one of those folks who can say, "I took a lickin' and kept on tickin' (And now I believe in miracles)." Actually, it was just two bypasses, but, whether it was two or 200, it takes the same opening procedure. You have to rip a hole about 10-12 inches long down the front of the chest to get inside to make repairs. So, my doctor told me to avoid hugs for a while. "Folks will see you and say, 'Praise the Lord, you made it. Come here so I can give you a hug,' when they see me in public. He said, 'don't let them. Keep them off with a baseball bat.'"

To tell the truth, I probably will not use the bat. I'll just make sure you have no contagious disease and keep my handy red heart-shaped pillow between us. The pillow, as the doctors, nurses and techs all said, is going to be my best friend over the next few weeks. Coughs are painful - so are sneezes.

But, the answer to your questions is "yes, I am alive." Oh, you already knew that because you are reading this column that I wrote on Monday afternoon. I had to return for a six-months check-up recently and learned my stent was blocked - and so was another vein in my heart. I had surgery Tuesday, 10 days ago. I came home last Friday afternoon. Can you believe that? Well, it is the honest truth. And, "yes," the drugs were - are - good drugs. Morphine, though, gave me a headache that was just gnawing.

I actually died on purpose that Tuesday morning/afternoon - I lost track of time - long enough to be placed on a machine to get me started back up. When I finally awakened in the intensive care unit at East Alabama Medical Center, the first thing I saw was a beautiful blond angel with a nasty attitude. I reached for the breathing tube (what a poorly named device), the angel told me not to pull it out. I cannot remember if she said it would hurt if I did so or if she would hurt me if I did so. Either way, I took her advice and calmed down. That, my friends, was the worst moment of my time at the hospital - except that catheter thing being removed. The angel I saw when I woke up was Jenny Wilgis-Woodham, a local girl who played softball in the Phenix City Rec leagues, at Smiths Station High and at Chattahoochee Valley Community College. Because we had some things in common, it made those early recovery moments bearable. The fact that EAMS surrounded me with angels made everything bearable.

Other than the catheter thingy getting removed as I mentioned earlier, the next most uncomfortable moment for me was getting the two chest tubes removed on Friday morning. The darn things were about a half-inch in diameter and appeared to be shoved well up into my chest cavity. Just how far they were shoved, I do not know, and do not care to know at this point. I just know they kept telling me that most people do not complain about the pain of having them removed, but rather comment on how relieved they are that the tubes are removed. I understand. When they were removed, I cannot remember any pain from them being removed. I do remember some pressure building up in my chest for a brief few seconds and then it was gone.

I did not expect to leave the hospital before Saturday or Sunday, but my doctors - Lee Roberson and Barry Crowe - had other ideas. When I returned to my room from walking on Friday morning, Dr. Roberson removed three pacer wires from my chest and said I was being released to go home. I did not argue a bit. I was ready to go. That's when he told me to carry the bat with me.

Now, when some people face the possibility death like I did last week, they come up with a bucket list of things they hope to get to do before their time expires. My bucket list had none of the drastic stuff on it. There was no sky-diving, mountain-climbing and no eight seconds on a bull. My list was simply to return home to my family and to my own bed. I'm home. I'm with family. I have not made it to the bed, yet. You cannot imagine how much I want to get in my own bed and lie on my side. When I do that, I will know my healing process is well under way.

To keep up with my progress until I can return to the Citizen, go to carepages.com and search CitizenSportsEditor.