My Rude Awakening

Last Tuesday I was waking from a semi-conscious state after a heart cath. I expected to wake to my Cardiologist's words, "Everything looks fine," or, "You had some minor clogging; but the stents I put in should do the trick; go home and eat more pie." But he was off script. "You have three major blockages, each at 70-80%. Imagine ten lanes of busy traffic trying to squeeze into two or three."

"I don't have to imagine it. I just drove through Atlanta."

"One of those blockages is in the Left Anterior Descending Artery, commonly known as the Widow Maker."

I didn't like the sound of that. The rural church I serve part-time already has several widows who need pastoral care. The last thing I wanted was to add another widow to the list and increase my workload, especially when I had just been informed that I have a heart condition. 

Then I heard the doctor use the words "bypass surgery." That's a relief, I thought, he's recommending that we bypass surgery; sounds good to me. I bet he's going to explain that the wizards of modern medicine have found a better way to fix my heart than by carving me like a turkey. Maybe now they can do it with lasers, or a Zoom call. I imagined him saying:

"Thankfully, you made it into the 21st Century, when the barbaric method of extracting veins from your legs, sawing through your chest and splicing those veins into your arteries is a thing of the past." 

But evidently the wizards have been preoccupied with other matters, like fighting worldwide pandemics, or helping that Potter fellow defeat Voldemort, because what he actually said was,

"You need to schedule bypass surgery."

"Rats! No stents then?"

"Your blockages are too severe."

"You idiot," I said to myself, "you should have skipped the dessert bar at Golden Corral."  

"But desserts are included in the price," I responded. "Only a fool would pay for dessert and not eat it. Would you rather be an idiot or a fool?"

"Are those my only two options?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "If you're through arguing with yourself, do you have any questions for me, I have another patient to see."

"Sorry, I was under the impression that I was just thinking that."

This just in from Tommy Humphrey, "I'd stick with idiot, Rusty."

"Is that any way to speak to a man in my condition, Pretty Boy?"

Today, four days after my rude awakening (which was both literal and figurative) I am awaiting my appointment with Surgeon Bypass, scheduled for a few days from now. I suppose he'll check his calendar and try to squeeze me in over the next few weeks, preferably before an eighteen-wheeler loaded with Twinkies jackknifes and blocks the last open lanes on Widow Maker Parkway. 

In the meantime, I feel like a character in a spy thriller who's had a device inserted in his chest that could explode at any time. The difference is, the spy is continuing to jump out of planes and climb skyscrapers to prevent a nuclear holocaust, while I'm at home wondering, "Should I sleep on my side to avoid too much pressure on my heart?"

The heart news wasn't what I wanted to hear, but I have many reasons to be thankful:

I'm thankful for my new Primary Care Physician, who doesn't seem as cavalier about my lifespan as the last one (now retired). Because of my high cholesterol and family history of heart disease, she insisted that I see a Cardiologist.

I'm thankful that I didn't have a heart attack while biking, which I try to do for five or six hours each week (bike, not have a heart attack), or while taking the recent nuclear stress test, when, to get my heart rate high enough, the lab tech cranked up the incline of the treadmill to the "running up a mountain" setting. Vince Gill may be interested to hear that I came very close to resting high up on that mountain.

And I'm thankful for my wonderful wife, who seems determined to do everything possible to make my remaining days pleasant ones.

The Apostle Peter had a rude awakening of his own. After Christ's resurrection, he and the other apostles had been declaring throughout Palestine that Jesus was the promised Messiah, that they knew him to be alive because they had interacted with him after he had risen from the dead, and that salvation was freely offered to all who would repent of their sins and embrace him as Lord and Savior. This message angered the religious hierarchy, who were instrumental in having Jesus crucified.

Herod Agrippa, a descendant of Herod the baby-killer (Matthew 2) had executed Peter's friend and fellow-apostle James, the brother of John, author of the Gospel of John. When Herod saw that killing James pleased the religious leaders, he decided to further please them by killing Peter. The night before he was to be executed, Peter was guarded by four squads of soldiers, and bound with chains between two of them. 

But as believers were fervently praying for his deliverance, the Lord sent an angel to free him. The angel found Peter sleeping, evidently soundly, because he had to strike him on the side to wake him. The whole fascinating account can be found in Acts chapter 12.

If Peter could sleep soundly on the night before his scheduled execution, evidently trusting in the Lord's providential control, and knowing that, as the Apostle Paul put it, The Lord 

"...has made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the face of the earth, and has determined their pre-appointed times and the boundaries of their habitations. (Acts 17:26)

Then you and I, if we're believers in Christ, should be able to trust God's providence and sleep soundly, whether we're anticipating bypass surgery or the wreck of a semi full of Twinkies on Widow Maker Parkway.

UPDATE: Rusty and the Mrs. met with Dr. Bypass on December 7, a day that was already living in infamy.  He agreed with my Cardiologist that each of the three arteries supplying my heart has a major traffic jam.  He estimated one to be 90% blocked and the other two 70-80%. He seemed surprised that I was still alive, but he checked my pulse and confirmed it.  He was going to have to schedule my surgery for late in the month, but he had just been informed of a cancellation on December 12, so I scooped up the date. If that device in my chest doesn't explode before next Monday, the surgeon thinks my prognosis is good. I'm grateful for the prayers and expressions of love and concern from family and friends.