This guy came to see me in the emergency room one day when I worked in
another town, when I was much, much younger. The deal was, he had chest pain, the
family had gotten nervous, and they all came piling into the ER to get him looked after. I
was across the hall looking at a kid with an ear infection, so I called to the nurses to go
ahead and get an EKG and I would be right there.
Suddenly I heard, “Dr. Fowler, come here quick!” I literally jumped across the
hall, leaping into the cardiac room, stepping onto the EKG leads, pulling the monitor
leads off. So, of course, I did not know what the cardiac rhythm was at that point. I saw
for the first time the look of a patient who had just gone into cardiac arrest. Nowadays I
know the look from a half mile away. At that time, for a moment, I just stared.
The man was having a seizure, but almost unlike any I’d ever seen. His whole
body had stiffened, rising up in the middle off of the stretcher. His head was thrown
straight backward, and his legs and arms were stiffened in a decerebrate posture, but not
moving. And, most strange and unlike any “seizure” I had ever seen, his color was
changing: From pink, to pale, to gray, and on to blue.
My description of this makes it sound like it took minutes, but the whole scene
was evolving over about twenty seconds. When the man began to relax, and when I
could finally get my fingers onto his wrist to check a pulse, I could find none. I saw then
that he wasn’t breathing. Then, an even stranger thing happened.
Time began to slow down. Have you ever had a dream where you were running
somewhere, maybe away from something in fear, and your legs wouldn’t move, as if they
were suspended in molasses? Certainly I have, and for the next few moments, I saw that
we were all acting like the clock had been slowed down by about 75%. I turned to the
monitor and reached for the paddles. I fumbled for the paddles’ monitoring setting. I
slowly reached my hand out for the electrode pads which, of course, wouldn’t tear open,
and when they did open, they fell out onto the floor.
Then, so gradually it seemed, I turned to the man, pulled open his shirt, and put
the paddles on him. Turning back to the machine I saw, of course, that he was in
ventricular fibrillation. I twisted the knob to 200 joules and turned again to the man and
buzzed him. He stiffened as usual with the shock and converted on first “pop”. After
that he stayed in bigeminy for what seemed like a long time, gradually regaining
consciousness, and presently, with multiple drips hanging, he was wheeled out the door
to the ICU. Later, I was to find out that he went on to the referral center for a coronary
bypass. I should add, this was way before the days of TPA and Retevase, when all we
had was oxygen, nitro, blood pressure control, some beta blockade, and pain control.
The event was soon forgotten in the busy practice of emergency medicine, I a
young guy green around the gills, working 24 hour shifts, living hard in between, rocking
and rolling in my new career.
One day about a month later the secretary up front in the ER said that there was
someone in the waiting room to see me. A man in his late 50’s was shown into my office
in the ER, and presently I was able to go see him. He introduced himself. It was the
same guy that I had defibrillated, and who, I might add, had taken a few years off of my
own life by scaring ME half to death in the ER. He was about a month post bypass
surgery, doing well, still pale and tired, but had come by to “meet the man that saved his
life”, he said. Well, I had hardly done any such thing, I tried to say, rather that I was just
following the standard protocol that any physician, nurse, or medic would have done.
Nonetheless, he just wanted to shake my hand and say thanks. We gave each other a hug,
and he went away. Needless to say, I was flattered and grateful, first that he was alive
and doing well, and second, to feel that something I had done had really made a
difference to someone.
About a month later, an event transpired that has stayed with me now for twenty
years. Once again, the secretary in the front said that there was someone to see me. And,
once again, the man was shown into my office. This time, though, he had with him his
wife, his daughter, and the mayor of his town. In his hand was a plaque that said, in
essence, that because I had allowed myself to be a conduit of mercy, God had acted
through my hands and applied a healing touch to a person special to so many people.
And, for that, the mayor of the town had declared it “Ray Fowler Day”, and all the folks
in the room had signed the plaque.
I was absolutely speechless and started to cry. I’m a pretty emotional guy
anyway, and such things really strum my heart strings. They could see that I was a pretty
blubbering kind of guy, and that I had work to do, so they decided to excuse themselves
and let me get back to work.
The last to leave was the man I had resuscitated. He turned to me, and again we
gave each other a big hug. Then he said something that has affected my life ever since.
He said that he remembered going unconscious that day, and he said that he had felt
himself rise to the ceiling of the room. He saw me put the paddles on his chest and saw
his body move. He said that he felt no pain. He also said that he remained in this state
for some time, and he heard our discussion about the bigeminy rhythm and how worried
we were. Then, he remembered waking up and seeing my face.
He looked at me, both of us pretty tearful. He said that he was sure that he had
been resuscitated for a reason, including to be a better witness for God. He said that his
life had changed and new energy and purpose had been restored to his middle age. He
thanked me again and turned away. I never saw him again.
I put the plaque on the wall of my office and see it every day as I pass through. It
helps me remember that within every gown, on every examination stretcher, in every
home where someone cries out in distress, a wounded heart lies calling out for care. Our
opportunities to bring solace to the sad of heart and the needy can have far-reaching
consequences that we would never imagine. We just have to give them a chance.
We have to do the right thing. We have to give them a chance.