Weekly Posting of the Conservative Cow Doctor

Prelude to the Final Chapters

Today’s column must be written in two parts because the story is still being written by God. I will finish the rest of my story after He finishes His. This first chapter begins the middle of January, when I fell backwards off the first floor of a two-story house. I plunged 10 feet and hit the frozen ground flat on my back thus shearing my left femoral neck from its shaft. During a pre-surgical EKG the doctor said I was in A-fib, which was news to me. This condition could have been caused by the violent impact, or it had been present for some time and had escaped my notice. Either way, surgeons repaired my fracture, and I spent the next two months rehabbing. I have returned to work so if the story were to end here it would have a happy ending. The story doesn’t end here.

The emergency room physicians referred me to a cardiologist for additional examination. I would have done this immediately, but the gods of Medicare had so screwed up my Part B, it needed a complete rebuild before I would ask another healthcare provider to extend me services. Near the end of March, my Part B got fixed, so I saw a cardiologist Friday, March 31st and he confirmed the A-fib. The cardiologist attached me to a Holter monitor and I was to return the monitor Monday morning to show how my heart functioned over the weekend. So far, so good.

Sunday morning, the trophy wife and I began our day with our usual 30-minute trek through God’s word and then she took Blinker for an hour run through the back pasture. I finished my Bowflex workout and readied our stationary Peloton bike for a computer-simulated half-hour ride along the coast of Oahu. I had been biking for two weeks and was getting stronger. There was a significant hill at the 20-minute section of this Hawaii ride, and I was pushing hard to keep the pace. I crested the hill before doing a two-minute cool down. I felt good. With an easy 30 seconds left in my ride, I reached down to loosen the stirrups on my pedals, and I felt lightheaded. My Holter monitor later showed my ventricular rate pegged at 290 beats per minute—a rate not compatible with life. I stood in the stirrups and did a perfect Damar Hamlin backwards onto the concrete floor. Sometime later, the trophy wife returned and found me unconscious and flat on my back with my feet still strapped in the stirrups. To be continued…