In the moments after my heart attack, I felt no fear. I was completely at peace | Opinion

I knew I was having a heart attack.

No doubt about it.

Excruciating chest pain doubled me over. The infamous elephant we’ve all heard about? He was right there: on my chest. Razor-sharp pain reached up into my left jaw and cut down into my left arm. It was absolutely textbook.

Opinion

I lived across the street from the Pacific Ocean in the charmingly picturesque fishing village of Depoe Bay, Oregon. I had been outside clearing my beautiful little yard — pruning, raking and removing expired plants. I built two big brush piles and then decided it was time to go inside and flip my king-size mattress.

The mattress did not get flipped that day. The pain struck as I was gripping one side and tugging it toward me.

Wham!

I was in my early 70s, and in what I thought was excellent health. I worked a 40-hour week at the Safeway Store in Lincoln City, and walked Gleneden Beach five miles every day with my little dog, Buddy. My blood pressure was normal, and all laboratory findings, including cholesterol, were well within range.

I had just won my age division in a half-marathon!

But, of course, I was the last of a family of 11 siblings, many of whom died young of heart disease. That old nemesis — genetics — came calling with a vengeance.

As I gasped for breath, I dialed 9-1-1.

Within minutes, an EMT named Jacob was kneeling beside me as I lay on a futon in my living room. Confirming what I already knew, he said, “Bunny, we’re going to get you in the ambulance, and then I promise you I will take the pain away.”

There was a hospital 15 miles away in Lincoln City. When we arrived, however, Jacob was told, “Don’t even take her out of the ambulance. She needs to be at the heart center in Corvallis.”

That was 50 miles away.

We had been en route about 30 minutes when I looked at Jacob and said, “You promised me something, Jacob.” I didn’t need to elaborate.

He said, “I know I did, Bunny, and I can’t figure it out. I’ve followed normal protocol, and I expected the pain to be long gone. I’m going to call the hospital and see if I can get permission to use a drug that we’re currently introducing in difficult cases.”

While Jacob was on the phone, something extraordinary happened.

I found myself looking out a window at a radiantly beautiful blue sky bejeweled with just the barest evidence of pure white clouds.

I was completely at peace. No stress. No pain. I thought to myself, for the first time since this adventure began, “People die of heart attacks.” There was no panic. Just a statement of fact. And then I calmly thought, “Well, that’s what’s next.”

There was no fear. No anxiety. No thought of getting “right with God.” No anxious thoughts about repentance. No recounting of all the times I may have fallen short. There was none of that.

I found myself enfolded in a loving embrace that enveloped every part of my being. I was sheltered. I was securely held. This cloud of comfort came unbidden, and I was one with that love, abiding within it. I felt known and valued and accepted without reservation or hesitation.

Of all the experiences of my life, this one is the most difficult for me to do justice to with words. I am a wordsmith, but this experience was not any part of the world I know. I am still able to call into my consciousness the reality — the immediacy — of those few moments. I was given a treasure. And I hold it close.

Was this a near-death experience? I don’t know. What I do know is that it was not of my making. I could not invent something that was significantly transformational. It was not of me. It happened to me. And I’ve never been the same.

When Jacob got off the phone, he gave me an injection. We arrived at the hospital in Corvallis and were met by a team of specialists. I received one stent and was told that the “rest of my plumbing” was in good shape. There was muscle damage from a “massive heart attack,” but I was told to jump back into my life with all the enthusiasm I had enjoyed before — no limitations.

After reassurance from my doctors that I was going to make an amazing recovery and be “better than new,” I talked to my boys, Douglas in Salinas and Jason in New York City. I told them the good news.

“I’m fine. I’m receiving excellent care. You guys are the greatest, and I love you dearly, but I really don’t need a thing. And I surely don’t need you to come here. I’ll be going home in a day or two.”

Later that morning, one of the nurses said, “Your son, Douglas, is on the phone. Do you want to talk to him?”

Talking to Douglas, I said, “I heard a rumor that Jason’s coming in this direction.”

“Gosh, Mom, I sure hope so. I’m at the Portland Airport to pick him up.”

They needed to see for themselves, I guess. I’ve had my share of miracles. Douglas and Jason? They are my favorites.

Bunny Stevens lives in Modesto, her hometown, and has served on The Modesto Bee Community Advisory Board. She is the opening courtesy clerk at the Safeway supermarket on McHenry Avenue and an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church. She has also been known to represent the Easter Bunny and Santa’s Elf for children of all ages. Reach her at [email protected]