Last Sunday, August 14, at about 6:30 in the morning, I almost died. I am writing these words that others might avoid what happened to me.

I’m a night owl. I was up very late watching a rented DVD of ‘Constantine’ (interesting in a lot of ways, but definitely not a valid lesson in theology and probably not the last movie you want to see before leaving this world) and was about three-fourths of the way through it when I noticed a sudden weakness in my left arm. It quickly spread to my right, and I began to get dizzy. My heart began to pound. A sudden and severe fatigue swept me.

I got up from the living room sofa and, leaning on the walls, made my way down the hall to our bedroom where Kathy was asleep. I leaned on the bed and woke her, told her I was in trouble and that she’d better call an ambulance. Pretty scared and not entirely awake, she went to the phone. My dizziness suddenly got much worse -- I laid on my back on the bed and stared at the ceiling as I heard her making the 911 call from the other room.

It got hard to breathe. I just couldn’t catch my breath. I prayed, pretty sure my time had come. I asked God to accept me into His presence, to forgive me for my wretchedness. I glanced around the room at the walls and bookshelves, seeing the hundreds of books I’d read, expecting any moment to see a white light.

After a moment, for some odd reason, I decided I didn’t want the paramedics to find me in my bathrobe. The dizziness had subsided somewhat, so I rose and managed to get into a nearby shirt and a pair of pants. A little better able to walk, I went into the front room where Kathy was being told by the 911 operator that help was on the way, but not to hang up.

I took a few steps to my son Daniel’s room and woke him up. Barely awake, he threw on some clothes. I hugged him and told him I loved him.

I heard a large vehicle outside and stepped out onto the front porch, and saw a fire engine at the foot of our driveway. Rescue guys approached me and I told them I was the one in trouble. They sat me down at the picnic table, hooked me up to their portable EKG machine, inserted an IV in my left arm and began to ask me a bunch of questions. Nitro went under my tongue. A small oxygen mask was placed over my nose. They asked if I could move my fingers and toes, and the different parts of my face. I learned from their radio call to the emergency room that I had a severe arrhythmia in my heartbeat.

The ambulance arrived. As neighbors watched, they put me on a stretcher and quickly placed me in the back. I began to feel much worse. Increasing dizziness and a whine in my ears. Increasing tightness in my chest. More nitro. Injections, of what I never knew. Many questions from the paramedics. They asked if I could feel my heart fluttering. My head began to pound with a sudden severe headache. I listened as one of the guys radioed the hospital that my heartbeat was chaotic and now skipping multiple beats. I felt worse, and again I prayed for God to accept me.

About five minutes later, we arrived at the hospital. They wheeled me into the ER and hooked me up to all their medical equipment, inserted a second IV and drew blood for analysis. Again I began to feel worse. The nurses and doctors assured me I would be okay. I wasn’t so sure. They said a part of what I was feeling was due to the nitro and the medicines they were giving me, trying to get some rhythm back into my heartbeat.

They quickly determined that my potassium level was dangerously low. Seems the heart cannot function without it. They gave me a potassium/orange juice mix to drink (imagine a small glass of OJ with half a cup of salt added), injected me with a potassium solution and started me on a potassium drip. As time passed, my heart began to beat normally. A TV Land ‘Night Court’ marathon was playing in the room – I always liked that show.

By 1:00 pm, they decided I was stable enough to leave the ER and I was transferred into a room in the hospital’s cardiac unit. Room 3125B. Over the next three days, they ran echocardiograms and just about every heart test you can imagine (the chemical stress test was extremely unpleasant and rather terrifying – there was a 1 in 10,000 chance it would kill me, they said), trying to determine what (if any) permanent damage had been done. They watched for evidence of blood clots, which could lead to strokes and other bad things. With all the tubes and electrodes on and in me, I got no more than four hours sleep total the entire time. By the time I went home, I was exhausted.

Turns out that the potassium deficiency had been caused by the blood pressure medication I’d been on for a year and a half. It is of a type that causes the body to dump potassium, and is supposed to be accompanied by a potassium supplement. Unfortunately, no one ever mentioned those facts to me, nor had they ever prescribed for me a supplement. I learned that my odds of surviving the extreme fibrillation and tachycardia I’d experienced had been only 50-50.

Anyway, I’m okay now. Their tests showed that my heart is in great shape and suffered no damage, and my circulatory system is free of any narrowing or blockages. My cholesterol is still fine. I came very close to cardiac arrest, but the medical folks got to me in time.

I now know what it’s like to stand at death’s door. As a writer I've often imagined that moment, but when you’re suddenly faced with the end of your earthly life, all those imaginings go out the window. As Kathy called 911 and I prayed, certain that my allotted minutes were up, I was frightened yet found myself accepting of death. I didn’t panic. I remember telling God that, if He had determined it was my time, I was ready – and I prayed my inherent sinfulness wouldn’t somehow keep me from Him.

Through it all, that brief, tiny flicker of doubt, that emotional fear that I might somehow have sinned my way out from under His grace -- that was the scariest thing.

While I didn't doubt my salvation per se, there lurks a nagging question when we are faced with something we've never experienced before, especially if that something involves life and death. While my mind and heart know I'm saved, there will always be those little whispers from a darker quarter that say, "Maybe not . . . maybe those who insist our forgiveness is not absolute, that salvation must be earned and maintained day to day were right."

What's interesting and a little surprising (and I didn't realize this until later) is that, even as I was convinced I was living my last few moments, I don't recall ever asking God to spare my life and not let me die. I asked only that He accept me into His presence, though I asked it over and over.

If you or anyone you know is on a blood pressure (or other) medication that is not potassium-sparing, please see your doctor and make sure all things are as they should be. Since my incident last week, I've learned of others who went through the same ordeal but did not survive -- please act to save yourself and those you love.

Shane