ICU to 26.2
On April 4, 2011, David lay in the Intensive Care Unit speaking with his cardiologist about the events of the preceding day.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Gange asked.
"A little better. I am hoping for a pair of clean underwear today too," I said.
He smiled. "Well it looks like you made some progress since you got here. Your ejection fraction is up a little."
Not that I felt like moving, but I asked, "When can I leave?"
"It will be a few more days," he replied.
I was in the ICU for six nights before they let me go home. I was fifty-two and so far had survived a Viral Myocarditis. I went home with a half dozen medications: Beta blockers, ACE Inhibitors, blood thinners and diuretics.
When I arrived at the house, I went up stairs to my bedroom and took off my clothes. I pulled off some of the dozens of EKG contacts, they were everywhere. I finally headed for the shower. As I stood there, I just cried. I don't know exactly why. I was relieved to be home and I guess had missed having a quiet moment alone. Maybe the gravity of what really happened hit me. I took a long and glorious shower, and I cried some more.
When I arrived at the house, I went up stairs to my bedroom and took off my clothes. I pulled off some of the dozens of EKG contacts, they were everywhere. I finally headed for the shower. As I stood there, I just cried. I don't know exactly why. I was relieved to be home and I guess had missed having a quiet moment alone. Maybe the gravity of what really happened hit me. I took a long and glorious shower, and I cried some more.
My recovery took eight long months before I was able to return to work full time. During that time I worked with the doctors to get my life back on track. I was encouraged to walk and eat a more nutritious diet (translation - lose 70 pounds). I started to walk down the street and back. I couldn't even make it around the block. I made a little progress every day. On April 18, 2011, I went to watch the Boston Marathon.
I lived one mile from the course and had my daughter drop me off. I prayed I would be able to make it back home.
I lived one mile from the course and had my daughter drop me off. I prayed I would be able to make it back home.
The race was incredibly inspiring - something so emotional about it all. Being up close, standing on the sidewalk, you could read tattoos and sportswear brand names. Beneath the perspiration you could see the intensity of personal strength and emotion.
It seemed to me that most everyone was running for a reason that was not about winning or best times, it was something deeper.
It seemed to me that most everyone was running for a reason that was not about winning or best times, it was something deeper.
On the way home, I walked and dreamed of running. Could I run a marathon? I was pretty certain I had missed my opportunity in life to run 26.2 miles.
I climbed into bed to take a much needed nap and continued to think about running.
I climbed into bed to take a much needed nap and continued to think about running.
Deep inside of me, a dream was born. I started using the Couch to 5K program. It took a year. For the anniversary of my stay in Casa d' ICU, I ran the Run with Heart 5K in Clinton, MA. A year later, I ran the Hyannis Half Marathon (Hyannis, MA) in the freezing rain.
My cardiologist was thrilled with my recovery. I continued to think about running a marathon, but I still doubted that I could finish. I had both knee and rotator cuff surgery in the midst of all that was going on with my heart. The spring of 2013 brought warmer weather and longer training runs. Having been fitted for a new pair of shoes, my runs were more comfortable. I decided to start training for a Fall 2013 marathon. I didn't register, but I penciled the date on my calendar. Pencils have erasers, after all.
I kept training six days a week.
A marathon was not just on my bucket list nor was it a test of my physical strength and mental toughness; it was the proving ground of my personal faith. The encouragement I received from friends and runners eventually outweighed my own doubts. I could do this...eventually.
The conflict over whether to run The Cape Cod Marathon or just put it off raged within me. And not solely because I lacked confidence in my ability and had a couple of disastrous LSDs, but another health concern had surfaced. The blood test for prostate cancer, although not very accurate, came back in the danger zone. The doctor wanted to schedule a biopsy. I just didn't know. Add to that a lay off at work, and it was hard to focus on such a huge personal accomplishment.
I finally committed to registering after a woman named Cherie commented on a Facebook group post. "David, I ran a marathon while I was having chemo treatments. I decided that it was six hours of my life which I could control." I was more convinced than I had been. As I clicked submit button on the registration form, I told myself that I could still back out. Of course I had trained, and most of it was in the heat and humidity of the New England summer. As the long miles wore on there always came a point in every run in which my heart rate skipped up to near maximum, trying to provide oxygen to fuel the clamor of its muscles. The confidence builders, the long slow training runs were all virtually disastrous, ending in more walking than running.
Fast forward to October 27, 2013. At 8:28 a.m., a jazz performer sang an a-cappella rendition of America the Beautiful which rang out into the cool fall air. The sun was just peaking over the buildings on Falmouth's Main Street (MA) as I stood with my hand over my heart. In that moment, I felt proud to be an American, and part of a marathon. These patriotic songs seemed to be more meaningful since the bombing of the Boston Marathon.
The starting cannon boomed and the first of over 1000 runners moved across the starting line. I switched on my GPS watch and tucked my iPhone in the arm holder. Crossing the timing mat, I high-fived my friend Tom Frazier who was working as a volunteer on the course.
As a game-time decision, I chose to use Jeff Galloway's walk/run method instead of running continuously. It worked perfectly – especially in the twelve miles of rolling hills.
Five hours, seven minutes and twenty-three seconds after I began - and 938 days since I lay in the Framingham Heart Center - I crossed the finish line.
"I did it. I made it all the way from the ICU to the finish line of a marathon."
October 27, 2013
Posted on 12/30/2016 by dsjohndrow
20 Comments
20 Comments
I don't know about you, but some of the folks in my life are pretty aware of who I am, and what I like. They know my long time interests include: ice hockey, music, shooting, photography and Christianity. They find it easy to get me something at Guitar Center or Best Buy. They might even get me a pair of tickets to see the Bruins, but then they are afraid that I will ask them to come to the game. Needless to say, I haven't received Bruins tickets since 1975. I am not much for gift cards unless it is iTunes or a restaurant. However; I don't think the ex-fat man is going to get any gift certificates to Mickey D's this year.
