Woke

“Are you ok” ?

That’s the first thing I remember, and of all the things I would come to find I was in the coming days and weeks, “OK” was the one thing I wasn’t in that moment.

There was nothing remarkable about the day or the run after work I was enjoying.  It wasn’t too hot or too humid. I wasn’t running especially fast or long that evening. “Free Bird” was playing on my Pandora, and I had just completed my third mile. I was less than ½ mile from my home, on an empty country road, and  in 10 minutes I would be in the shower, and soon after that,  on my way to one last summer concert on the water in Greenport, NY

And then life handed me the ultimate “HOLY SHIT” moment.  I’m not sure if I actually said those words.  It was more likely “OH NO” , but in less than 5 seconds my brain grew fuzzy and dark, and I stopped, bent over and placed my hands on my knees to recover…. or so I thought…..

….Its mid October 1994, before texting, email, cell phones and 24 hour cable news networks.  I’m a  27 year old sales manager in the computer supply and business form industry,  and my secretary (that’s what they called them back then) Barbara began insisting that I detail all my appointments with phone numbers available, so she could contact me if and when my wife Diane went into labor with our first child in the coming weeks.  We weren’t due for another month or so, but her maternal instincts were prescient to say the least.

In Diane’s desire to make our home perfect for our newest family member, she injured herself at home and began bleeding, causing her to be rushed to a local hospital,  and I was contacted by my wonderful secretary and rushed to be at my wife’s side.

The doctors attempted to hold off on delivery as long as possible due to the risks and complications that could result from a premature delivery. But a day or so  later, a cesarean birth was performed in the best interest of mother and child and on October 19^th, 1984 Carmine Francis Arpaia was born; the namesake of my Dad…and I became a father.

Diane was in recovery after an extremely difficult delivery and I was handed our baby. The  nurse and I entered an elevator up to the maternity ward, and life was beautiful, until another “HOLY SHIT” moment arrived.

Our baby stopped breathing in my arms, his chest collapsed, and he turned deep blue in a matter of seconds.

Hyaline membrane disease, a/k/a respiratory distress syndrome is on all-too-common and potentially deadly condition in premature infants, resulting from immature lungs unable to properly take in  oxygen.

Within minutes, I am filling out forms authorizing doctors to perform any and all life saving measures on our son, and he is on a ventilator, being prepared to be airlifted via helicopter to NY Hospital’s neo natal ICU.

A lot of things go thru your mind in these situations but for some reason fear is never one of them for me.  I am usually too busy trying to figure out the solutions to the problems at hand, in my unshakable belief that I can both handle and fix whatever problems life presents.

It is nothing heroic; it is more an inner arrogance and conceit. I believe in me, and this won’t ‘break me’. Foolish I know, but 27 year old me didn’t need logic.  I needed a play from the dusty back pages of the play book.  In football they call it the “Hail Mary” pass.

After graduating from high school in 1974 as possibly the greatest under-achiever ever, relative to my academic and athletic potential, and accurately viewed as an angry selfish and confrontational teenager, unable to listen or take advice from anyone, I entered Hanger #2 at the former Roosevelt Air Field, sigh of Charles Lindbergh’s trans-Atlantic flight, for my first days at Nassau Community College. The entry level classes for incoming freshman held in the old airplane hangars contained well over 200 students at any one time,  and I immediately made by way to the back row, where I could only hear due to the microphone the instructor held, and could never be visibly recognized.

In walked another freshman, a few minutes late, a few pounds overweight, a semi disheveled wardrobe, (heck, I was wearing overalls) a loose curly afro haircut and a BIG smile.  He walked all the way to the back and took the desk next to me, opened his backpack and pulled out 2 16 oz Budweiser tall boys in paper bags.  He coughed at the same time he opened the first beer to cover up the sound of the can opening. At 10 o’clock in the morning!  He turned, smiled and offered me the remaining beer in a bag.  With a look of astonishment on my face, I took it, coughed and toasted my new found friend. 

“What’s your name?” he asked .

“Carmine Arpaia” I said.

“Tony D” he responded.

 And we proceeded to cough, drink and learn absolutely nothing together thru the end of the year.  I can’t remember the class name, the instructors name or anything else about this completely unremarkable couple of months until the last day of school when we were sitting on a grass quad and began throwing a Frisbee.

“Throw me a long one” Tony said,  and he began running across the open field. I let fly an absolutely perfect throw ( a Hail Mary of sorts) and he caught it over his shoulder, in perfect stride. He turned, looked over his shoulder and waved…and I never saw him again. I never really thought about him again either, just a guy who I drank beer with in college and knew for a short time..  Granted, he was ONLY one I ever drank beer with IN a college class room but otherwise he was completely forgettable.

    The Englewood, NJ hospital waiting room 1984 was completely empty.  Just me on an old ‘pleather’ couch with a clipboard,  and a young frizzy-haired, well-meaning-but -slightly-annoying nursing assistant telling me to sign my life away, and that ‘everything will be fine.”  I was too preoccupied thinking that I had named my son after me and my dad and that it would suck if my son and my name were to die.

The hippie nurse-in-waiting told me the helicopter would be arriving on the roof of the hospital any minute and that she needed everything filled out before they could airlift our son. I remember shaking my head thinking how far apart each of our minds were at that moment. She mostly concerned about her paperwork while I was thinking about how best to protect the lives of my wife and new born son.

The elevator bell rang, and the doors opened right in from of me. A guy in a Ghostbusters -like flight suit and a backpack on his shoulder stepped out.  He looked me dead in the eyes and barked out into the empty lobby “I KNEW I recognized that name”!

 It took me a second or two, but when he smiled I knew who it was.

‘Tony’?  I said

He told me we had no time to waste and that he would call me when he and the baby had landed safely across the Hudson river in NYC.

I watched (and heard) the helicopter lift off and fly away minutes later.  I knew we were in good hands.

He called me at the hospital a short time later and told me that Carmine would get worse before he got better,  but that if he was alive 48 hours from now, that he would survive.  The NY hospital neonatal intensive care unit allowed me access to visit 24 hours a day and I can never thank them enough for all they did to care for him and put our minds at ease.

A day or so later, while visiting Diane in her hospital, I heard the hospital PA system announce my name “Carmine Arpaia, please answer the house phone”.  It was Tony D.  

“Carmine,  its Tony. He’s gonna be fine. I have to go. I will talk to you soon”.

And again, he was gone. I have never seen or heard from him since.  I don’t know who he worked for, what his actual job was,  or amazingly, what his last name was.  I never bothered to ask because it never mattered and I assumed we would see him again.

Diane, our son and I arrived home together for the first time a week or so later, witnessed Doug Flutes, “Hail Mary” miracle pass to beat Miami University 47-45 on Thanksgiving. (Flutie would later become young Carmine’s favorite athlete, due to his small stature and huge heart) and cruised thru a wonderful Christmas and New Year as a family.

I had privately promised myself that if/when Carmine and Diane recovered and everything had settled down that I would “do something’ significant in my life and begin to shed some of my “all talk and too little accomplishment” persona. 

On January 2, 1985 I put on my sneakers, a hat, gloves and a few sweatshirts and began running in the hills of northern New Jersey. And writing it all down. How I felt,how fast I went, how far, how much I weighed.  And I started getting good at it.  Longer, faster, stronger, lighter, happier, more accomplished.  

And then it hit me.  I would enter and run the Long Island Marathon that May. It sounded significant and accomplished to me.  And my naturally conceited arrogance was a perfect match for this crazy idea.  The idea of failing or worrying never entered my head,  and that May I completed the 26.2 mile journey in 4 hours, 3 minutes and 47 seconds. (slightly 9 minutes per mile)

I had kept my promise, saw the journey thru to the end, gained a lifetime of confidence ,and could brag about this cool thing forever to everyone who was in earshot.

Life moved on a like a blur.  When you are married to the greatest women in the world, blessed with 3 of the greatest kids,  and possessed of good health and good friends you are rich beyond belief.  A beautiful home, a successful business career and a seamless transition into a second career as a personal trainer, coach and fitness director had me believing it was almost time to close the book on my life’s work. I was looking forward to watching and helping our children as they grew up, got married, maybe had children etc.

Sold the business, did our retirement planning,, updated the life insurance, paid for the kids college educations.

Had a few health scares as well. “At your age you have to take care of yourself”.

Experienced some bouts of anxiety. “Maybe you are depressed”. “Take these pills every 6 hours” “Watch your cholesterol”, and take another pill.

“Stop worrying and relax”. (Seriously has that advice EVER worked?) and experienced many sleepless nights.

“Why am I so dizzy sometimes”? “The doctor says you are fine”. “Maybe I am a hypochondriac”?

Young Carmine grew up just fine. He became a 5 time Emmy Award winner for his work  as an editor and producer for Major League Baseball, all before his 30th birthday. He met and married our wonderful daughter-in-law Stephanie on New Years eve in 2015. His brother Mark and Michael were his best men. Mark has been his best friend and confidant since they were kids. Everyone loved the wedding/New Years Eve party. Stephanie was, and is beautiful and loving to us all.

I woke up on New Years day 2016, and thought about New Years resolutions, and once again doing “something significant” and creating some good Karma for our son and his new wife. And the marathon idea entered my head again. I was in no shape to run it of course. It was 31 years and 40 pounds since I had last done it. But for some reason I found myself on the New York Road Runners Club website gathering information.

The NYC Marathon is a complete sellout every year and the application told me that only a few thousand “lottery winners” would be selected from over 150,000 applications. So I had no illusions of ever getting accepted into the race. Still I figured filling out the application, providing a little backstory about my first marathon and Carmine’s birth and now his marriage would bring him and Stephanie the good karma I sought for them and bring my story full circle.

In mid February I received an email from the New York Road Runners Club.

It began, “CONGRATULATIONS” !!!

NOW WHAT!?! The idea of ever getting accepted and running this thing never dawned on me. My choice was to quit and revert back  to my young underachieving self, or figure out how to solve my (self created) problem.

So in March I put an 8 month training plan together, laced up my sneakers started back on the roads. 

…5k races…10k races… 10 miles…13.1 miles… longer, faster stronger again!

Not as fast or as long as my 27 year old self, but the weight came off, my health and mood improved, and by the end of the summer, as the incredible heat and humidity relented, I was optimistic that this was within the realm of possibility. Privately, I was certain of it.

”Is there someone I can call for you”? he asked.

“Would you mind driving me home”? I replied.

He helped me into his truck and I gave him directions around the block to my house. He followed me to my front porch where I poured cold water over my head and tried to gather myself.

He told Diane that she should call EMS because I had been laying unconscious in the middle of the road  when he found me and had been unable to revive me. He had gone back to his truck to call 911, and when he looked back I sat up. The running app on my cell phone later showed me in the street for almost 5 minutes before he helped me into the truck.

We live in a summer vacation area and I had collapsed on a Monday evening at dusk. The idea that anyone would  drive by that quickly, and see me without running me over was a long shot at best.

I was transported to Eastern Long Island Hospital and anticipated being released when my pulse rate, blood pressure, etc all were perfectly normal. However later that night,  the attending physician told me that blood tests revealed elevated cardiac enzymes and I would be transferred in the morning to Winthrop University Hospital. Upon arrival I was immediately prepped for a cardiac catheterization, where two 95% blockages were discovered in my left descending “widow-maker” artery. I received 2 stents and a full explanation of the procedure and its success from an incredible surgeon, Dr. Anthony Gambino. 

I had suffered a “ sudden cardiac death” while running, resulting in a rapid drop in blood pressure, an interruption of blood to my brain, and a stoppage of my heart. It is the single largest killer of any disease in the U.S. One in 3 people never wake up, even with immediate medical attention.

For whatever reason, I woke up. I have no explanation. Neither do the doctors. Maybe God, maybe fate, maybe luck. Maybe the fact that i had gotten back into good shape saved me. I really don’t care why it happened. I care THAT it happened.

I’ve tried to make sense of things, to find patterns or meaning to it all. Im not a religious person but I know I have had “ guardian angels” along the way. My secretary Barbara back in 1984, my beer drinking Ghostbuster-like angel Tony D, who I’m certain watches over me and my family and shows up when I desperately need him, and the truck driver “John” who found me laying  unconscious in the middle of a lightly traveled road, and made sure i got medical treatment.

I had no chest pains, no shortness of breath, no overt symptoms of any kind. I was preparing to run a marathon. I hadn’t been “ healthier” in years.

Im not writing this as a warning, or as a call for my friends and family to get checked out, and take care of themselves.. Im writing it because I woke up. Literally and metaphorically. And maybe i will get to meet some grandchildren someday because I did, and maybe I can tell them about how Tony D watches over us. it will be a great bedtime story, with a very happy ending.

Ive discovered that I matter a lot to my friends and family. When you die for a few minutes, people are very honest and emotional in expressing their true opinions of you. I hope they know how much they mean to me as well. And while I don’t recommend my particular method, truly being given a second chance at life has been a blessing to me.

Im tired, Im taking too many prescriptions, and I have too many people worrying about me, but I’m convinced all of this will soon pass. The doctors tell me I have a completely healthy prognosis, with no long term heart damage, but apparently i wont be running 26.2 miles again . But more than any of that, Im certain that with an awful lot of help from friends, family, strangers and guardian angels who walk among us, that I have already completed life’s marathon. Maybe I will just take a few “victory laps “ in celebration of truly being “woke”

Postscript: this was originally written in 2016. Diane and I have since become grandparents, I have recently retired, and despite the daily aches and pains and the mild bouts of anxIety and frustration that accompany my grouchy old man persona, life is more beautiful than ever.