It was ten years ago today I had my own personal wipeout, while playing a drum solo on "Wipeout." This happened at an Exits reunion at the rehearsal in the afternoon, before the show, which was to take place that night at the site of our very first gig, the Elks Hall in Kingman, Arizona. You couldn't make up anything more ridiculous: the band's name, the song I was playing, or, rock musicians knowing CPR. And, yes, the three heroes of the moment: Terry Mitchell, Wayne and Cody Rutschman, all had just received CPR training (what are the odds?) and when I collapsed with a heart attack, they each took turns and gave me CPR until the Kingman Fire Department (stationed directly across the street) arrived.
Thank you boys. All of you. And that includes Dr. Michael Ward at Kingman Regional.
Four stents and two miracles later, I embarked on my afterlife journey. If I had died on that day (a doctor who saw my medical chart said if he didn't know the outcome he would give the patient a 1% chance of survival), I would have missed both my kid's weddings, the birth of three beautiful grandchildren and trips with Kathy to Paris, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Spain, Argentina, Paraguay, Uruguay, Nicaragua, Guatamala and Bolivia. Oh, and Thailand. To say I am thankful for the extra time on the planet is an understatement for which I cannot begin to fully understand or get over.
Thanks for the extra innings.