The pain in my chest started at one in the morning, and it was unbearable. I dialed 9-1-1, and the ambulance was on its way.  Sirens began to sound in the distance as I drifted away on a cloud between this world and the next.

It was only a few hours ago that I was frantically trying to turn in my weekly online assignment.  I’d pressed submit, but something was wrong. The program kept showing errors.  I didn’t know what was going on.  This app was set up for student access, but at this moment in time, no access was being granted.  Being late meant a reduction in my grade, which was a slap in the face.  Foul words began to flow from my mouth.  Amy, my wife, kept begging me to take it easy.  Easy? She didn’t have a deadline.  On the fourth attempt, the computer confirmed the assignment was submitted.

Success, hallelujah! Blood pressure would go back to normal, right? Not a chance.

Doorbell and voices at the front door.  The pain, intense.  Sleep seemed to be the only escape.

“Paramedics are here,” Amy yelled as heavy boots sounded on the stairwell.

I can’t breathe. The world grows darker. My eyes become heavy. All I want is sleep. It’s the only place where relief exists from this awful pain. 

“Don’t go to sleep.” One of the paramedics orders as he flicks his finger between my eyes.  Stop it.  Stop it; let me go to sleep because sleep is warm and covers me like a blanket. Before I could say another word, he shoved his fingers in my mouth with two baby aspirin. “Here, take these.”

“Now Swallow.” He orders, but the aspirin makes me gag as he puts a blood pressure cuff on my arm.  When he is not paying attention, I spit the aspirin out.

“Stay calm sir, we’ll have you at the hospital in a jiffy.” He says as he removes the cup from my arm.

“Heart attack.  Myocardial infarction. Apparent arterial blockage,” I overhear one of the crew tell dispatch, followed by radio static.

“Take my hand,” a paramedic orders.

“What?”

“Take my hand.”

“I want to go to sleep.”

“You are asleep.” He smiles and places his hand on my face.

“Who are you?”

“I am here to be with you.”

More aspirin is shoved into my mouth.  Then I feel a finger being thumped on my forehead once more. “Hey, don’t go to sleep.”

The man who asked to hold my hand is no longer in the room.  He is nowhere to be seen.

“My chest…”

“Yes, we’ll have you on your way to the Emergency Room in no time.  Just don’t go to sleep and take these.”

He shoves more aspirin into my mouth as a woman paramedic puts a blood cuff around my left arm.  She pumps the inflation bulb on the sphygmomanometer to determine my systolic and diastolic pressure. “Blood pressure is high.”

“You’ll be alright.” The fifth paramedic assures me.  He takes hold of my hand. “You’ll be fine.”

“Wake up.” More forehead thumping.  More baby aspirin. I spit them out like the others. I feel as though I’m floating down the stairs and realize I’m being carried on a makeshift stretcher.  The living room is illuminated by a flashing light from the ambulance on the floor of the open front door.   More radio static and more voices.

“Wake up.”  More thumping on my forehead.

Is God real?  Does Jesus exist?  Did He ever really exist, or was He another story used to explain things that could not be explained or believed?

“You will be fine.  I am with you.”

“Wake up.  Don’t go to sleep.”

Where am I? Where am I going? 

My wife Amy is crying as I am being carried out of the house. She’s trying to tell them about my medical history. You see, eight years ago, I had my first myocardial infarction.  I tried telling them that it was bad indigestion, but they wouldn’t listen.

My chest pain is becoming more unbearable, but again, they’re not listening. Can’t they hear me?  Why isn’t anybody paying attention?  I need some medication.  I need some medication now.

They lift me onto a gurney.  There are only four of them.  Where is the fifth man who was in the room a minute or so ago?   Where is he?  He was the only one who was listening.

Where is my pain medication? 

“We are on our way.” The female paramedic assures me.  The siren wails, and I feel the jerky movement of the vehicle. “It will only take us a few minutes to get there.  How are you doing?”

I can’t answer.  It’s as if someone has put a gag over my mouth.  Where is the pain medication?  I can feel every blessed bump in the road. The straps across my chest are constricting me.

“It’s okay.” The fifth man is holding my hand again.  His face is sympathetic.

“I did my best,” I explain.

“What?” The female paramedic hears what I have said to the fifth man, who is no longer next to me, holding my hand.

Do I believe in God?  Do I believe in prayer? Of course, I do.  Of course, I do.  There are some things you have to take on faith, don’t you? 

The doors open, and I feel the rush of the cool night air wash over me as they pull me out of the ambulance.  Amy is talking to admissions as I am being wheeled into the Emergency Room.

“I am still with you.” the fifth man assures me as he is standing beside me as they administer pain medication.  Like magic, the pain goes away.  I feel better.  “Your time has not come.  Be still.”

A few hours later, as they wheeled me out of the operating room, I wondered who the fifth man was. When I mention it to the people wearing masks and rubber gloves, they tell me to rest. One of the masked people remarks to the others, “It’s just the medication taking effect.”  Is it?  Or is it something the EKG doesn’t detect?

Can I get to sleep without the forehead thumping? They don’t hear me.  They look straight ahead. When I got to my room, the fifth man was sitting in the chair next to my bed. 

“I see you made it.” He smiles at me, and now I understand who the fifth man in the room is.