You too?

A word of encouragement to anyone who has searched or stumbled onto this page:

Maybe...
You are facing open heart surgery.
Know this:
You are not alone.

You have undergone open heart surgery.
You are not alone.

You are not as old as the brochures depict.
You are not alone.

You are active, fit, and strong.
You are not alone.

You're in pain, or have doubts.
You are not alone.

You wonder if there's anyone else.
You are not alone.

You don't know where to turn.
You are not alone.

Questions.
Questions.
Questions.

Don't you dare, for one second, believe the lie that you're facing something that hasn't been felt by another person, with a heartbeat similar to yours.

We beat two beats at a time.
We beat two and a half beats sometimes.
We beat beats that time can't count.

We beat a symphony united by heartbeats.

We.

We were facing "game over",
but got a chance to hit "reset".
We are together in this game.

You are not alone.

If you are facing open heart (mitral) valve replacement surgery, if you have seen the light of day post-op where your sternum is healing, if you have felt the rush of oxygen into your lungs after the chest tubes have been removed, if you hear the ticking in the silence of the darkest night, please know:

You are not alone.

Reach out.
Say hello.
If you have questions, if you have friends, if you have family that are facing similar.. reach out. We are here.

You are not alone.

(Keep going)

Two at a time

Two words.
Two beats.

How and what you do before, between, and after them makes all the difference.

All the difference.

"Thank you" with two heartbeats.

Thank you.

Thank you to every single one of you that wrote, texted, emailed, called, posted, tweeted, commented, visited or even thought of me in the past two weeks. Even if it was once, and only once with a fleeting thought.. thank you. Our foundation, our source of life, our soul, our furnace, our factory comes from the heart. Some topical, others deep down inside.

Open heart surgery is not fun.
Open heart surgery is not something to be recovered from on the surface where the valve, sutures and sternum can be found.
Open heart surgery affects everything from the inside out.
Every single beat matters.
Every single breath matters.
Every single step matters.

Patience for the patient.
Taking heart with all your heart.

In a lighter yet sincere note, I'd like to thank the following:
1. God for being my wingman.
2. Percocet for giving me flight from the pain.
3. My family.
4. My Friends.
5. The nurses for caring, giving, and tending to me.
6. Coworkers that could easily be slotted into friends, or family.
7. Seth Godin for emailing back and forth with me.
8. Guerrilla Fitness for covering the sky with red stars during my darkest moments.
9. The blue heart pillow for keeping my sternum intact when I learned to laugh again.
10. HE>I for the shirt to recover in.
11. Jake from Compete Every Day.
12. Matt from Hillsong.
13. Andrew for lifting me up in my state of glorious ruins.
14. Joe's wife for the ridiculous turkey chili.
15. Bacon, burgers, and BBQ once I got home.

Thank you, and thank you.

I hope this post finds you well, and I hope you never underestimate the beauty, power, and world captured in and between those two beat in your chest.

I can now say: "I'm here."

Soon enough it'll read: "I'm back."

Once Inside

Heart surgery.

What will the doctor see once inside?
What stories will the beat share?
Which ones will it hide?

Will the doctor find a business card
from my 8 year old days?
Where my job description for life
was to have fun, and to play?

Will the doctor find film negatives
from middle school and running in the rain?
With a smile bigger than the storm
bigger than a kid pointing up at a plane?

Will the doctor find their names
rolled up and scribbled in pen
All the girls I pictured as girlfriends
but bashfully only called friend?

Will the doctor find the chain links
leading down into a well full of hope?
Will he recognize me as a man of faith
Is that something a scalpel can cut into?
(Easy answer: nope.)

Will the doctor find an interior design
beautiful tapestry of bumps, bruises, and scars?
Like a wall full of braille, each unique,
memories and moments, healed from afar?

Will the doctor find a music box
with a crank that turns and a key?
Will the doctor hear heaven's song
My anthem and sweet melody?

Will the doctor find her picture
taped up on my heart's wall?
Will he notice a door open for her
and a smile waiting in case she ever calls?

Will the doctor find an autograph book
with signatures from my Friends?
Passports stamped with adventures
conversations and true to the end?

Will the doctor see the chalk bucket
will he see the barbell, will he know?
That the most alive I felt in decades
was Guerrilla's CrossFit 3-2-1-Go?

Will the doctor see the clues
four and thirteen?
Will he know where I turn to
Will he know what they mean?

Will the doctor see the puck
or the garage's broken glass?
Will he see the video on replay
of me on rollerblades flying past?

Will the doctor see notes and pictures
and transcripts of moments shared
Will he realize how much I love listening
Will the slides show that I loved,
that I gave, and patiently cared?

Will the doctor decipher the rhythm
of the unique, my own drumbeat?
Will he follow the footsteps within
of the pattern and dance of my feet?

Will the doctor see the pages
and pages of handwritten notes
Will he notice the letters folded up
into origami hearts, swans, and boats?

Will the doctor see the light switch
from where flips on my smile?
Will he notice it before the first incision
will it be obvious from a mile?

Will the doctor see the checkered flag
as a reminder to run life's race every day
Will he high-five my dad, my hero,
Who inspires me more than words say?

Will the doctor go find my sister
and invest in her visionary art?
Will he see what I see in her
and the beauty she creates from her heart?

Will the doctor see my mother there
and tell her she should be proud
That the walls inside my beating chamber
Held up with her prayers, both quiet and loud?

Will the doctor see me waving
because I live from inside out?
Will the doctor wave back?
Guess we'll find out...

You're Too Young

11,899.
Remember this number.

Day -365 
One year before I was born, based on severe trauma and medical complications, doctors told my parents that they will never have another child, and that if my mother even tried to get pregnant, she would probably die.

Day 1
Breach, a few hiccups, but healthy, there I was.
Proof to those doctors that miracles happen.
Living proof.
Mom? A-o-k.

Day 1,095
Doctor told my parents that I probably have a stomach virus.

Day 1,097
Paralyzed from the waist down, unable to walk, fading out to white, sicker than sick.
Septic.
Surgery. Extended hospital stay.
Living proof, alive and well, and walking.

Day 11,899
Doctor shocked that I'm alive.
Heart surgery required.
Blood loss. Leakage.
Open heart.
ICU.

"But you're so young."

"He'll never lead a normal life."

"You're too young."

"He'll never make it."

I should not be here based on an opinion.
I should not be here based on a misdiagnosis.
I should not be here based on a brutal car accident.
I should not be here based on a series of charts mapping my heart.

But guess what..

I'm here.
My story is not done.

So don't tell a kid living a miracle,
thanks to a nudge from above,
that he's "too young" to face this challenge,
let alone face it grounded in love.

Strength inside.
Cared for.
Living proof.
Ready for the ride.