(Here's what I wrote about this year's walk on Facebook. Any opinions are mine, not the AHA's.)
I realize there is a whole lot of stuff going on in the world, and I don't wish to distract you from any of it. But it is time for me to ask you for money again, and this time, it's personal.
It's always been personal. It's been five years almost to the day since
I was made a permanent employee of the American Heart Association. I've been fascinated by the research the organization supports and proud that they don't see health as something that happens only in a lab.
I realize there is a whole lot of stuff going on in the world, and I don't wish to distract you from any of it. But it is time for me to ask you for money again, and this time, it's personal.
It's always been personal. It's been five years almost to the day since
I was made a permanent employee of the American Heart Association. I've been fascinated by the research the organization supports and proud that they don't see health as something that happens only in a lab.
The AHA fights things that killed my family members, genetic and otherwise. Odds are, those things have affected your family, too.
Of course, this is the year I became a heart patient myself. As you know, last fall, for reasons nobody quite knows, the strings on my heart went zing! And after 10 days in the hospital, I went home, with a few extra holes in my side and some Gore-Tex I was not born with allowing my mitral valve to keep ... valving.
No big deal.
Here's the part that's relevant today: When I started poking around to find out the history of my condition, I read an article that indicated that only a hundred years ago, the best treatment for someone with a heart valve issue was, "Let's stab them in the chest and see if that helps."
It did not.
But a century of research means that when my moment came, instead of shuffling off this mortal coil, I was shuffled through a few hospital rooms. I slept a lot. During one nap, I'm told they chilled me like the Thanksgiving leftovers I was missing, stopped my heart, stitched me up, and sent me home.
No big deal.
And while that means I have to deal with things like plumbing problems, exorbitant tuition and elections, I much prefer all of that to being stabbed in the chest and dying.
The AHA has spent a century supporting research that made my survival possible.
If you choose to donate, I promise I will indeed be walking the required mileage. It is usually hot and disgusting, so you can savor the thought of me suffering just to squeeze a couple of bucks out of you.
At the end of the course, they usually set up a little bell for some people to ring. It says "SURVIVOR." I didn't have do a whole lot besides endure some bland hospital meals to earn that title, but I will celebrate by ringing it.
If you would like to celebrate with me -- or donate to honor someone else -- you may do so at this link.
Thanks.