My cousin died in November. We were not close and had not spent time together since we were young, but being of the same age and remembering the times we did share, it kinda hit me hard. He must have lived much differently, right? I don't know, but that's the kinda stuff you think to calm your fears. A massive heart attack and gone, just like that, just that quick.
I can't say it was on my mind when Cindy and I decided to head up north for the holiday. Maybe that's all part of getting away from things as we were determined to have a white Christmas and over six hours in a car to Drummond Island seemed like a good idea. 

Purchased over a decade ago, the south shore on Drummond Island is our getaway, our solitude, the place to regain our sanity and one that never lets us down. Break out of the hectic 'down-state' Michigan traffic, cross the Mackinaw Bridge, turn east for an hour, a car ferry hop, and home. Yeah, getting older made me think of the danger that its remoteness can carry and added a little more caution to whatever I was doing there - 'try to chop just the wood and not your leg with that ax!' -  but always figured that would be a 'gettin into our seventies' thing. Like the electrician there said, 'chopper or ambulance, don't matter, any way you cut it you're an hour from the hospital.' It was something to be mindful of, but back to Christmas....
We pulled in about midnight Christmas eve and the snow made the scene we knew it would, with the white landscape sloping down to Huron Bay framed by stands of pines on either side dusted in white in the light of the moon. The darkness hid the water but listening, you could just hear the soft lapping the waves make near shore. Sunrise and coffee and the shore was going to be so relaxing. The stars were out as I emptied the car of all we would need for a couple day visit as the cabin heated up, and jumped into bed under the cool covers, but it wasn't a moment later when it hit me full across the chest. Even as its weight pulled me to the floor, I thought maybe this would blow over somehow. You get older and these new aches and pains sometimes create an added uneasiness inside. Call it anxiety or whatever you want, but maybe it was snowballing now and trying to make something small in my mind seem much larger. But then again, the thought of my cousin came briefly to mind.
'Hate to scare you Cindy but I'm not right.'
'Should I call 911?'
'No.....no.....wait....yes.'

Perfect, drove for hours away from what I now needed most, but they got to me quickly, Carrie and Pam with her son Andy driving, these caring folks I don't really know, loading me into the ambulance and sitting next to me as we sped on the snowy two-track out of the woods and unto the main road. The pressure continued to build, an imaginary weight that wouldn't budge while I tried to keep track of where we were by the turns and bumps in the road, thinking this menial connection with the outside would keep me out of the seriousness of what was going on inside. 
'Pam, is that maybe your husband Tom who helped Cindy years ago?' I gasped out. That's when our pump was not working, the pump that brings the much needed water from the lake into our cabin and Tom had fixed it as a favor.
'Yes, that was him.'
I was miles away at the time, never even meeting him later to say thanks. And now his wife is helping to keep me alive while his son is driving us as fast as the weather will allow. That's Drummond.
The car ferry was waiting, having been called ahead to interrupt their hourly schedule and quickly get me to the mainland. Landing in Detour we met an awaiting emergency tech named Tyler, another health professional sacrificing his Christmas morning, who took my EKG and kindly gave me the news - 'it looks irregular; suggest we head for St Ignace instead of the Soo. That way if you need further help, the specialists in Petoskey will be closer.' Carrie took his car as the chase vehicle and away we go, lights flashing and cold and snow and me staring at the back wall of that ambulance trying to smooth out my breathing as fits of pressure hit my chest every few minutes and my new friends sitting on either side of me measure my vitals while trying to calm me down.

It seemed to happen all at once, both people yanked forward out of my vision, brakes locking, and a boom that shuttered the ambulance. I jolted only slightly, strapped securely to the gurney and it securely to the floor. Fortunately, the bulkheads inside those vehicles are padded so no one seemed hurt as Andy yelled back what the others I think already knew, that we 'smoked a deer,' and he was going to check for damage. I never learned if it was a hoof or a horn but the radiator was cracked and we could go no further. Now this was to be my end, a suicidal deer on the freeway on the outskirts of Hessel? No, not yet. A second ambulance arrived and bitter cold swept me as I was switched from one vehicle to the other on the side of the road. A new back wall to stare at but at least I was hanging on. And that constant cold that somehow made me feel alive. I needed that reminder.
Soon we reached the St Ignace staff who were waiting and quickly went to work. Shots and talking and movement. I have been in emergency rooms before but this felt different, like a different level of attention, that time was very important. Then someone next to me reading ever decreasing numbers. Cindy? Will you be okay? I was able to see her earlier but think they may have made her leave. My kids. There will be sadness. There must be more to this, to me. But now the nurse interrupts my thoughts with 'he's back.' More shots and the activity seemed to be slowing a bit. "You've had a heart attack but are now stable. We will transfer you to Petoskey as quickly as possible." Okay, any news at this point is good news, and away we go again.
The third ambulance of the day and feeling slightly better, even after I heard the driver getting instructions to be 'cautious but quick.' Funny how these ambulances' back walls look so much alike. Wonder if this driver knows what happened, that there may be deer out there trying to end me? I never found out, but we made Petoskey just the same. Another great crew ready to work on me, sending a scope through my veins to determine that shunts were of no use and that by-pass surgery was the only solution.
The blood thinners I had been loaded up with in St Ignace that helped to keep me alive now delayed the quadruple by-pass I needed and seemed almost anti-climactic after what it had taken to make it that far. The operation has a 95% success rate? I'm thinking the path that got me there had a helluva much lower percentage than that. Anyway, in keeping with the holiday spirit, surgery was New Years eve and went without a hitch.

Epilogue
I gotta say I look at deer differently now. Not fear or some changed sense of respect or any of that stuff, just kinda different. Heck, maybe I look at everything a little different now. And I'm trying to maybe be a little better, and thankful. And patience? That was always a struggle but maybe there is hope for that too. 

Note: I have so many to thank for so much and am still tracking them down during my recovery but know they include Carrie Leptler, Pam & Andy Ellis from the emergency response team on Drummond Island, Tyler the EMT tech support from Kinross who raced to the Detour dock to meet us, and emergency and surgical crews at St Ignace Mackinac Straits Health System and Petoskey McLaren Northern Michigan hospitals. Without them all, this story could have only been written by someone else.