Eddie’s Cardiac Arrest
For posterity, for the next victim, for our family and friends. We are telling the whole story.
A story in three parts.
I don’t believe it’s healthy to talk about a traumatic event again and again, due to the risk of prolonging the season of PTSD that follows something major. Better to focus daily on healing and living, and let God handle the hard stuff. We are doing that, but with a reunion of my siblings coming up, and dear friends flung far and wide because of my history in entertainment, I thought it best to tell the story this way, and then move on. So many people who love us are allowing themselves to be without information right now, out of respect for our day-to-day peace and healing. I know you care what happened, and what happens now. You always have, and I love you for it.
Below you’ll read three sections. The first section will focus only on that day, with a little backstory. Then you’ll read about the hospital stay, the measures that have been taken, and what the doctors told us. Lastly, we’ll talk about what has happened since discharge, my current situation, and what happens next. If you have any questions please contact Christy or myself. Here’s a button so you know I mean it:
The events of April 10th, and a little bit of backstory.
Were there warning signs? Yes, but they were so subtle that they almost begged to be explained away. I remember thinking the tingling in my fingertips must have been from sleeping funny on my left arm, as I am a left-side sleeper. I was getting more and more winded walking up the hill from our condo to the schoolbus to get Ken, but attributed it to my lack of sleep and the stress of a job search. That feeling of drowning at night? probably a faulty CPAP mask. I vowed to shop for a replacement.
Christy and I had walked up the hill at 3:30 that day, just like we always do, and walked Ken home from the bus, just as raindrops started to fall. It was going to be one of those wild and short-lived spring storms, so we scurried into the house and Kenny snuggled onto the couch. He was sleeping soundly by the time the rain started in earnest, even with Christy taking calls for work in the very same room. I went in the kitchen and started preparing a meatloaf for dinner.
At 5PM Christy signed off at her job, and was about to take a shower, but the storm was so beautiful, and the wind was so perfect, that I convinced her to come out onto the porch with me and experience it together. The squalls were all around us, but the house was blocking the wind in such a way that we were only getting a little misting, while the storm raged only a few meters away. We stayed there until the mist and the cold front started to chill us, then we went back inside. It was about 5:15, and Christy watched the storm from inside the patio doors at the back of our kitchen, while I collected the spices used in the meatloaf and walked over to the pantry to put them away. That’s the last thing I really remember. My heart just stopped. No warning. I went down.
When Christy heard me fall right behind her, she turned to see my head come down and hit the base of our china cabinet, and I was lying flat on my back in front of the pantry door. She called to me over and over, and shook me. She watched me die. Freaking out, she ran straight to her phone and dialed 911, while loudly crying out to God, wrestling with Him for my life. The 911 operator confirmed the address, dispatched the EMT’s and confirmed with her that I was not breathing or responding in any way. He was about to walk her through a CPR tutorial, but Christy was certified in CPR for her job, so by the time he said “put the phone on speaker” she was already doing chest compressions. “1,2,3,4… Please God don’t take Him… 1,2,3,4…” and in just a few moments she heard the siren as the ambulance approached from the fire station 1/4 mile away. She heard one of my ribs pop, and then a second as she pushed down harder and harder, pushing needed blood to my brain and hoping I would somehow spontaneously regain consciousness. Christy reports that she could feel in the space above us that God was holding my life in His hand, and as she fought for me He lovingly gave me back to her. Just then, I did an involuntary “agonal” gasp or two, and finally help started arriving, but my heart was still stopped, and I wasn’t breathing. The EMT’s came in, moved the kitchen table out of the way, dropped their bags, and hung an IV from the dining room chandelier. As they worked on me a fireman or two came in with their big raincoats on, and a police officer came in to be a liaison for the family. Christy, still crying, needed to wake up our son and get him to the hospital, but first she rang her family, and her sister Tammy answered the phone as she was driving home from work. Tammy made the detour to come to our place and help. Christy worked on waking Kenny up while the team worked on me. They shocked me, then shocked me again, finally getting a heartbeat, then seeing me breathe. After inserting a tube down my throat for breathing, I was sedated in preparation for the trip to the hospital. Kenny finally woke up as they were carrying me out, and his mom had to tell him that daddy was very sick, and these men were taking me to the hospital to help me wake up. Just then Tammy pulled up in her black Prius, ready to drive Christy and Kenny to the hospital, since Christy was in no shape to drive. The time was now 5:25PM, only ten minutes from the time I fell. I had only been without oxygen to the brain for 45 seconds before she started CPR, and the EMT’s had my heart beating five minutes later. That’s just amazing.
While the EMT’s got me situated in the ambulance and ready to travel, Christy and Ken got in in the Prius. After waiting a minute or so Ken was starting to melt down from the drama, the unconscious dad, and the tears on his mom. Only 6 1/2 years old, he was getting really, really upset, so Christy climbed into the back seat with him, and Tammy drove them toward St. Luke’s hospital, 8 minutes away. The ambulance passed them on the highway, and pulled into the ER just ahead of Christy, Tammy and Kenny.
They took me right to a waiting bay at St. Luke’s Hospital, and Christy followed shortly behind. On her ten-minute trip to the hospital Christy had called Jacob, our dear friend and the youth pastor at my former church, and she had contacted my brother Rich and his wife Lara so that they could get information to my large family. I’m the youngest of eight kids, and I’m the only one who lives in St. Louis. Thankfully we have established reliable lines of communication through the years. The Wilson side would stay informed.
Jacob did his job too, informing Jared, the WCAG pastor who baptised me and had become my good friend, and Greg Perkins, who was the new lead pastor there. Greg came and prayed with Christy over my unconscious body in the emergency room, and Jared came with his amazing wife Keri to support and lift us up. There was quite the team in the ER! Christy’s whole family. Mom, Bonnie and Doug, and of course Tammy and Kenny waited with Christy and the pastors as I got an emergency CT scan, and I got a catheter of course. I flinched when they put it in, and they said that was a good sign.
Christy had been incredibly strong. Word was spreading through the hospital staff that she had saved my life and preserved my brain with CPR, and they were congratulating her as a hero. She was still on high alert as she answered all the questions asked at admission:
“Does he smoke or drink?” No.
“Is he currently on any medications?” No.
“Were there any warning signs?” Other than fatigue, no.
Question after question, form after form were dutifully filled out, and then it was time for her to move up to the sixth floor ICU. During those first moments in the ICU nobody was allowed in the room, so Christy sat with our friends and family in the ICU waiting area. Surrounded and supported, Christy finally let the tears flow. She had endured so much, and I pray she never has to go through anything like that again.
In the ICU they slowly pulled me out of sedation. I was heavily monitored, stabilized with IV medications, and there was still a breathing tube down my throat. When they were talking about pulling it to see how I breathed on my own, I apparently gave a thumbs up. Another good sign, but a moment I’ll never remember. I’ll never have memories from that evening or the following day because memory loss is first, mildest result when the brain goes through hypoxia. Without the immediate, lifesaveing CPR that Christy administered there could have been seizures, loss of motor function, or worse. The hospital staff continued to praise her, because without immediate CPR the chances of full recovery go down something like 10-20 percent per minute. The chances of someone like me having cardiac arrest at home and leaving the hospital alive is about 7%. That’s right, less than one in ten survive this.
Christy stayed right by my side that evening, but since I was stable they demanded that she go home at 11pm and get some rest. Kenny had gone home to spend the night with Tammy, but she was going to get him to school the next day. For his mental health we would try to keep his world normal. Christy took a video for him that night at bedtime before she left me, and we all called it a day. April 10, 2025 was finally over. Here’s the good night video I sent to Ken:
8 days in the hospital.
Christy was back at the hospital by 7am, and got to listen as they discussed my case on morning rounds. The entire medical team was still congratulating her for the immediate CPR, which was standing out as the biggest reason why I was going to be getting breakfast from room service instead of a feeding tube. The first intervention step would be an intra-aortic balloon pump, fed up my femoral artery all the way to my heart, that would beat in sync and take off the pressure off my heart muscle, pushing blood throughout the body. I would have an MRI to assess heart function and determine intervention steps. There was a specialty team from the hospital-affiliated cardiac group that would be taking my case.
Christy had called off work of course, but that morning I had an interview scheduled with a possible employer. Christy held the phone while I called to postpone that interview, and cancelled Friday coffee with my good friend Raymond Gharabeygi. Due to my brain fog I actually called him twice in ten minutes to cancel, forgetting that I had called. That entire Friday is like a far-off dream in my brain, completely unsorted and mostly forgotten. My hippocampus was totally offline.
Almost immediately we had friends coming to pray and support us, and it meant the world to us. The love and companionship we got in those moments gave me courage, and brought a little normalcy to a very, very abnormal time. Thanks to everyone who visited me!
SO, WHAT JUST HAPPENED?
A cardiac catheterization and MRI showed an ejection fraction of less than 20% from my heart. They call it “heart failure.” It also gave a very clear picture of blood flow through the coronary arteries, which supply the heart muscle. They found a very old issue, a complete blockage in the left circumflex artery. See image below:
At some point, a long time ago, the blockage caused a part of my heart muscle to die and scar. That first heart attack was probably explained away as part of my exercise, just a little pain from the long runs and distance swims I was doing at the time. So my heart pushed through, and actually grew new pathways to supply that area of the heart. It’s called angiogenesis, and it blows my mind.
The cardiac team looked at their options. They could try to reopen the blocked circumflex artery, but the blockage was so old that the heart muscle immediately downstream wasn’t viable anymore. Besides, the heart had preserved itself with new blood vessels that were doing the job. They chose not to reopen the blocked artery. So why did my heart stop beating? It was an electrical malfunction, and I got a great description of it from a nurse practitioner at the cardio office which I will share with you now.
In a healthy heart there is an electrical signal that flows smoothly so that all four chambers fire at the perfect moment to efficiently move blood through this amazing pump. Your heart beats about a billion times in your life, and the electrical signals don’t always behave smoothly. In my case, the scar tissue on my left ventricle had given rise to some strange electrical flow, and I was occasionally getting premature ventricle contractions, or PVC’s. In the days leading up to the cardiac arrest, I believe I was experiencing enough PVC’s to start an inflammatory response, bringing fluid to my heart area, giving me the swelling, difficulty sleeping, and fatigue. Eventually my heart became less reliable, less efficient, and finally the electrical malfunctions knocked my left ventricle into fibrillation. My heart stopped beating.
Since the doctors had decided not to restore blood flow to the non-viable part of the heart, and that was the cause of the short circuit, how the heck do you keep this from happening again? A second heart attack will be my greatest fear for the rest of my life, but modern technologies can do two things to help. First, and probably most important, is the medicine. I’ve never believed in better living through chemistry, but there is a four-drug cocktail that improves heart function and keeps this sort of thing from happening. I’m on those meds now, plus a couple others. From zero medications to seven is a big change for me, but I’m not complaining.
If, despite the medications, the perfect storm of electrical weirdness tries to stop my heart again, there is a lifesaving backup feature. It’s called a defibrillator, and the one they chose for me is the Abbott Gallant. It’s a small device with a ten-year battery, and it shocks your heart if it tries to stop. The device will live in my chest near the top of my rib cage, with wires going into my heart via the left subclavian vein, screwed directly into the heart muscle. It will act as a pacemaker if necessary, and a defibrillator in an emergency.
Okay, now we had a plan. Sunday they would push all the necessary heart meds through my IV and remove the balloon pump that was helping my heart. Then after a blood test to determine that I was stabilized they would schedule surgery to implant the defibrillator, probably Tuesday the 15th.
Sunday’s Surprise: a Crash and an Intervention
Sunday started normally enough. I felt really strong in the morning after spinach, eggs and cottage cheese, and Christy was with me, along with Steve and Greg, who came over after church. I’m sure we violated ICU decorum with our boisterous conversation. The ICU is a scary place sometimes, and the emotional toll on the attending professionals is well-documented. The levity in my room was a welcome respite for some, but others, wanted more austerity as they did their jobs. Such was the demeanor of the physician that removed my intra-aortic balloon pump at noon on Sunday. He was not fooling around, and with assistance of two ICU nurses (sorry Greg), he deftly pulled the 20”long catheter and device through my femoral artery, and then used two thumbs to apply pressure to my groin and allow blood to clot. Intense pressure. This pressure had to be applied for nearly 30 minutes, so after he had done the first ten minutes he assigned the task to one of the nurses, then the other. They applied a fancy bandage and it was over, leaving the largest bruise I have ever seen forming on my leg. They measured the bruise for two days and declared it normal, even though Christy was really staring at it, for fear that I would have a femoral bleed. For my part, I was staying calm in bed and not moving. I didn’t want to disturb the area, and my two broken ribs from CPR made movement pretty difficult anyway, so I was happy to relax and let my weakened heart do simple work on its own without giving it any undue stress. After the pump came out they pushed a set of medications designed to improve heart function while bringing down blood pressure to help the heart beat easier. Christy called her mom about an hour later and they were having a nice conversation. I was looking at her when I started to get tunnel vision, numbness, light-headedness and fog. I told her to hang up on her mom and get the nurse and she ran out of the room as my machines started going off. I was crashing.
Within seconds there were six people in the room to save my life. This definitely wasn’t their favorite part of the job, but it was what they trained for. That Sunday afternoon the on-call physician was Dr. Jimmy Moss. I said earlier that some folks working the ICU like a light atmosphere, and some like a serious atmosphere. Well, Dr. Jimmy Moss is so powerful that he creates his own. I could tell I was in the presence of greatness from the moment he grabbed my left arm to stick an a-line in. He ran the room with his head on a swivel, and under his leadership the team would be victorious. I felt blessed to be conscious through it all, even with a BP of 60 over 30, and a pulse below 50. After they stabilized my on different IV meds Dr. Moss felt comfortable leaving the room and I thanked him. “What church do you go to?” I asked, hoping to stop him in his tracks so I could make a connection. “I want to donate in your name and say thank you.” He stopped and thought for a second, and I was very pleased to have made the connection I sought. He really is someone unique and wonderful, and he directed me to the charities he works with, and to his book, A Doctored Life: From Homeless to Harvard. I strongly suggest you look him up!
One more procedure, then home.
After Sunday’s drama the rest of my time in the hospital was quite doable. they moved me to a regular room, and the defibrillator went in on Tuesday. Kenny came over after school every evening, and we walked the halls together, playing games in the 6th floor waiting lounge. A couple days later I got my walking papers, and we drove away from the hospital on Good Friday with seven new prescription medications, and a device that would kick my heart back into rhythm if it chose to stop again. The feeling leaving the hospital was very similar to the day they sent us home with Kenny four days after he was born. Hospital is a place of safety and protection, and I was really scared to go home. That first night at home was terrifying, worrying about every little tingle, pain or cough. Christy was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep either. We prayed thanks to God for the many miracles, and gave our fear to Him. That helped enough to get us a little rest.
Home. Healing. Cherishing every moment.
I’m going to tell the rest of the story on my blog, because it’s going to keep developing from here. Please check it frequently, and I promise to share the ups and downs, the scary stuff and the fun stuff, and wherever the journey takes us, we can travel this part together.
