Eric Vogen's Story

Paramedics run to Vogen's rescue after he collapses just yards from the
finish line.

I was asymptomatic for a heart problem I had most of my life. It wasn't
until I went to a doctor 6 years ago for a neck ache that I found out I had
a leaking heart valve. My doctor said he could hear it without a
stethoscope and that if I didn't get it fixed, I was looking at death
before 40. Since I'd been a runner since high school, I was surprised.
Throughout my 20s, I ran. I love to run. I especially love to run on the
beach. The feel of sand beneath my feet, the sound of waves. But in my late
20s, I started to slow down. I started getting tired. I stopped running.
Though I wasn't yet 30, I figured I was just getting old. By my mid 30s, I
was sleeping round the clock, lethargic when I was awake. It didn't feel
right, but until that doctor noticed something he wasn't even looking for,
it didn't occur to me anything could be wrong.

The Cleveland Clinic is a forerunner and nationally recognized expert
institution for cardiac surgery. Doctors there repaired my leaking valve
and told me I was lucky. Though my heart had expanded to double its normal
size, the surgery enabled it to come back to normal. I wouldn't have
permanent damage. After the surgery, I could barely walk, but I wanted back
to running. It took a few months for my energy to come back, but as I
recovered, I made a goal to run a triathlon within a year of my surgery.
And I did.

I started doing a triathlon a year. And though I wasn't particularly
competitive, I received decent scores in the pack and I enjoyed it. I even
did a team triathlon in Australia last year.

But going into the 2007 season, my training was interrupted. My wife and I
had our first child, I became a little out of shape and I once again
stopped running. But I'd done a marathon without training once. I still
felt like that same guy. Even if I was more than 20 years older.

I have an abiding faith in God, an active God who takes an interest in
people's lives. But just because I believe God could send me a message
doesn't guarantee I'm going to listen to Him any more than I'm going to
listen to my wife. I wasn't hearing either of them. I had plenty of
reasons and opportunity not to go that day. I ate a good breakfast of
raspberries, nectarines and cereal, loaded my car and headed out with
barely enough time to get set up, strap a water bottle on my bike. The
half-mile swim portion went really well, my fastest time ever. I felt
really good. I jumped on my bike and took off for the 17-mile ride,
without thinking about drinking because I was still a little blurry and
tired from the last few days. Halfway through I drank a protein smoothie,
though what I needed was fluids, not protein. This may have been part of
the problem, but more likely the electrolytes helped me get to the finish
line, which contributed to saving my life. Later, as I drank a little water
and still felt pretty good. I joked around with the policeman, asking if
they'd have to give me a ticket for going too fast.

 

I was still in a good mood on the run, still feeling fine. I was going at
a light run. It was only three miles. I teased a pair of girls who would
pass me and then I would pass. I told them my goal was to beat them. Just
as I neared the three-mile marker, the finish line, I saw an EMT truck next
to me. I joked to myself, "Well, I guess I won't be needin' them today!"
Within 10 seconds of that thought, I was dizzy. Two seconds after
registering that I was dizzy, before I could even analyze why I might be
dizzy, I went down. I don't remember falling. The next thing I remember I
was in the ambulance, strapped down. I wanted to get up. It seemed very
important that I get up. As if I had important things to do. My vision was
blurry, I was disoriented, and I was trying with all my might to focus on
the eyes of the emergency people. I was saying I just need to get up; I
need to get something to drink. I was obviously dehydrated. Then I threw up
a few times and figured something happened to me so I asked. The EMTs said
that from the Emergency truck, they saw me fall. I fell on the best
possible part of the trail — the pavement right near finish line. I
blacked out before I fell; I didn't forget the memory. This would become
important in deciding any damage caused by my downtime, The EMTs came
running over within a minute. A large strong female EMT tried hitting me on
my chest hard as could. But she couldn't get a pulse, hardly. I was barely
breathing. She said I'd just taken my last breath. The EMTs got the
defibrillator and shocked me and got rhythm back. I started to breathe
again, so I didn't need oxygen. I didn't have brain damage (though my wife
might not agree). I'd gone into ventricular fibrillation, which rarely
reverses spontaneously. The cardiac output goes to zero, and the person has
only minutes to live without intervention. Even with shocking with a
defibrillator, the heart does not always come out. That's why there's only
a 2 percent survival rate. There is such a narrow window for response time
and a medical intervention is necessary, that circumstances need to be just
right for a positive outcome. Even if I'd fallen a few yards away, where
the path was still in a wooded area, I wouldn't have made it. If the truck
had been parked at the starting line, where it had been parked every year
prior to this one, I wouldn't have made it. If the truck hadn't been
equipped with a defibrillator, I wouldn't have made it. If I had to go into
ventricular fibrillation, this was certainly the time and place to do so.
The best of a bad situation. I call that a miracle.

One of the 8 techs who
saved me is the Community Relations Coordinator for Mecklenburg EMS. His
goal is to get defibrillators all over the place. Mine, too.

In the hospital, the doctors tried to recreate the "event," the
fibrillation. They ran different sorts of tests to try to mimic what my
body was going through at the time I collapsed. In essence, through
adrenaline, I did another triathlon, this time from a hospital bed. But my
heart stayed rhythmic. The doctors can't say for sure why I died. Pushing
my 41-year-old body so suddenly after months of inactivity, that played a
part. Maybe my heart history. Nobody knows. And though the doctors didn't
"think" I would drop again, they did further extensive tests and they
installed a defibrillator in my chest. People ask me how my death changed
my life. They wonder if I found my purpose. But I knew my purpose before. I
think God just provided a way to bail me out so I could continue with my
purpose. The Holy Spirit was giving me clues right and left before that
race; God was trying to keep me out of trouble. But He didn't strike me
down for my inattention. He rearranged the circumstances to my best
advantage while still allowing me to exercise my own free will. He did just
enough to grab my attention. I pay more attention now. I try to listen a
lot more through God's word, Jesus' example and leadings, the Holy Spirit's
messages throughout the day, and to those whom are close to me and praying
for me.