What happened in that 24 seconds?

Of all the things about my adventure the one that I get the most questions about is the 24-seconds when my heart stopped. Let me tell you, having your heart stop on you is unsettling to say the least. Having a Cardiologist say, "if this had happened outside the hospital you'd be dead" adds a certain something to the experience. It would be easy to be overly dramatic about the whole thing.

I didn't see any bright light. I don't have any recollection of hovering over the medical team while they worked on me. I did not run into any deceased friends or family, not even Lewis Grizzard.

I was tempted to write one of those Five People You Meet in Heaven stories about how Lewis and I got drunk together and he explained the meaning of my life to me. I thought about it a lot, but just didn't think I could pull it off. First of all, Lewis would drink me right under the table. Secondly, I would not be able to resist telling him about how Florida has beaten Georgia almost every year since his death. He either wouldn't believe me or would be in too much of a huff to continue the conversation. He was a big Georgia Bulldog fan. Rumor has it that friends honored his request and spread his ashes on the field at Sanford Stadium.

What I do recall clearly is the monitor suddenly blasting an alarm, and just like on TV, the solid bright line replaced the peaks and valleys of my heart rhythm. Oddly enough, I don't recall being scared. I was very aware that people were running into my room from all directions. There was a lot of talking, but I did not understand any of it. The next thing I knew, Doctors were asking me questions, but I was having a hard time concentrating.

So I didn't come away with any insight about what happens when we cross that threshold. But I'm glad I didn't cross it just yet.