Since getting my ICD implanted, I've been shocked three times. At first, I ignored what the doctors said and kept exercising, convinced they had misdiagnosed me and that this would all go away; everything would be like it used to.
There are so many integral moments that transpired between retreating to the locker room and being on that ER bed behind a closed curtain with people frantically trying to save my life. I think back on that night all the time.
I had my surgery. They put a metal box in my chest the size of a deck of cards. I was lying in the recovery room, numb. Not upset, not anxious, not thinking about what I was doing that weekend. I was just numb and alone.