Surely. I was invited to play golf at Manor Country Club on a cool September day in 1985. It was my first time on a golf course, indeed my first exercise, since my life-saving back surgery in early June of that year. I was quite conscious of not doing harm to my fragile spine so on that day, instead of trying to kill the ball on every drive as was my wont, I was determined to swing softly. We came to the 11th hole, a 135-yard par 3, and lo and behold I aced it. I did not see the ball go in the cup because 135 yards was a football field beyond my range of vision. But my two golfing mates told me that the ball bounced twice on the green and nicely entered the cup. I only believed them when I got to the green and confirmed that yes, my yellow ball was in the cup. I had a hole-in-one! I was able to celebrate it cheaply too, because while the custom was that anyone who had an ace was expected to buy a drink for everyone in the clubhouse, the only persons in the clubhouse when we finished our round of golf were my two playing partners, some teenage kid waiting for his mom to pick him up, and the bartender (and there was an employee discount on the cost of his drink). 

Another custom at Manor Country Club was to mount the sacred ball on a very nice wooden plaque which was impressively adorned with a picture of the hole and present that to the golfer in honor of his extraordinary feat. I was particularly pleased by the plaque because the picture was of the regular 11th hole, reflecting the green over 100 yards of water, while my shot was to a temporary green, unencumbered by any water, which was in play that day due to maintenance work on the actual 11th green. That, of course, does not in any way diminish my accomplishment because 135 yards is still 135 yards and the width of the cup on the temporary green was the same as the cup width on the regular green, and I don’t care what anyone says about that variant.

Perhaps, however, that’s not the Incident you are inquiring about, or even care about. That’s understandable because everyone knows that, except for pros and low handicap golfers, a hole-in-one is a fluke. It more aptly should be referred to as an Accident, not an Incident. It clearly was in my case; ask anyone who has ever played golf with me. So, I’ll relate another happening of mine that can be described as an Incident. Co-Incident-ally that event also involved a golf match.

On July 14, 2006, I was told that I had a heart attack. I believe that was the date, but you can verify it with my son Justin because I believe it is etched in his mind as the day he saved my life. It was a Friday and it started out like any other weekday for me. I was in my office by 6:30 that morning so I could get some work done before the weekend. My three golfing mates and I had a tee-off time at 11:00 and the golf course was in Myersville, Maryland, about 40 miles from my office in Rockville. So I left the office around 9:30 for the drive to Myersville, stopping on the way at my favorite McDonalds for a Sausage, Egg and Cheese McMuffin and Hash Browns, which I gulped down on my drive. As I arrived in Myersville I had a difficult time locating the golf course. I remember driving somewhat aimlessly around, becoming quite stressed about possibly being late for the tee time, and chain smoking three cigarettes (which, as it turned out, was the last time I smoked a cigarette). I found the golf course just in time to put on my golf spikes, grab my golf bag, and join my playing partners who were already on the first tee. They were gracious enough to allow me three Mulligans since I did not have any practice swings. No matter; I managed to horribly slice all three shots into a godforsaken ditch. The 2nd and 3rd holes were not much better and I started to feel very listless with discomfort across my shoulders and down my left arm. The 4th hole was a par 3 and as bad as I was feeling, visions of hole #11 at Manor danced in my head, which was becoming somewhat dizzy by then. It was an elevated green and my tee shot landed in the left rough about 15 yards south of the green. I remember thinking that no matter how well I might hit the next shot (and believe me I was incapable of hitting that shot well even if I wasn’t struggling physically) there’s no way I want to climb up to that green to finish the hole. I told my playing partners that I wasn’t feeling well and was going home. I asked one of them to please carry my golf clubs to my car. I didn’t even take off my golf spikes. I just started driving home.

The drive back to my Gaithersburg house was 35 miles. I was really feeling more pressure across my shoulders. I had a car phone and called Claudia to tell her that something was going on with me. She implored me to pull over on the shoulder of 270 and call 911. Obviously, I should have done that, but I didn’t. I did not want to be taken to some hospital miles from my home and I felt like I could make it home as long as the pressure did not worsen. At least I was betting on that. Claudia stayed on the phone with me the entire trip. When I arrived at my house Justin and her were waiting to drive me to Shady Grove Hospital. Sensing that I was having a heart attack the nurses immediately put me on a stretcher and took me to a location in the Emergency Room to measure my vital signs, conduct diagnostic tests with equipment hovering over my body, and administer some medication (nitroglycerin, I believe). I remember there being about six health care professionals surrounding my stretcher and I felt like I was going to pass out. Then the cardiologist who was on duty in the Emergency Room that day appeared at the foot of my stretcher and said I was having a heart attack. In retrospect I regret not making some smartass remark like “oh, what makes you think that”, just to ease the tension and show that despite a heart impairment I can still be “light-hearted”, but I didn’t. He then told me that I was a lucky fellow because I had a significant blockage in a main artery, which cardiologists refer to as a “widow maker”. I said my wife was far too young to be a widow, so please refrain from using that term when you apprise her of my situation. 

The cardiologist explained that there were two treatment options, one of which he called “Drano” since it involved some infusion of a clog-busting solution to attack the blockage and the other of which he called “Roto Rooter” that involved the insertion of a stent in the groin area that would make its way to the clogged artery to open it up (this is called an “angioplasty”). He recommended the Roto Rooter option and who was I to question it. I said “fine, when shall we do that” and he said it has to be done immediately, so before I knew it I was wheeled down to a room where under moderate sedation Roto Rooter was successfully performed on me. Thanks, Dr. Chen, who I subsequently learned was new to the area and served his first day on the job the day of my angioplasty. I wonder if he recalls that day as momentous as I do.

I recuperated at home for a couple of weeks before going back to work. I went to cardiac rehab three times a week at Shady Grove and that was very helpful. I was instructed in the ways I should change my lifestyle, some of which I’ve chosen to ignore. In particular I remember being asked to meet with a nutritionist to discuss a proper diet for a cardiac patient. I did not like that woman, especially after she told me that I have eaten my last cheeseburger. I thought if that is true then Claudia might just as well have become a widow.

A client called me while I was recuperating at home. His father was a doctor and he said to me “I heard you had a MI”. I asked “what’s that”. He said it stands for a Myocardial Infarction” which is a fancy name for a heart attack. Since I was still in some denial about suffering a heart attack and was not anxious to reveal that to people I decided that I would just say I experienced a MI, and when asked what that meant I would say “oh, it just means My Incident”.

A follow-up to this story concerns a fund-raising drive by the Shady Grove Hospital Foundation. Sometime after My Incident Claudia was hospitalized at Shady Grove Hospital for about a week with an intestinal infection. After she was discharged and back home she wrote a letter to the head of nursing at Shady Grove, complimenting the nursing staff on the kind and tender care she received. The hospital’s Foundation was then putting together a new fund-raising publication on the virtues and merits of the hospital and Claudia’s letter was brought to the attention of a marketing company in Baltimore that was preparing with the new publication. They called her and came to our house to meet her, discussing in more detail why she was so complimentary of the nursing care at the hospital. As they were leaving she casually mentioned that I also was hospitalized at Shady Grove and received excellent care. They asked why I was admitted there and she explained that I suffered a heart attack and drove 35 miles to the hospital. That piqued their interest and they called me at my office to hear my story. A short time later they said they were going to include an article about our hospitalizations in the fund-raising publication and said they wanted to do a photo shoot of us at the hospital. They said that I should wear a golf shirt and bring a golf club and golf ball to the photo shoot. They took about 30 pictures of us and the one they selected for their article was a photo of the two of us arm in arm, with my golf club and golf ball in front. They sent a draft of the article to us to review, which they titled “The Longest Drive”. After reading it I contacted them and said it was too focused on my 35 mile drive just to get to Shady Grove Hospital and the draft had to be revised to discuss more of Clauda’s Shady Grove experience. When we received the publication in final form we were glad to see that they did revise the article, with the title changed to refer to both of us. I don’t precisely remember the title but it was something like “Two Above Par”, a description that was about 40 strokes below my usual golf score.

My wife would often say “that’s my story and I’m sticking to it”. This, ladies and gentlemen, is MI and I’m sticking to it.