Into My Heart

“You should think about getting a calcium score test.” Don, my general practitioner, was not only my primary physician but also my friend. And his advice had always been good before, although I had not always heeded it, so I said yes. He set up the scheduled test.

A calcium score test utilizes a CT scanner and is a quick and easy procedure. You do not have to undress, remove all metal, or go into a long tube, unlike with other tests. It measures the amount of calcium buildup in your coronary arteries. The information can help you determine what you can do to ward off further heart problems. Mine took about 5 minutes.

Scores from 0-50 are considered good; scores from 51-400 are considered moderately risky; scores over 500 are highly risky. As soon as he got the results, Don called me. “Yours is right at 2600,” he said. “You should see a cardiologist.” He set up the appointment.

A calcium score tells you that calcium buildup is there, but it does not tell you where. For that, they have to go in and look. My cardiologist, the newest addition to my medical team (I now have enough to form a football team), said I needed a heart cath. He would go in through my wrist, but if something kept him from doing that, he would go in through my groin. The procedure date was set.

I arrived at McLeod Medical Center at 6 a.m. and was quickly taken back to what my sister-in-law (who was there with my wife) called “the getting ready room.” Nurses and techs began coming in. An EKG was done, probably the most painful part of the whole day, but only because they had to push the wand hard against my ribs. While it was uncomfortable, it was not very painful. My arm was shaved, along with the area on my groin (in case they needed it). One nurse, Paige, was with me the whole time I was there. She was great in caring for me and very comforting to Cathy, who was worried but trying her best not to show it. About 9:30, they wheeled me back to the procedure room. As I was being wheeled into the room, one of the nurses, Misty, recognized me. “Pastor Mike!” she said. “I saw that name and hoped it was you.” I had been her pastor for 9 years, had baptized her child (now a middle schooler), and gotten to know her and her husband. It was good to have someone you know in the room.

I slid onto the OR table. They strapped my body down, then pulled out arm extensions, and strapped my arms and hands down to keep me from moving. I lay there in cruciform, looking up at the devices over me. They explained that they would put an IV in my left arm and then a catheter in my right. They would give me something to dilate the artery so the cath tube could go easily up to my heart (this was the shortest route), and I might feel some burning for a few seconds as they did that. (I did not.)

I was not worried. I don’t worry about much these days. Somewhere along my spiritual journey, I have become something of a Celtic Buddhist Stoic Christian, accepting each day as it comes. If they found blockages and needed to use stents or a balloon, I would be okay with that. If things were terrible and I needed heart surgery, I would be OK. And if I were one of the sporadic cases where I died, I would still be okay.

As I lay there, strapped down, waiting, praying, another image came to mind. I was in the same position- cruciform and strapped down- that people being executed by lethal injection are put. You are laid out, the needles used for injecting the deadly chemicals are hooked to your IV, and you wait.

This, of course, was the form Jesus was in when he was executed, only he was upright. More people could see him, and it was more torturous.

I remembered years ago when a person was being killed in Texas. There was a group of anti-death penalty folks protesting outside the building. There was also a group of females dressed as cheerleaders holding up a giant syringe and cheering for the procedure.

An old song from my teenage years came to mind. “Lift Jesus higher. Lift Jesus higher. Lift him up for the world to see. He said, ‘If I be lifted up from the earth, I will draw all men unto me.’” We used to sing it as loud as we could, pouring our hearts and souls into it. We thought it meant singing praise songs, telling others about him, wearing crosses, bracelets, and t-shirts with Jesus on them. Eventually, I read the Bible. Jesus did say that. But it wasn’t a praise thing. He was talking about his death, specifically his death on a cross.

Then it dawned on me. Maybe the easiest way for Jesus to “get into our hearts” was when we were like this—strapped down, immobile, unable to do anything. So many of us are raised thinking that we have to get our lives straight, give up our sinful ways, and become something new before Christ can come to us. But maybe it’s when we aren’t able to do anything that the Christ of the cross can get to our hearts. Perhaps that’s when it is easiest.

A couple of weeks after the procedure, I was having coffee with a friend. I told her my thoughts, and she said, “You know, that’s the same position they put you in when you have a child by C-section.” I did not know that. But now I do.

Perhaps it is all connected. When we cannot do anything, when we are without control of even our own life, then death and a new birth can come. Another song from years ago came to mind. “Into my heart. Into my heart. Come into my heart, Lord Jesus. Come in today. Come in to stay. Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.”

So you’ll know, my procedure showed one artery blocked at 50%. They do not need to take any action until it reaches 70%. All the rest were negligible. After the preparation, the procedure took only ten minutes. And all of the people at McLeod were great! My cardiologist said everything was okay and that he would see me in six months. He did tell me I needed to lose some weight. He agreed with my other nine physicians. “Ten out of ten doctors agree, Mike needs to lose weight.” I’m working on it. Since the procedure, I find myself singing more during my daily times of meditation and devotion. The songs vary, but always a verse of Into My Heart sneaks in.