" I just called to thank you for all you did. I love you, thanks". What more can anyone ask for? Hearing I love you from someone you love so much is special anytime, but this I love you was extraordinary. Twelve days ago my brother, Mike, had stopped breathing and was non-responsive.

I still tear up as I recall the events of the last several days: my brother hooked up to various machines with tubes in his mouth and nose, wearing an oxygen mask. He was out of it and we were terrified.

I received the call from my brother, Joe. I think the words were: Mike's been taken to the hopsital. He stopped breathing and he's not responding, eyes rolled back; it doesn't look good.

I missed the call and as I listened to his voice mail, I was screaming inside: Oh no, God. Please, God, no! I shook off my tears and fears and returned my brother's call--no change. He repeated: it doesn't look good. I asked if he'd contacted Charmaine (my only sister). He'd left word. She and I drove from Seattle to Port Angeles together, getting updates along the way. One report was that Mike had had a stroke; another possibility was an infection of the blood or in the brain. The doctors didn't know. We arrived in Port Angeles some nine hours after Mike was stricken. Joe met us at the hospital. His expression told us to be prepared.

As we road up in the elevator, my heart swelled with love and appreciation for my brother Joe. He had made all the calls and kept things under control.

When we entered Mike's room I was fighting for control--deep breaths. Someone moved and Charmaine and I took up positions at his bedside. I was holding his hand, rubbing his shoulder, praying, holding back tears, reminding myself to breath as I listened to be sure he was breathing. I looked across at my sister and around the room at Mother, my brothers Joe and Bill knowing they were feeling the same anguish. The family continued to stream into ICU. Others stepped out to call updates to still more family and friends, and to request prayers.

Mike had stopped breathing twice. When the paramedics arrived, they kept him alive and readied him for transport. I heard from my sister-in-law, Candy, how hard the paramedics worked to save my brother. These people are so dedicated and work so tirelessly. We are so grateful. Thank you.

My brother is 6'3" and probably 280+ pounds. I'm not sure how 280 pounds equates when it's dead weight. I heard they had to call additional units and it took seven paramedics of get him out of the house.

Consulting with the hospital, they were going to administer a drug to try to bring him around, but given several factors, mainly: the fact that the drug triggers a very violent reaction, it was decided the drug would be administered at the hospital where he could be restrained. (I'm not sure if Mike being an ex golden glove boxer entered the decision-making process.)

This photo was extracted from the City of Port Angeles website. The paramedics in this picture may or may not be those who came to my brother's aid.

Candy came home to find Mike still in bed at 10 o'clock in the morning. Sensing something was odd, she checked on him. She couldn't get him to wake up, then he stopped breathing. Panic-stricken, she screamed at him to wake up, she pounded and pounded on his chest. Frantically she called her daughter: Keri, I can't get Mike to wake up. He's stopped breathing! Mom, hang up and call 911!

Mike nearly died from an overdose and/or mix up in prescription drugs. If you read my hub: "...Without a Limb", http://hubpages.com/hub/Coping-with-Disability--Without-a-Limb you'll recall that Mike had had a muscle transplanted from his back which was used to reconstruct his left arm. He's been on various medications and pain killers--Oxycontin and Morphine--every since.

Mike was concerned that the price for Oxycontin had risen from $60/month to $400/month. Along with his other prescriptions, the cost of his medications was dramatically increasing. With him on disability and his wife now unemployed, Mike asked the doctor for a less expensive prescription. He was prescribed Methadone. With Oxy still in his system then adding Methadone three times a day, you can draw your own conclusions.

Mike was non-responsive for more than eight hours. It was nearly 36 hours before we were encouraged that he would live and recover mostly unscaved. After three days, miraculously we sat in the living room of Mike and Candy's home. Mike sat on the sofa with Mother tucked under his arm. We were a weary bunch. And we are so blessed that our Mike is still with us.

We feel we've been a part of a miracle. IF Candy had went anywhere but straight home after her meeting. IF she hadn't paid attention to Mike's sleeping too late. IF the paramedics hadn't arrived in time. IF, what an powerful little word.

Mike's I love you call came one week after his ordeal. He is back on his original medications, has suffered some short-term memory loss, and he is on a breathing machine to help with his sleep apnea.

This is Mike's third near-death experience. He went overboard when the fishing boat he was on capsized, nearly bled to death when his arm was crushed in heavy machinery, and now this.  Clearly God has plans for him here and is not ready for him yet. Selfishly, that's just fine with me because I'm not ready to let him go.

Thanks you, God

We are a family who gathers frequently: camping during summer and fall, holidays and just because. Mother calls it "Making Memories". Please don't wait for "The Call" or death to get together and share your love for each other.