Guess whose surprise birthday I helped organize?

My own. Yes, my own.

Please allow me to start from the beginning. It's better that way.

My best friend of 15 years, Joy (yes, she's definitely a girl), had been planning a surprise birthday party for me for two weeks. Little did I know that I was really making life hard on her by rearranging my doctor's appointments. One of the things that really bites about being in your mid-30's -- well, any age, really -- and having a heart condition is that it tends to be a little unpredictable. It wreaks havoc on a social calendar, especially one as sparse as mine!

The lab had scheduled a stress test for me on my 37th birthday. Wasn't that thoughtful of them? Nothing says "we're so glad you survived that heart attack" more than hooking me up to a bunch of equipment and making me run on a treadmill until I wish God had taken me during the heart attack.

Joy figured that since my birthday was on Wednesday, then the party could be sometime this past weekend. So e-mails went out and plans were made by my closest friends to surprise me then. Well, I felt like crap on my birthday, so I rescheduled for this past Friday. More e-mails went out, plans were put on hold and contingency plans were planned.
I did the stress test and felt like I had just run a marathon and then had a Mack truck hit me. My mom drove me home and we hit the drive-thru at the Taco Bell on the way. I called Joy to let her know that I had not had to be admitted to the hospital, as I had feared. Then I hit the hay.

Saturday passed with me studying and relaxing some more. Joy called and asked me to a movie on Sunday with her and her 6-year-old son, Aaron. I agreed and I continued my studies. More e-mails were exchanged among my friends concerning the party. No one had my godparents' home or cell numbers!

Sunday morning, Joy called again. "How are you feeling?"

"OK, I guess... still a bit tired."

"No, Tom. That's not the answer I was looking for."

"Um...OK. I feel great..."

"Good! Look, I'm gonna go ahead and tell you this. I have been planning your surprise party and I need your help. So... Surprise!"

So, there I was, calling my best friend from high school, Frank, and my godparents to explain about my surprise party. Everybody, including me, had a good laugh over it. Joy even thanked me for my assistance! So did some of the others!

Joy, Aaron, and I went to a great time seeing Horton Hears a Who and then on we went to the birthday dinner.

All of them made it, except Frank: my good friend Tony and his lovely wife and daughter, my godparents, godsister and her boyfriend, and Joy and Aaron. We had a great Sunday supper at my favorite Chinese restaurant... and we got a free dessert. For two hours, we sat and joked and just talked, enjoying a good meal and good conversation.

My group typically discusses religion and politics with very minor versions of "fireworks" at the table. I am a conservative on both issues, being a political junkie and seminary student notwithstanding. But that night, no one brought up either issue. I didn't even bring up my usual serial killer talk, as I am a budding, though amateur, behavioral analyst... but that never came up, other than a passing mention as one of my interests.

Just good friends having a good time while eating good food. For that little window of time, I wasn't a heart failure patient with a lot of worry and frustration that he usually tries to keep buried and silent. I wasn't a seminarian trying to catch up his work from last weekend's hospital stay. I was just a man having a birthday party with his friends, opening gifts and laughing. For just a little while, everything felt normal again, and that may have been the best gift of all.

Time off for my new "hardware"...

Well, I have been "upgraded" with the addition of my implantable cardioverter defibrillator (ICD). The capable staff at the Wake Forest University Baptist Medical Center gave me a wonderful experience and hopefully a more reliable rhythm. Everything was as expected, with some very minor incidents which were not quite enough to be called complications. The pain was much worse than I had ever imagined, though, and I will be taking some time off to get some rest and try to get acclimated to this "new" part.

Anyway, I'll be in touch.

Thomas the Real Tin Woodsman