"I was having the best summer of my life. Even better, I was having the best year of my life. I was on my way to Malawi, in southeastern Africa. On August 17, 2004, a sudden, catastrophic illness struck and changed the course of my life. For the next fifty-three days I was a patient in the critical care units of three different hospitals. The diagnosis, a rare and most often fatal autoimmune disease called giant cell myocarditis. As of that date there had been fewer than two hundred reported cases worldwide since 1905. What follows is a story about suffering and coming face to face with death. It is a story about God's amazing grace."

"Every time I fell asleep, I was surprised to wake up. Most importantly, and I remember so clearly this absolute realization, I knew that God was with me. When I closed my eyes, I saw a textured, rust-colored curtain with a bright light behind it. I had the sense that God was behind that curtain, His light so intense, His power so immense that it could not be viewed directly, but His presence was with me. When I focused on His presence, I was truly not afraid. . . ."

"In the Critical Coronary Care Unit at NYPH/C, I was hooked up to every conceivable form of monitoring device. As I lay in bed I was the audience for a cacophony of bells, whistles, alarms and pneumonic devices. I had arterial lines in my wrist, the pacemaker / defibrillator device in my chest wall, intravenous lines in my arms, PIC lines (type of IV) into my arm, central venous pressure lines in my neck, a cardiac monitor on my chest, oxygen in my nose and a Foley catheter in my bladder. I had x-rays, blood draws, cardiac biopsies, ECG's echocardiograms and MUGA scans (where they test heart function by injecting a radioactive solution into a patient's veins and then take pictures of the heart) - and some of those tests were repeated daily. I look back on all this with wonder: so much danger, so fast, from such a simple wish - to go to Malawi to help the less fortunate. . . ."

"As I prayed, the hands on the clock moved slowly. I opened my eyes and watched the lights on the George Washington Bridge. The bridge looks to be made of fine crystal when it is all lit up. . . ."

"When you're a patient in a hospital, two things happen; time stands still and you lose control over everything. Illness takes away most of your control over your life, hospitalization takes away the rest. . . ."

"I lay in my bed in CCU wondering if I would ever feel the warmth of sunshine on my skin or a gentle breeze on my face. I thought, so this is what it's like to be dying. I didn't expect it to happen so soon. . . ."

"Recovery is an amazing process. As my body and my spirit healed there were so many firsts, so many milestones, all duly noted and lifted up in prayers of thanksgiving. My first tennis game, my first Pilates class, my first dinner out, my first trip to the City by myself - all were new things accompanied by both fear and bravado; all were followed by a sense of newfound independence. . . ."