October 31 two years ago was the day some of the doctors and ICU nurses thought I would die. That was the day when my blood oxygen wouldn't get any better than 93%-- even though they had the ventilator oxygen level cranked up to 100%. (That's a desperation measure. It can't be left that high for more than a few hours because it will cause damage to organs.) Meanwhile, there was no diagnosis of what was wrong with me. That wouldn't come for three more days.

I thank God for your prayers. I thank God for Patty's vigil at the bedside for days that I was not even aware were passing. I thank God for the nurses and respiratory therapists who kept me alive, while the doctors searched for a cause. (On a visit to the hospital a month after my release, Patty introduced me to the nurse who took care of me on that October 31. That was a pretty special moment, for him and for me.)

Since October 31 was the worst day of my entire illness, today is like an anniversary for me. I thank God for the two years of bonus time I have been given.