There I was on the floor. I was being lifted by my arm back into my chair. A calm voice was saying, 'It's OK. He's back ... it's OK ... he's back'. It was December 10, 2003 and I was as sick as I had ever been. I had fainted and there was a chance I was not going to recover.

Those were the days leading up to Christmas 2003 when the nation was experiencing a flu epidemic. I'm uncertain how best to describe how I felt, there were chills and fever and going from cold to dripping with sweat. Even my work in the office that day was a remarkable effort and after a couple of hours, it was apparent I wasn't going to finish. When I called the doctor, they offered to fit me in that very afternoon.

"That's alright," I told the woman who answered the phone, "I'll live until tomorrow."

So, I went home and went to bed. Lying down wasn't making me feel any better and as the afternoon passed I was sucked off the precipice into a zombie's sleep. Night came and passed, my wife tells me I was an incredible grouch, but I truly don't remember even talking to her. I awakened to the alarm clock, showered and dressed only to be soaked with sweat by the time I got to the doctor's office. The receptionist, thinking I was suffering from influenza, provided me with a mask and instructed me to have a seat. It wasn't long before a nurse came out to that small front office though and when she saw me realized immediately that I was in crisis.

"Are you OK?" she asked me, concern obvious in her voice.

"I'm OK." I mumbled but she didn't believe me and I didn't believe me either. Soon the door opened and she was leading me into an interior room. In minutes the doctor arrived and told me I was going to the hospital. Now, you need to understand, I love hospitals, I have worked in them and enjoyed the work immensely but I don't like being a patient. I am exceptionally claustrophobic and knowing I would not be in charge of myself was unacceptable.

"I'm not going to the hospital," I argued.

"If you don't you'll be dead before tomorrow," the doctor told me. "We need your wife to come drive you to the hospital."

"I can drive myself," I pushed back.

"You can't," he said, "you could pass out and hurt yourself or others. What is your wife's phone number?"

The story really starts getting interesting when we arrived and were seated at the admissions desk I was feeling faint and said so. That's about all I remember for a few minutes. So, there I was lying on the floor and my wife screaming. We weren't alone though, someone else was there. There was a man there who was gripping my arm and pulling me back into my chair.

"You're back now," he was saying, "He's back ... its OK ... he's back ... its OK."

Now, I am not a lightweight, someone would have to be extremely strong to lift me back into a chair. In fact, no single person could have lifted my bulk into that chair! Yet this man crouching on the floor next to me with his red plaid shirt and swirling black hair was pulling me into my chair with one hand and talking calmly while he was doing it.

Suddenly, there were people everywhere! A chaplain had my wife over on the sofa consoling her. A nurse and others were putting me on a gurney. Someone was removing my shoes. The nurse wanted me to lie down. I wanted to sit up!

Then we were off on a Nantucket sleigh ride down Kennestone Hospital's 'Main Street'. Lights were passing overhead like windows of a speeding passenger train. I tried to sit up, someone pushed me back down.

Right turn! Passing lights again. Sudden stop. Elevator doors are opening ... somewhere.

"We need the elevator!" The nurse commanded. Passengers scurried off. The doors closed for an instant then reopened. We were running again following hallways with bumper rails and earth tone wall paper. Electronic doors were opening with a whack of the plunger button on the walls and closing. Then I was in the ICU. It took 6 of them to get me in the bed. After several frantic minutes they had me all hooked up with IVs and monitors and my clothes were gone.

"Who was the man who was with you?" The nurse asked when I was all connected and the IV was running.

"I thought he was a nurse," I said.

"We never saw him before," the younger nurse said, "He doesn't work here."

We go about our lives every single day with a certain level of confidence that we will be OK. We never give nurses a thought until we are in their care. Yet, it is nurses that keep us alive in many of our medical emergencies. It is nurses who extend the care and confidence that helps us thrive. These are they that caress the hurting child and stroke the hair of the lonesome old lady. They struggle with the indigent drunks and guide the disoriented and confused. These are the unsung core heroes of our society, deeply committed to our well being and never noticed. More important are they than our most luminous movie stars yet they stand in the shadows awaiting our need without caring that they may help us and never see us again.

I asked my wife after the fact to describe the man who pulled me back into my chair, she described the same man I saw there, but when I asked her to describe his face she like me, could not. Now I know these core heroes, these nurses, have something else on their side for angels work among them helping them keep us alive.

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