From Caesars to Cedars

Recently I performed fourteen shows on the Las Vegas Strip. In an expensive suit, shiny shoes, and polished teeth, I busted them up. Working with me, straight from brain surgery, was Avi Liberman who was so funny I thought I should get brain surgery.  On Shabbos, we had lunch in Avi’s room overlooking the Strip.  On Monday, I drove back to Los Angeles. 

Then life did what life does. It spun my world in a different direction. Shabbos afternoon, our machatunim (in law) Roz came for lunch. She told me how good I looked and how the few pounds I put on were perfect. Little did I know that this was the kiss of death. Just kidding Roz. 

Around midnight I awoke with a familiar stomach pain. This pain is like a bad relative. As much as you try to forget it or them, you can’t.  In the past, it was a bowel blockage.  I was hoping that this time it was not. In constant contact with my internist Mark Hyman, I tried to wait it out. But that afternoon, while in so much pain, I went to the emergency room. My wife drove me to Cedars Sinai, but because of Covid I went in alone. 

After a cat scan it was confirmed, I had a small bowel blockage. It took seven more hours to get me into a room. While lying in the hallway, a nurse with a clipboard asked me that, if necessary, do I want to be resuscitated?  I told her to ask my wife.  She said I had to answer this question on my own. I wanted to explain to her that I’m a Jewish husband and am not allowed to answer questions, but I mumbled yes. I called my wife and started crying. She also started crying when she realized how little life insurance I had.  Just kidding. 

No beautiful suit and shiny shoes now.  Instead, I was now draped in a Cedars Sinai hospital gown. The kind that shows everyone your flipside. These gowns make your butt feel like there is an open window somewhere. After a rough five days, no surgery but lots of intervention, my colon popped back. I was ready to go home.   

No beautiful suit and shiny shoes now.  Instead, I was now draped in a Cedars Sinai hospital gown. 

But here goes life again. Four o’clock in the morning, a few hours before my release, my atrial fibrillation (A Fib) kicked in. Instead of going home, a nurse rushed me up to the cardiac floor. A Fib is when your heart goes out of sinus rhythm. Mine was galloping at 160 beats a minute. It felt like an electric eggbeater running inside my chest. They quickly gave me a drug to slow down my heart. My cardiologist Dr. Weiner was on the phone talking me down off the wall. 

Again, life takes another turn. It’s now 8am and my heart was very much still running like an Alaskan Salmon heading upstream. I asked my wife, who spent the night, to hand me my tefillin bag. She did and I placed the tefillin on my head and left arm. I did a few of my truncated prayers. I also thanked God for all he has given me and taken from me. I even thanked him for what I was going through because I know that if I am willing to look, there is a great lesson here somewhere. Then I rattled off important names for him to keep safe. I always feel better when I remind God about the people I love. 

Fifteen minutes after putting on my tefillin, I was out of A Fib. Was it the drug they were giving me or was it something else?  I told my wife that we just got handed a miracle. She was happy and stopped xeroxing my insurance policy.  

In my mind, from beginning until the end, this was a constant series of miracles. If not, then I was just lucky. And just luck is something I can’t accept. 

Now I need to get back into my expensive suit, without an opening in the back, and make people laugh. Or I could leave an opening in the back and see how that goes. 

Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.