Sunday Morning Coffee — August 17, 2025 — Feel Something, Say Something

By Roy Berger, Las Vegas, NV.

Today is Andi’s and my 34th wedding anniversary. Which means back on August 17, 1991, anyone who had the foresight to play ‘over’ 33 1/2 years, go ahead and cash your ticket.

Conversely, if you played under 33 1/2 you didn’t know eight years ago how close you came to having a winner.

In 2017 we celebrated our 26th with dinner at Chez Fon Fon, a highly acclaimed restaurant in our then 18-year hometown of Birmingham, Alabama, which was developing a national reputation for both fine dining and it’s medical and research expertise. Dinner was good but BHM’s medical prowess was about to come in awfully handy.

Six days before, on August 11, 2017, which was a Friday, I was at the gym as per usual about 6:30 am. However, the Lifetime Fitness workout that day was anything but usual. I was on a combo elliptic/treadmill machine called the ARC. All of a sudden, after just a few minutes, I lost my breath. Couldn’t get it back. I got off and just held onto the equipment for a minute to try and compose myself. I knew something was wrong but finished the workout anyway not feeling any better. That’s when I knew something wasn’t just wrong but very wrong. I couldn’t go any longer. Feel Something, Say Something.

Andi was alarmed. She knew complaining about my health wasn’t part of my daily routine. When I got home she handed me my phone to call the doctor. Fortunately, a couple of years earlier while getting the runaround from my medical provider’s office not being able to schedule an appointment until a couple of months later, I said this isn’t for me. So I ventured into the world of concierge medicine and the promise of 24/7 access to my doc. Dr. Mike Murray was recommend by some friends and we hit it off both on and off the exam table. A cantankerous ex-New Yorker meets a good ole’ laid back Southern boy. What sounds like a recipe for disaster actually turned into some really good banter. At that time Dr. Murray’s annual concierge fee was in the neighborhood of $1800. Money aside, it comforted me to know he was at my beck and call instead of the other way around.

I phoned Dr. Murray pronto per my wife’s mandate. And as promised he was immediately available. I told him what happened, and doc said something I’ve never heard before, “It sounds like you had a power outage.” He didn’t recommend calling Alabama Power, instead setting me up for an echocardiogram and nuclear stress test three days later on Monday. He also told me, “Don’t go back to the gym and workout this weekend.” There must have been static on the line, I pretended not to hear him, and went back the next day. It wasn’t one of my best decisions.

Tests completed on Monday. On Tuesday Dr. Murray called and said it looked like there was a “small blockage” in the lower part of my heart. My eyes opened wider than Gene Wilder’s. I never thought about this happening. He asked who my cardiologist was. Didn’t have one. Didn’t need one the previous 65 years until that minute. Andi highly recommended Dr. Juan Bernal who was her mom’s cardio doc. Dr. Bernal scheduled me for an angiogram a few days later, on Friday, August 18th, the morning after our anniversary dinner eight years ago tonight. I was scared.

I remember little after checking in to Birmingham’s Grandview Medical Center at 6 am. I woke up from the heart cath mid-morning in a room that had three others: Andi, Dr. Bernal and someone I never saw before. He identified himself as Dr. John Casterline, a cardiothoracic surgeon. I had no idea what that was. With no need to flash credentials I do remember Dr. Casterline telling us I had five heart arteries blocked— 100%, 80%, 80%, 80% and yes you guessed it, 80%. If I ignored it I had maybe three months before a massive heart attack. Which was potential good news for anyone who wagered under 33 1/2 years. He said an immediate coronary artery bypass was not optional and gave us a choice of right then or the following Monday. Andi said, “I’m not living with this (meaning me) until Monday, so right now, please.” I’m not sure why but Dr. Casterline had some free time that morning seemingly fishing for patients but he had one now. Heart surgery was always my greatest fear but still being loopy from the angiogram anesthesia, Andi took charge and called the shot. I do remember Dr. Casterline saying that my heart was “healthy from exercise and diet but I have bad parents.” My arteries were filled with calcium, which was genetic. My dad had quad bypass surgery about 13 years earlier.

I don’t remember anything else. Surgery immediate. And seemingly successful. Andi dubbed it the cinco de bypass. I never had any real pain from the operation just discomfort and itching. I hugged my new heart pillow every time I sneezed or laughed. That did hurt a bit, but it was nothing like a few days later when a very attractive nurse named Holly approached bedside and said she was here to take out the catheter. Holy smokes, if you never had that feeling, count your blessings. The ceiling tiles in room 1056 of Grandview’s cardiac ICU ward shattered as I propelled through them screaming. I never want to see Holly again. Once back under control I was finally released from the hospital on day five with more medication than what Walgreens stocks.

With the security of the heart cough pillow, (l)- immediately after surgery I have more wires connected to me than a 1950s switchboard; (r) once home Deuce kept a close eye on me. Ibis did too on the other side but was camera shy.

Once I got home, my rehab began in earnest. The docs told me I could go outside for a gentle walk if I felt up to it. Our area of Birmingham, Mountain Brook, was incredibly hilly so best to find some flat terrain. That wasn’t easy as I huffed and puffed up even the smallest incline. I set a silly self-motivation goal to help get through rehab— I envisioned being able to play baseball at Pittsburgh Pirates Fantasy Camp in Bradenton, FL, the next January, exactly five months afterwards. Maybe it was incredibly ambitious and improbable, but it drove me. A couple of weeks after I got home I was sent to cardio rehab three times a week back at Grandview and wound up being the valedictorian of my class—everyone else was in their 80’s or 90’s allowing this kid to shine. I was back at Lifetime six weeks afterwards working toward that January baseball goal. I returned to the Medjet (Medjet.com) office a little too early, about 10 days after the surgery, which set me back about a week. Once I got back to work full-time the Medjet staff really didn’t make me feel any better when they questioned open heart surgery for someone not known to have a heart. Then there was the wise-ass who said, “I see they didn’t have time to also do a personality bypass.” Somehow senior sales director Thomas Brooks is still working at Medjet.

The support circle I received from Andi, sons Jason and Scott, friends and colleagues dating all the way back to my grade school and summer camp days was just incredible. Never underestimate what that support and caring does for recovery. When I initially got home from the hospital our two rescues—Ibis and Deuce—knew something was wrong and never left my side. Not even for treats. Okay, maybe just a couple. I remember Scott, who was then 34, cutting my hospital chicken dinner into small pieces to make it easier to eat. Like we used to do for him and Jason as kids. I was hoping he also didn’t have a jar of strained peas in his pocket. One of my business mentors, the late Bert Meisler told me something that was so true. “The toughest part will be mentally over the next two to three months. You’ll get the blues when you realize how close you came and how vulnerable you really are.” Kent Tekulve, the former great relief pitcher for the Pirates in the 1970s who is the fantasy commissioner of Pirates Fantasy Camp phoned and said, “Don’t try to rush the recovery process. This is one time where you don’t need to make any decisions. Listen to your doctors and just let life and recovery happen. Who knows, maybe we’ll see you in January?” Teke knows of what he speaks: three years earlier he had a heart transplant. He’s still going strong.

Eight years ago I worked relentlessly at my rehab. I wasn’t going to mope or play woe-is-me. I had a plan and finally the self-imposed finish line was in sight. My motivator was going to baseball camp in Bradenton and seeing Tekulve and the rest of the boys on a baseball field. A long shot at first but nonetheless my target and goal. As the five months went by I could see it becoming increasingly possible. Even if I got the medical clearance to play baseball in that short period of recovery time, 155 days, I had serious questions on whether my chest would rip open the first time I swung a bat. I got the answer on January 21, 2018. The video below, narrated by Pirates in-game stadium host extraordinaire Joe Klimchak, remains one of my proudest moments—to be able to accomplish what I thought was the unreachable. Turn the volume up.

Other than Catheter Holly, whom I really still dislike, and the cruel docs who encouraged me to give up cigars, the only negative to the experience was Andi authoring Sunday Morning Coffee two days after the surgery. People said it was so good, they didn’t really care if I ever wrote again. I’d really prefer if you didn’t come back and read it:

https://www.royberger.com/p/cinco-de-bypass-guest-blogger-andi-berger

Today, in hindsight, that experience of 2017 was really a blessing. I feel great and even though I am now eight years older I’m still exercising as often and as hard as ever. Only sometimes do I feel 73. I now counsel those who have bypass pre-op questions, concerns and fears. Probably a dozen or so a year. Those who are soon to become proud members of The Zipper Club. I am proof there is big upside afterwards. Many have phoned me months later to thank me and say what a difference my experience and words made in their recovery period. I can’t tell you how good that feels to give back to people in crisis. Among them is my brother Mike, 70, who went through successful quad bypass surgery three years ago. Yes, it is genetic. Our 65-year-old kid brother Kenny, who feels fine, has his cardiologist on speed dial, just in case. Hope he never needs it.

I learned a huge lesson during this scare highlighted by a happy ending: Feel Something, Say Something. If I hadn’t we wouldn’t be toasting our 34th anniversary tonight and you’d be reading Andi’s Sunday Morning Coffee right now.

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I’m proud that Medjet is sponsoring Sunday Morning Coffee. I spent 20 wonderful years with Medjet in Birmingham, Alabama, and can tell you unequivocally they are the standard-bearer for medical assistance membership programs. A talented staff, who cares about its members, is at the forefront of the company’s success. Whether you are traveling for business or pleasure, domestic or international, a Medjet membership should be an important part of your travel portfolio before you leave home. Check out the Medjet website at medjet.com or just tap on the Medjet logo and you’ll be able to get a look at Medjet’s services, rules and regulations, pricing, and an overview of the organization. And remember, any opinions expressed in Sunday Morning Coffee content or comments belong to the author and not the sponsor. Safe travels with your Medjet membership! — Roy Berger