Robert Kiefer:  

CLASS OF 1963
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Minneapolis, MN

Robert's Story

Bob Kiefer Report from Old Man’s, San Onofre, CA TRUE STORY: One Miracle After Another… On February 25, 2019 at San Onofre surfing beach, I had a heart attack. By the time I got to the hospital in Mission Viejo, my heart had stopped beating, I wasn’t breathing, and my body temp had dropped to 91 degrees. I was for the most part a DOA. As soon as I arrived at the ER at Mission Hospital, the ER team defibrillated me, hooked me up to a heart pump, and put a breathing tube down my airway. Once they were able to regain my pulse, the docs and nurses stuck me with a myriad of ingoing and outgoing tubes and wires. The array of monitors looked like the command bridge on the Star Ship Enterprise. I don’t remember any of this since I was unconscious then and for the next eight days. Minutes later, when my wife and daughter arrived at the ER, they were told that I had less than a 50/50 chance of surviving. For the next eight days, I was sedated with a combination of fentanyl and propofol. Technically, I wasn’t in a coma, but I was flat on my back and immobile so that’s probably what it looked like to anyone who saw me during the week that followed. The whole time I was in the Cardiac Intensive Care unit, the doctors and nurses worked their asses off to keep me alive. Thanks to their training, skill, and dedication, I did survive. I recently completed rehab. A big “Thank You” goes to two of my long-time surfing mates, Mick Rosien and Don Crai...Expand for more
g. It was their quick thinking and taking charge when they saw my obvious distress that got me to the hospital literally in the nick of time. Because of San Onofre’s location on the border between Orange and San Diego counties and the fact that it’s a California state park on Federal property, the emergency response protocols may be confusing to civilians like me and most of the other San Onofre regulars. Communications by cell phone for 911 calls is notoriously unreliable. I wasn’t able to get a 911 call out when I first felt the heart attack symptoms coming on. Don and Mick were able to get a two-way radio call out for medical aid. They had seen a filming crew at the south end of the beach, and ran to contact the crew’s on-site paramedic. He made the call for the ambulance. It was the Camp Pendleton EMT’s who responded and took me to Mission Hospital. This is a true story with a happy ending. I don’t remember anything from the first eight days including my driving down to the beach and surfing. The details of the events and my condition have all been described to me by the people who were directly involved that day and the week that followed. I faced my mortality, and didn’t even know it. It seems though that a lot of other people did. Am I grateful? Immeasurably. Was my faith renewed? Emphatically. Are there some things undone that I have left to do? Absolutely. Am I going to do them? Yes, one at a time until my time is up. #
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