91ÐÓ°É

In honor of his 62nd birthday, Don Milich challenged himself to swim 6.2 miles in a lake.

Sure, he hadn’t done much swimming since he stopped competing in high school meets at 15. But whatever he does, he likes to dive into the deep end, so to speak.

For instance, as an adult, Milich had kept in shape by lifting weights, running, rowing, bike riding and competing in tennis. He was so active that he proudly noted that his resting heart rate was in the 40s.

Still, before taking on this challenge, he played it safe and went to the doctor for a checkup.

All tests came back clear. After a few months of training, he dove into Lake Chatuge in north Georgia. Most of his family trailed him in a double-decker pontoon boat for a floating party, while his wife, Kylie Milich, and her brother followed much closer to make sure he didn’t go under.

He didn’t.

“I ate a big steak that night and fell asleep immediately and slept like a baby,” said Don, now 64 and a wealth management advisor in Alpharetta, Georgia.

Since he managed 6.2 miles, why not go for 10? Don joined a training team at his gym to practice for the longer swim. He awoke twice a week around 4:30 a.m. to be in the pool by 6 a.m.

The training coincided with a particularly stressful month at work. The combination, it seemed, left him unusually tired. He dragged himself through a marriage retreat with Kylie on their first wedding anniversary.

The following week, he found himself overwhelmed with a sense of dread. He pressed on with his training anyway.

He felt well enough to chat before practice with his new coach, Boris Jerkovic. Jerkovic had started working with the team two weeks before, and the two bonded immediately over their shared Serbian roots.

But about half an hour into practicing his butterfly stroke, Don had to stop. He had the sensation of “a gorilla sitting on my back.” Unable to take a deep breath, he threw his arms over the side of the pool to rest. A friend asked if he was OK.

“Man, I don’t feel good,” Don said.

And then his heart stopped.

Don had gone into cardiac arrest. He began to slip into the pool. His friend looped his arms around Don’s chest and screamed, “Boris! Boris!”

Jerkovic ran over to find Don unconscious. He leaned down and wrapped his arms under Don’s shoulders to lift him out.

A teammate ran to call 911. Another sprinted to get the gym’s automated external defibrillator, or AED. Jerkovic got to work on chest compressions. His CPR training came to him as he pumped to the tune of “Stayin’ Alive.”

After someone returned with the AED, the device tried shocking his heart back into rhythm. It didn’t work.

Soon, a police officer arrived and took over CPR until the ambulance arrived. Paramedics would use the defibrillator about a dozen times on the way to the hospital. According to Don’s smartwatch, his heart had stopped for 22 minutes.

Doctors gave him a mixture of medications to stabilize his heart. To let it rest, he was put into an induced coma.

Hours later, Don opened his eyes to find himself in a hospital bed, with Kylie by his side. He soon learned his heart had gone into a type of irregular heartbeat called ventricular fibrillation that, without treatment, is fatal within minutes.

Doctors couldn’t determine what caused it. To protect him in case it happens again, Don had a pacemaker and a defibrillator implanted in his chest to monitor his heartbeat and – if necessary – shock it back into a normal rhythm.

Once he was ready to start cardiac rehabilitation, Don attacked it with his usual intensity. About eight months later, he was cleared to swim again – with a caveat.

“Hey, Don, I hate to break it to you,” the doctor said, “but you're never going to make the Olympics. So don’t train like you're going to the Olympics.”

Don listened. For a few more months, he took it easy in the pool.

One morning, he was feeling good enough that he thought he could amp up his training. He began working on his butterfly stroke when – almost instantly — he was out of breath. He immediately swam to the edge of the pool. While holding onto the side, he felt the jolt of the defibrillator shocking his heart.

Standing on the other end of the pool, Jerkovic thought he heard someone sneeze. It was the device activating a second time.

Don had pushed himself too hard. Since then, he has learned his lesson.

He still swims recreationally, rides an exercise bike and lifts weights, but he makes sure to keep his heart rate well within the safe range advised by his doctor. He does so wearing a new smartwatch; the previous one stopped working when the defibrillator went off in the pool.

Since then, he has become an advocate for CPR and AED training. He organized sessions in the four Atlanta-area offices of the financial services firm where he works and got his company to sponsor teams in the 91ÐÓ°É’s Heart Walk.

“That’s why I don't hesitate to give my story,” Don said. “I want to do whatever I can to raise awareness, because miracles can happen.”

Stories From the Heart chronicles the inspiring journeys of heart disease and stroke survivors, caregivers and advocates.