I’m a bit surprised it has taken me this long to write a column. I have been the editor since last year, after all, but I have a story to share about how my Tuesday went from run-of-the-mill to a day I’ll never forget, and the people that made sure this column could be written.

All in all, my Tuesday was going as planned. I went to work, had lunch downtown with a coworker and wrapped things up at my usual time, heading home at 5 p.m. As I always do, I took my dog Ernie out in the yard for his afternoon business. New to the routine, however, was what happened next. When I stepped outside my screened-in porch, I felt a burning sensation strike my left eye. The accompanying buzz confirmed that it was a sting, so I hastily made my way down the steps to safety. The buzz continued in my ear until I was able to remove the pest from his perch atop my head. It appeared, at least to this untrained entomologist, to be a yellow jacket.

I’ll admit the sting was discomforting, but I waited for Ernie to do his business since he had been holding it in all day before returning inside in search of Benadryl. I have been stung before. Each time, Benadryl always seemed to do the trick, but this instance would prove different.

By the time I was back inside, a few minutes had passed when I was overcome by an insatiable fiery itch. Scrambling for the medicine drawer, I felt a sense of panic looming. I located my medicine at about the same time I caught a glimpse of my mug in the mirror. An unrecognizable face stared back at me.

Numbness took over, and I felt my throat tighten. Immediately, I knew I needed to call 911.

Despite my panicked tone, the voice on the receiving end of my call expressed a crucial composure. With no time for formalities, I began, “I’ve been stung by something. I am having a reaction.”

I told the voice my address. At that moment, as my world was shrinking, that voice was the only thing that kept me from losing it. I found out later that that voice belonged to Margaret Simpson, but everyone just calls her Memi.

It’s hard to overstate how comforting a calm voice can be in a troubling situation, but for me on Tuesday, as I began to gasp for air, Memi assured me that everything would be alright.

I quickly dashed to the end of my driveway to be there upon the first responders’ arrival. I don’t live far from the Spencer Fire Department. Just a few blocks away, really. I could hear the sirens activate, and I tracked them with my ears as they drew closer. I’ve had a lot of time to process everything since then but I still can’t make heads or tails of those few minutes. As breathing grew labored, each second seemed to pass faster than the last, yet somehow, it also seemed like those few minutes were actually a few hours.

After the dust settled, I learned that Spencer Fire Department’s response time was a prompt two and a half minutes from dispatch to arrival, including the roughly 90 seconds of transit time. When they arrived, it was like the cavalry had shown up. Reinforcements hoo-rah. In tow from the fire department were Chief Michael Lanning, Captain Donnie Myers, Engineer Jake Nichols and Firefighter Lexi Collins.

Collins, I have since learned, actually completed her EMT class two weeks ago. Sticking me with epinephrine was the first time she had done so on anything besides an orange. My typing this today is evidence that she paid attention in class, for which I am grateful.

My recollection of the ambulance’s arrival is sparse. I know my wife Abby arrived at about the same time, but I was drifting in and out as they loaded me into the back. I’m a bit of a talker; anyone who knows me can likely attest to that, but on this occasion, I couldn’t communicate much.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are in a situation of desperation. Maybe I wasn’t so close to the edge because that did not happen to me. All I was thinking about was the part of my life yet to come. Abby and I want to have children and raise a family. I hope to see them grow and cultivate a garden of love, making memories to comfort us both when we are old. I wasn’t ready to go on Tuesday. I’ve got too much left to do.

Inside the ambulance, paramedics Carlos Walker and Audrianna Martinez and an EMT with Salisbury Fire Department Gabby Blabon talked me through the worst few minutes of my life. I remember Walker asking me my age at one point. I said something to the effect of, “31, and I’d really like to make it to 32.”

He said back to me, “You’re going to make it a whole lot longer than that, brother.”

Amidst the chaos, something in his voice told me that I was in good hands, that I was going to be OK and that I was still going to get to make those memories with Abby. I was not going out like that.

The ride to the hospital was a blur, but I know that they kept me afloat in a maddening river because, despite having almost zero recall from the ride, I remember Carlos telling me about his dogs. I’m not sure if that’s in the training manual, but it should be. It kept my mind from wading too far into those troubling waters.

Safely delivered to the hospital, I was greeted by the care of a gracious staff. Still in shock and covered in hives, I struggled to process what happened to me, but through it all, a sense of calm poked through. My initial nurses, Kendall Osborne and Allison Smith, provided more epinephrine to combat the venom. Ever attentive to my pain, they took great care in transferring me to a bed where I was hooked up to machines to monitor my status. Later, nurse Jessica Christie would provide similarly compassionate care.

It all happened so fast, but by the time I regained my wits, Abby was there. I can only imagine what the ordeal must have been like for her.

Soon after, Dr. Albert Salas entered and explained what happened, why my body reacted the way it did and what the process would look like as they continued to treat me. He spoke in a deep tone that conveyed great wisdom.

I was not altogether throughout this experience. My vision was blurred as my head swooned, but I remembered the voices. From Memi to Carlos to my nursing staff and Dr. Salas, each sounded so unique and carried such distinct notes, but they created the chorus that carried me through.

And when the voices subsided, one remained. The most important one. The voice of my beloved Abby, who sat by my side and held my hand until, at last, we could go home. It was not the memory I longed for when they lugged me into the ambulance, but it is a memory I will always have. She was there for me when I needed her the most.

But truly, each of these people was there for me when I needed them. Every step of my journey on Tuesday was aided by a stranger, but I now know and will never forget each of them.

We have remarkable human beings called to serve in Rowan County. It was not the first time I have been proud to live here, but it marked the peak of that pride since taking this job at the Salisbury Post. I owe my life to those people. For those memories that I’ve yet to make but now have the chance to, I thank you all.