I'd done most of the things I'd wanted to accomplish. I traveled. I did work that made the world a better place. I didn't experience marriage, but hey… can't have everything, right?
"OK," I thought, "if this is it, then I'm ready to go."
Then I waited. For the white light. For the feeling of my soul lifting or a hand reaching out to take mine, or any of the other sensations people who have "died and come back to life" describe.
None of that happened. After about 90 seconds passed, I realized, "Hmm… I may not be dying after all. I wonder if… God forbid, am I paralyzed?" I wiggled my toes, then my ankles; it was all good. So I wasn't dying, and I wasn't paralyzed.
As I continued to take inventory of my body and soul, that burning sensation in my stomach where the bullet traveled began to take over my focus. "Man, what I wouldn't do for a few Percocets right now!" I thought.