Hey there ,
1. The Story
It started with a wobble, a sudden and disorienting near-fainting spell that made my heart feel like it had forgotten its script. I felt light-headed, unsteady, and knew instantly that something was wrong. I made an appointment with my GP right away. He took my symptoms seriously, ordered initial tests, and sent me to a cardiologist.
The cardiologist ran a full set of diagnostics, had me wear a monitor for a week, and eventually confirmed what we were dealing with: paroxysmal atrial fibrillation (AFib), an electrical misfiring in the upper chamber of the heart that can cause irregular rhythm, fatigue, dizziness, and real risk if left untreated. With that clarity, he referred me to an Electrocardiologist, a specialist whose practice focuses specifically on electrical irregularities of the heart. With each referral, the stakes rose. By the time we reached the Electrocardiologist, I was navigating a multilayered medical system in which every doctor added a new lens on what was happening inside my chest.
The solution was outpatient heart surgery.
An ablation.
People told me it was a routine procedure. But nothing feels routine when the organ in question is the one keeping you alive.
And beneath the medical facts sat something universal. Everyone fears their mortality. Everyone feels overwhelmed when plunged into the jargon-filled world of modern medicine.
Another unexpected conflict appeared. The Electrocardiologist who would perform the procedure was still a complete mystery. We had met his PA over Zoom, but never him. Entrusting your heart to someone whose face you have never seen is not the most comforting proposition.
So in the pre-op bay, my wife and I asked a simple, human question: “Could we meet the doctor?”
The nurse nodded, stepped out, and returned a moment later. “He will be right in.”
He arrived. Warm, calm, and generous with his time. Within a few minutes, the faceless specialist became a person.
Competent. Steady. Fully present.
And to our surprise, he turned out to be a fellow graduate of the University of Florida. That small connection added a welcome touch of familiarity at exactly the moment we needed it. The emotional tone shifted.
We felt grounded and ready.
My calmness did not come from that alone. Years of meditation, and my fellowship at the Institute of Jewish Spirituality, had shaped in me a steady relationship with uncertainty. Instead of panic, I felt gratitude for the nurses, the PA, the doctor, my wife, and the simple fact that modern medicine exists and works.
I trusted the process.
I trusted life.
Practical preparation mattered too. I have written before about what happens if someone enters a coma without their medical, legal, and financial affairs in order. I had already done that work. Everything was organized.
The night before the procedure, I did not hand my wife new passwords or documents. She already had access to everything. I simply asked her to walk through the steps of opening the password vault that contains the keys to all of our online accounts.
It was not dramatic.
It was simply a calm drill.
That clarity added to my sense of ease.
The next morning, I walked into the hospital steady and ready. The procedure went smoothly. As I write this (knock on wood), nearly two weeks later, my heart is steady, my energy is rising, and life feels spacious again.
“It may be routine, but it is my husband, and it is his heart.”
— My wife, to well-meaning friends
2. AGENT at Work (Win-Win Insight)
This entire experience was a negotiation with fear, uncertainty, the healthcare system, and the human need for trust.
AWARE: Recognizing that the real conflict was not only the AFib, but also mortality, mistrust, and overwhelm.
GROUND: Naming what mattered most: quality of life, manageable risk, spiritual readiness, and a human connection with the doctor.
EMPATHIZE: Understanding my wife’s fear, the pressures the medical team faces, and my own instinct to avoid discomfort.
NEGOTIATE: Asking for what we needed, including meeting the doctor, and weighing decisions with clarity instead of panic.
TIE: Moving forward once trust was established, and committing fully to the recovery plan.
The win was not certainty. It was clarity, trust, and peace.
3. Practice for the Week
🛠 Try This in Your Own Life
Ask for the human moment. A five-minute conversation with a doctor can transform an entire experience.
Do the preparation drill. Choose one area, whether documents, medical directives, or passwords, and make sure someone you trust can access it.
Name the real fear. It might not be the diagnosis, but the fear of mortality, vulnerability, or the unknown.
4. Closing Note
This experience reminded me that conflict is not limited to arguments or disagreements. It shows up every time we face a decision that carries consequences. The moment there are stakes, there is conflict. And the higher the stakes, the more deliberate we must be.
A medical scare makes this obvious. But the same inner negotiation happens when we choose a job, navigate a relationship, spend money, or face an uncomfortable truth. We weigh risks, imagine outcomes, manage emotions, and try to make sense of incomplete information. The mind becomes a negotiation table.
That is where the AGENT framework earns its value. It slows the moment down. It turns fear into clarity, overwhelm into structure, and instinct into intention. It helps you see what really matters, understand what others need, and make decisions you can stand behind.
My situation involved doctors, diagnoses, and the literal rhythm of my heart. Yours may involve family, work, money, or meaning. The details change, but the pattern is the same. When the consequences matter, the quality of your process matters even more.
AGENT helps you build that process. It helped me here. And it can help in every high-impact choice you face.
See you in the win-win moments this week,
Sam
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