My Heart, My Electrician, and the People of Guatemala

Bruce Clemens

Sep 1

3 min read

Last Thursday, I received a biventricular pacemaker upgrade.

That sentence sounds considerably less dramatic than it felt.

Heart problems run in my family. My father died at 40 from a massive heart attack. Relatives and friends say I’m his spitting image. Apparently, I inherited his looks, his speech, his walk, his body type—and perhaps his heart.

At 36, I was diagnosed with a Wenckebach arrhythmia. Eight years ago, during a pickleball tournament, I passed out when my pulse dropped to 25 beats per minute. I woke up with my first pacemaker.

I’ve always called my electrophysiologist my “electrician” and my cardiologist my “plumber.”

About two months ago, the electrician got another call.

I began having episodes on the pickleball court when I simply couldn’t catch my breath. Tests showed that more than 90% of my heartbeats were being generated by the pacemaker. My heart muscle was weakening, my left ventricle was seriously enlarged, and it was pumping only about 30% of the blood it received.

So I went back to the operating room. This time, the electrician upgraded my system to a biventricular pacemaker designed to help my heart beat more efficiently and in better coordination.

For most of my life, I’ve prided myself on not being afraid of death. But lying on that operating table, I felt my mortality.

And strangely, my thoughts turned to Guatemala.

For 54 years, I’ve had the extraordinary privilege of working with Agua del Pueblo, our Guatemalan partner organization, helping bring safe water and sanitation to poor rural communities.

Lying in a first-world hospital, surrounded by technology capable of keeping my heart beating, I couldn’t stop thinking about the enormous inequity in the world.

I have access to technology that can literally keep my heart going.

Yet roughly 40% of the world’s population still lacks safely managed sanitation, and hundreds of millions of people still lack basic access to drinking water at home.

How is that fair?

I don’t have an answer. But I do know what we can do about it.

Agua del Pueblo can’t solve global poverty. But we can address the imbalance one village, one family, and one project at a time.

For about $100, AdP can help provide one Guatemalan with sustainable potable water and sanitation. For about $600, an entire family can receive water and sanitation designed to serve them for decades.

That’s an astonishing return on an investment.

So, as I recover from my newest piece of first-world heart technology, I’m asking you to make an investment of your own.

Reach into those wallets. Those 401(k)s. Those first-world investments.

Help us bring a little more balance to an extraordinarily unbalanced world.

They say money can’t buy happiness.

I disagree. The problem is that you’re just not giving enough of it away.

Give more. The happiness will appear.

After having someone install a new electrical system in my heart, I have a renewed appreciation for the miracle of being alive—and for the privilege of helping someone else live a healthier life.

One heart. One village. One project at a time.