[This essay was written for NPR Weekend Edition's "This I Believe," an ongoing series about the core values and beliefs that guide people's daily lives. First broadcast on June 23. Following is the original unabridged version.]

Eight weeks ago I was released from the hospital after suffering a pulmonary embolism.  I had recently finished a short tour to promote my most new cd, “The Calling”. During that tour I had some back pain that required me to sit down on stage every night and I also experienced nearly constant chest pain that I thought was acid reflux. A few days after returning home, it was the severe chest pain and terrible breathlessness that landed me in the ER.  The CT scan revealed a shower of blood clots in my lungs, and the mystery was solved. 

Everyone told me how lucky I was that they had caught it in time, and nearly everyone had a story of someone they knew who had not been so lucky. A pulmonary embolism can take your life in an instant.  I was familiar enough with the medical term, but not familiar with the pain, the fear and the depression that followed. 

The decision was made to cancel my long planned summer tour. No matter how the facts were presented, I felt that I had let my band and crew and manager down. I worried that my new relationships with my record company and booking agency were going to suffer.   All of the elements that were in place to celebrate the release of the new cd were torpedoed. There was nothing to do now but get out of the hospital, go home and get well.