I’m an intensive care doctor – this is what it’s really like to survive your own death, and attend your own funeral
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SECOND ACT
From a teen boy whose life was changed forever when he was struck by lightning to a woman whose suicide attempt had a 'remarkable' ending, Dr Matt Morgan shares the poignant lessons he's learned from witnessing patients coming back from the brink
FOR more than 20 years, Dr Matt Morgan has borne witness, standing at the bedside of patients tiptoeing between life and death.
He watched as Roberto, a 29-year-old climber, whose heart stopped for over eight hours - longer than anyone else in history - came back from the dead... before something extraordinary happened.
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And the intensive care doctor recalls another patient Summer who, after years of battling depression tried to take her own life.
Seven weeks after her death, she opened her eyes and what came next in Summer's journey was "even more remarkable", Dr Morgan tells The Sun.
In a small red book that he kept on him at work, he scrawled down their 'whispers of life' - a power that medicine alone could never match.
Those words became his third book: A Second Act– What Nearly Dying Can Teach Us About Really Living. Here he shares an extract with Sun Health...
MY life felt like a treadmill - always moving but never really getting anywhere.
I’d wake up, go to work in ICU, save lives, and repeat.
Death was just the end of a shift, a flatline on a monitor I’d try to jolt back into rhythm.
But everything changed when I started really listening to my patients - especially the ones who had died and come back.
Their hearts had stopped for minutes, even hours - but it gave them purpose.
Some had collapsed from lightning strikes or overdoses, others from heart transplants or freezing to death.
And yet, against all odds, they survived.
Sharing their stories turned my treadmill of a life into a dance floor.
Ever since I started listening to those on the brink of life, I’ve been moving to a different beat. So could you.
Take Roberto, a 29-year-old climber buried in an avalanche.
His heart stopped for over eight hours - longer than anyone in history.
When he woke up, he was alive, but his past was gone. No memory of his parents, his friends, or his life.
Then, something extraordinary happened.
His father played footage from his last climb. As the frames flickered to life, so did Roberto.
“Bang - everything came back in one second!” he said, his face alight with joy.
“Like a switch was flipped. From that moment, my recovery accelerated. I knew I would return to the mountains.”
Hosting my own funeral punched me in the gut - not with sadness, but gratitude
Dr Matt Morgan
We share 3.5billion images every day - the same number as heartbeats in a lifetime.
But instead of taking more, looking back at old photos can be just as powerful.
Studies show that reminiscing doesn’t just trigger joy and nostalgia; it strengthens memory, deepens relationships, and even lowers stress.
Photos anchor us to the people, places, and moments that shape us.
Even the silly, awkward ones have a role.
Laughing at past mistakes releases endorphins, our body’s natural stress relievers.
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Psychologists say we have two selves - the experiencing self and the remembering self.
One craves instant pleasure; the other collects moments that last.Knowing this can help us live better.
Don’t just chase what feels good now - choose experiences your future self will cherish.
I learned this the hard way.
Recently, I braved a terrifying water slide with my daughter.
I hated every second. But now? My remembering self replays that moment with joy - proof that fleeting memories can last forever.
ED was just 17 when his life changed forever.
A football-mad teen from Kenilworth, Warwickshire, he was enjoying a typical Friday night with mates, heading from the pub to the fairground.
But as the rain poured and they crossed Abbey Fields, tragedy struck. A lightning bolt packing 300 million volts hit Ed and his best mate Stuart.
The blast sent Emma flying, Stuart to the ground, and Ed’s heart into cardiac arrest.
A fireman heard the deafening strike from 200 metres away and sprinted to the scene.
Ed was found first, given CPR, and miraculously brought back to life.Stuart wasn’t so lucky; despite efforts to revive him, he tragically died just shy of his 17th birthday.
Ed had been further from the tree, hit by a less direct strike, and saved by sheer chance.
He woke up in the ambulance, but survival brought its own storm.
Grief and survivor’s guilt consumed him, leading to years of bad choices, drugs, and alcohol. Moving away didn’t help; the shadow of Stuart’s death followed him everywhere.
It wasn’t until Ed began volunteering at Warwick Hospital, supporting others through tough times, that he found purpose.
Now a father to Toby, Ed tells his son he loves him daily - something he wishes he could have said to Stuart.
The lightning didn’t just stop Ed’s heart; it gave him a second act.
Today, he’s living with his past, not reliving it, and proving that even after life’s fiercest storms, there’s hope.
Then there was 25-year-old Summer, whose teenage years were stolen by depression and anorexia.
While her friends swam on sunny holidays and partied in dark nightclubs, she journeyed through mental health units across the country.
Eventually, she reached breaking point and tried to end her life by taking an overdose of prescription pills, which caused her heart to stop beating.
Seven weeks after her death, Summer opened her eyes.
Intensive care saved her, but what came next was even more remarkable.
Instead of being trapped by pain, she chose a purpose - becoming a mental health nurse to help others through the darkness she once knew too well.
She couldn’t make my book launch. She was busy saving lives.
“We all will have terrible days, loss, sorrow and heartbreak, but there will also be happiness, contentedness, and joy,” she says.
“In the end, everything happens to everyone. Expect it, it is what it is.”
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But the wildest lesson came when I put these ideas into practice - at my own funeral.
Picture this: eight friends, a remote cottage in the Pyrenees, no phones, no distractions.
Just eulogies for each of us, written by those who love us. A favourite song, a celebrant declaring us dead.
I listened as my friends roasted my cooking, my daughters giggled about my dad jokes, and my wife called me her anchor.
It punched me in the gut - not with sadness, but gratitude.
Why do it? Because most people only hear what matters when it’s too late to act on it.
I think everyone should have a funeral before they die, just like I did.
We all have two lives. The second begins when you realise you only have one
Dr Matt Morgan
So how do we really live? It’s not rocket science. But it’s not easy either.
My job taught me that life is an emergency - every second counts.
Death isn’t the enemy; it’s the nudge to dance harder.
A second act isn’t about dying and coming back - it’s about waking up to the life you already have.
We all have two lives. The second begins when you realise you only have one.
You don’t need to die to figure that out. But maybe listening to the whispers of those who did will help.
- A Second Act: What Nearly Dying Teaches Us About Really Living, by Dr Matt Morgan (Simon & Schuster, £20) is out now.
JEN'S heart literally gave up on her, but she refused to give up on life.
Diagnosed with the same rare heart condition that killed her mum during a transplant, Jen’s life was a ticking time bomb.
By 19, she was in severe heart failure, carrying a pager everywhere in case she got the call for a donor.
Then, one fateful day, it happened. Jen was out searching for wildlife to photograph when the pager’s shrill beep shattered the calm.
Rushed to hospital by ambulance, singing loudly to the radio all the way, Jen prepared for what she thought would be her final moments.
But instead of dying like her mum, Jen woke up post-surgery with a new heart and a new lease on life.
Fast-forward eight years, and Jen is living boldly. From climbing mountains to helping troubled kids, every day is a “yes day”.
A tattoo of a heart in a jar on her wrist reminds her to “vitam vive” (live life).
And when she met her now-husband Tom, he embraced her scars and her story, proving love conquers all.
Today, Jen’s old heart sits in a museum, suspended in glass—a powerful symbol of resilience.
Her advice? “Be kind. Live life. Don’t wait for a special occasion - today is special enough.”
thesun
