Two days after his life was saved on a Greensboro lacrosse field, Adam Quilty floats in and out of consciousness in a hospital room at Carolinas Medical Center in Charlotte.

It is April 2, 2000.

Adam can't remember anything about the 17-second span that forever altered his 17-year-old life. Not the goal he almost scored. Not the way he crumpled to the ground. Not the 24 hours that followed.

His memory, in fact, is worrisome. Every time he wakes up, he asks the same questions. He talks slowly. Does he have brain damage?

Dr. Richard Smith, the pediatric cardiologist supervising Adam's care, notes Adam isn't slurring his words. That's a good sign, he tells the family.

As Adam becomes more lucid, the doctor talks to him and his family. Dr. Smith says extensive tests show Adam's cardiac arrest might have been caused by a viral infection in his heart called myocarditis. But the tests weren't conclusive. Something else could still lurk inside.

The safest approach, Dr. Smith says, is to place an internal cardiac defibrillator (ICD) inside Adam, and never take it out.

The ICD, about the size of a pocket watch, is like a miniature emergency room. A type of pacemaker, it can correct an abnormally fast or slow heart rate. Once inserted near Adam's left collarbone, it must be monitored closely and replaced every four to eight years. The initial operation would cost about $50,000, which insurance would cover.

On April 5, 2000, Dr. Smith implants the ICD during a two-hour procedure. The doctor tests the device several times by stopping Adam's heart on the operating table, then letting the ICD restart it.

On April 6, a week after his near-death experience, Adam returns home with fading burn marks on his chest from the defibrillator paddles, and a 3-inch scar from his surgery.

On April 17, Adam goes for a neuropsychological evaluation. His brain seems to be a whole lot better -- better than his parents had dared to expect -- although he does have some trouble with both short- and long-term memory.

The examiner gives Adam all sorts of tests.

He aces most of them.

"He has shown an excellent recovery from his cardiac near-death experience," the examiner writes in her six-page report. "He shows mild attention and concentration problems. ... Thank you for referring this very pleasant young man."

Within a few weeks, Adam returns to school -- half-days at first. Ashley Lusk, his friend, helps a lot. His teachers and his guidance counselor are sympathetic, allowing him to work at his own pace.

On April 29, 2000, Adam and Ashley go to the Vance High prom, but not together. By the end of the night, however, they have decided to become a steady couple.

By the fall, the start of his senior year in high school, Adam feels much better. He has adjusted to what Dr. Smith calls his "very minimal brain injury." Adam has learned to talk more slowly and pause in conversation so he has time to find the right words. Most people don't notice.

He's fine, he says, shrugging off almost all offers of help.

He just wants to play lacrosse again.

The doctor's letter

Of course, the idea of Adam playing scares everybody. What if he collapses again? Wasn't one near-death experience enough?Dr. Smith tries to help by writing a letter of support for Adam on Dec. 7, 2000, one that coach Chris Dryden shares with other Vance administrators.

The letter reads, in part: "I feel quite comfortable that Adam be allowed to participate in conditioning and drill-type activities if you are willing to allow it. If Adam were pushing hard to do so and the defibrillator were padded, I probably would allow him to play in games as well, although I do not think it is completely prudent."

After a series of meetings, a compromise is reached. Adam will practice with the team, but stay away from contact drills. He will serve as honorary captain for every Vance game.

Could he play a little at the end of the season?

Maybe.

For months, Adam practices but doesn't play. It's a tease, he tells those close to him. If he could just play one more time, he would feel complete.

Finally, toward the end of the season, Senior Day looms.

I'm playing, Adam says firmly.

If Adam thinks he can do it, and Dr. Smith signs off, the parents decide not to stand in the way.

On Senior Day, Adam Shenk Quilty will start for Vance. His parents will hold their breath in the bleachers.

The Game

On May 3, 2001, 14 months after he nearly died on a lacrosse field, Adam pulls on his No. 19 jersey. He applies eye-black to cut the sun's glare. He holds his helmet and lacrosse stick in front of him on the sideline.

Before the game, the seniors are introduced. They cast shadows in the early evening sunshine as they line up at the field's edge.

"No. 19 -- senior midfielder, Adam Quilty," the announcer says, and the crowd applauds. "Adam is accompanied by his parents, Dena and Ken. Adam will be attending UNC Asheville next year."

Ashley sits in the bleachers. She and Adam have become inseparable, and she too will go to UNC Asheville.

Adam walks onto the field, smiling. A videotape shows him looking no different than the other Vance seniors -- happily embarrassed, joking with others.

Adam's parents are joyous and nervous, especially before the opening faceoff.

Dena Shenk, Adam's mother, thinks to herself that she will be glad when her son gets off this field. His father, Ken Quilty, is so proud he can barely stand it. He believes this is the best sporting event he has ever seen.

Adam does well.

He doesn't score -- the chance he had during those 17 fateful seconds turns out to be the best he would ever get. He's not involved in much action.

But he plays. That's what matters to him.

Vance wins easily.

Adam is part of the team again, and that's the part of lacrosse he always liked best. He feels so good he plays a little bit in two games after that, too.

Senior Day 2001 is not just a happy ending for Adam.

It's an amazing beginning.

A 4.0 student

When Adam enrolls at UNC Asheville in the fall of 2001, no one treats him gingerly because no one knows his story. He uses the computer sign-on "Adam Reborn" sometimes during video games, but people don't think to ask why.He's just another college student now -- or maybe a little more. Formerly a champion procrastinator, he doesn't waste much time. He takes extra courses and finds time to tutor kids.

"Seize the day," Adam says. "I really do try to live by that."

After two years of college, Adam has completed 82 hours of coursework -- he's about a semester ahead of schedule already. He is majoring in computer science.

Adam's grade-point average is 4.0. All A's, every course. He's a better student now than he was in high school. When he graduates in 2005, he plans to either go to graduate school or get a computer-related job.

Ashley attends UNC Asheville, too. She is studying to be a teacher.

Adam and Ashley went to England together this summer, taking classes at Cambridge and floating around Europe. They have been dating steadily for 3 1/2 years.

The Shenk Quilty family is finally able to talk about what happened to Adam on that lacrosse field without somebody crying. The family has decided to tell its story now in the hopes that it can help somebody else through a difficult time.

What did they learn?

Take almost every sincere offer of help. Don't worry about putting people out when you're in a crisis. Good friends really do want to help. Let them.

What else?

"Consider life itself," Adam says, "as the greatest opportunity and blessing. See each day as a gift. And don't be afraid to tell someone just how much they mean to you."

Says Adam's younger sister, 16-year-old Shayna: "As horrible as the experience was, Adam's near-death brought us closer together. My big brother is the coolest person I know, and my hero."

As for Adam's parents, they are the ones who still seem most affected by the incident. They talk sometimes about the fragility of life and of trying to love their children more for who they are.

They talk of Adam's resilience, recalling karate lessons Ken took with his son. Adam earned a second-degree black belt, and showed his father an indomitable spirit that would surface again as Adam fought for his life.

Says Ken Quilty, Adam's father: "Forget the `I can't wait until the terrible twos are over,' or, `Remember how good you were before you became a teen?'

"Appreciate your loved ones as they are now. Today. Let them know it. Tomorrow may never come."

Follow your instincts

Adam's biggest worry now, in 2003, is not his body.

He has learned to live with the ICD and the occasional memory lapses. The nightmares about not being able to see or breathe -- apparently a dark leftover from the ambulance trip when his eyelids were taped shut -- don't come as often.

The ICD has never had to kick in full-force, because Adam has never had another heart abnormality. He doesn't play lacrosse regularly anymore, but he still likes sports.

What does Adam worry about?

His future children.

Can they play sports? Will they inherit a heart problem?

It's all possible, Dr. Smith tells him. No one can know. You just need to follow your instincts.

So Adam does. He doesn't fret too much about the future, really.

Or the past.

Adam is only 20 years old. He figures it's going to work out.

After all, he's got a good heart.

Editor's Note

The story of Adam Quilty's near-death experience after the Charlottean's collapse in a high-school lacrosse game is being told in this three-part series, which ends today.

This series is based on extensive one-on-one interviews with all the key characters -- including Quilty, now 20 years old. The details in this series come from the recollections of those involved, two videos of Quilty's collapse and its aftermath, and medical records.

The Shenk Quilty family provided full access and cooperation.