I could have died. I'm on the road all the time.
In the strange arithmetic of fate, a professional kicker's missed field goal in December became the unlikely first link in a chain that saved a man's life. Mark Toothaker, a Kentucky horse industry professional, was seized by laughter at the blunder — and then by something far more serious, a hidden brain tumor the size of a tennis ball that had gone undetected until that moment of absurd joy. That the seizure struck him at home beside his nurse wife, rather than alone on one of his many road trips, is the kind of contingency that makes gratitude feel almost cosmically complicated. The tumor was benign, the recovery swift, and the man left holding a second chance he knows he very nearly never got.
- A moment of helpless laughter at a botched NFL kick suddenly went silent — Toothaker lost consciousness mid-laugh and didn't return for twenty-five minutes.
- Emergency scans revealed a tennis ball-sized brain tumor that had been quietly growing, undetected, with no warning until the seizure forced its discovery.
- The margin between survival and catastrophe was razor-thin: a seizure alone on the road or in a hotel room could have ended his life before anyone reached him.
- His wife's nursing training and immediate presence transformed a potential tragedy into a medical emergency that could actually be managed and resolved.
- Within twenty-four hours of hospitalization, the benign tumor was treated and Toothaker was home — alive, shaken, and searching for a way to thank a kicker for missing.
Mark Toothaker was on his couch in December, watching an NFL game with his wife Malory, when Giants placekicker Younghoe Koo completely whiffed on a field goal attempt. The miss was so spectacularly inept that both of them burst out laughing — until, mid-laugh, Toothaker felt a jolt through his left arm and went dark. He didn't regain consciousness for twenty-five minutes.
At the hospital, doctors found what the laughter had shaken loose: a benign brain tumor the size of a tennis ball, hidden and growing, the kind of thing that might have gone unnoticed for years or until something far worse occurred. Toothaker, a stallion sales manager at Spendthrift Farm in Lexington, Kentucky, was told he had suffered a seizure — and that the seizure may well have saved his life.
The circumstances of that evening were almost improbably fortunate. Malory is a nurse. He was home, not on the road, not alone in a hotel room. Toothaker travels constantly for work, and he understood clearly what a different setting might have meant. Within twenty-four hours, the tumor was treated and he was back home.
What lingered was a strange, genuine gratitude toward Koo — a Pro Bowl kicker who had led the entire NFL in scoring with Atlanta in 2020, now unwittingly credited with saving a stranger's life by failing at his job. Toothaker reached out before the Kentucky Derby in May, inviting Koo to visit Spendthrift Farm and meet the horses, wanting him to understand what that missed kick had set in motion. Spendthrift's own entry, Further Ado, ran in the Derby and finished eleventh — but Toothaker was there, present, alive, which felt like the only result that truly mattered.
Mark Toothaker was sitting on his couch in December, watching an NFL game with his wife Malory when something happened that would change everything. Younghoe Koo, a placekicker for the New York Giants, completely whiffed on a field goal attempt against the New England Patriots—a moment so absurd that Toothaker found himself laughing hard at the sheer incompetence of it. His wife was laughing too. Then, mid-laugh, Toothaker felt a shock run through his left arm. After that, nothing. He didn't wake up for twenty-five minutes.
When he came to at the hospital, the doctors delivered news that reframed everything. Toothaker, a stallion sales manager at Spendthrift Farm in Lexington, Kentucky, had suffered a seizure. But that seizure had revealed something far more serious lurking in his brain: a benign tumor the size of a tennis ball, the kind of thing that might have gone undetected for months or years, or until it caused something worse.
The timing, Toothaker would later realize, had been almost impossibly fortunate. His wife Malory is a nurse. He was at home, on a couch, with immediate access to medical expertise and emergency care. "I could have died," he said. "I'm on the road all the time." A seizure while driving, or alone in a hotel room, or anywhere but that living room with his wife present, might have ended very differently. The tumor was benign and treatable. Within twenty-four hours, he was home from the hospital.
But Toothaker couldn't stop thinking about Koo and that missed kick. It seemed absurd to feel grateful to a professional athlete for failing at his job, and yet there it was. The whiff had triggered the laughter that triggered the seizure that revealed the tumor. Koo, who had made the Pro Bowl and led the entire NFL in scoring with Atlanta in 2020, had inadvertently saved a man's life by missing a field goal.
Toothaker reached out to Koo before the Kentucky Derby in May, hoping to thank him in person. He invited the kicker to visit Spendthrift Farm, to see the mares and foals, to experience the world of thoroughbred racing that had been Toothaker's life. He wanted Koo to know what his failure had made possible. Toothaker was heading to the Derby himself, where Spendthrift's horse, Further Ado, was entered in the race. He was hoping to be in the winner's circle. Further Ado ultimately finished eleventh, but that seemed almost beside the point. Toothaker had gotten his second chance, and it had started with a missed kick.
Notable Quotes
I felt a shock in my left arm, and then I never felt anything else. Had no pain, anything after that.— Mark Toothaker, describing the moment of his seizure
Just happened at absolutely the right place if it had to happen. I could have died, I'm on the road all the time.— Mark Toothaker, on the fortunate circumstances of his seizure
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
So a seizure from laughing—that's not something you hear about every day. Did Toothaker know he had a tumor before that moment?
No. That's the thing. It was completely silent. A tennis ball-sized growth in his brain, and he had no idea it was there until his body forced the issue.
And the seizure itself—was that dangerous, or was it actually the thing that saved him?
Both, really. Seizures are serious. But in this case, it was the alarm bell. Without it, the tumor stays hidden. He's on the road constantly for work. It could have progressed, or caused something catastrophic when he was alone.
His wife being a nurse—how much did that matter?
Everything. He said it himself: if it had to happen, it happened in exactly the right place. She knew what she was seeing. She got him help immediately. Different circumstances, different outcome.
Why did he reach out to Koo afterward?
Gratitude, I think. And maybe something else—a need to acknowledge the absurdity of it. A missed field goal led to his diagnosis. He wanted Koo to know that his failure mattered in a way neither of them could have predicted.
Did Koo respond?
The story doesn't say. But Toothaker extended the invitation anyway—to come see the farm, to be part of something good that came from something ridiculous.