“…You are in the ICU at Evangelical Hospital”.
Those were the words I heard just after I pulled the mask off my face and the tube from my throat. Terror filled me. I didn’t know where I was or what was happening to me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I was supposed to be in a medically induced sleep for another 12 hours.
My hands were tied down. BUT, the will to live was greater than the ties that held me bound.
I must say in retrospect, there was immediately a cool half dozen medical professionals attending me. A nurse later told me there was no foreseeable way I could have gotten my hands on my face. BUT, the will to live was greater than the ties that held me bound.
My last memory was calling 911, grabbing my purse which is always ready for the ambulance ride, opening my front door and collapsing. I couldn’t stand. I was trying to crawl onto my front porch so they could be sure to find me. This was the fifth time I had called 911 since June 13th. You’d think they would know me by now.
I couldn’t reach the handle on the storm door. I could see my body there on the floor with my hand on the window. My eyes were just level with the bottom of the glass so I could see the police car stop in front. That was noon.
I was intubated. I’ve heard that word many times, but believe me, you don’t fully understand the meaning of it. It was 9 PM when I pulled the tube from my throat. Then began the most horrific 12 hours I have ever spent, and I have been through a lot.
This was not the first time I have experienced near death. I have been sick off and on for a little over 3 years. February 10th, 2016 at 8:05 in the morning was the first time I called 911. I simply stopped breathing. I lay down on my floor and died. Sounds dramatic but there is no other way to say it. I was immediately in the Light of God’s Presence. Oh, I know there are those who will say I was hallucinating or some such other excuse to discount the experience, but those who Believe with me know that Light is a reality. God gave me a second chance that day.
God gave me a third chance this past Monday, September 18th at 12 noon. How many chances do I need?
Why am I even writing this? I’m probably rambling but I don’t care. I need to get it down. Every chance is a chance to say something, to do something to be something different…better? more? for whatever reason.
The Will to Live is stronger than the things that hold me bound. How dare I abuse God’s gift with junk food and unhealthy habits? Random thoughts I guess.
How did I get to this point? The first time the devil tried to take my life I was unborn….