The Circumstances Of Destiny

The Circumstances Of Destiny


Circumstances have led me to believe that I’ve lost time. The more I think about it, the more it seems to bother me. I keep getting this nagging sensation that something very strange and extraordinary has occurred and I can’t remember what it was. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. It’s like my memory is being blocked, and I can’t recall what may be the most important moment of my life.

I have to admit that things have been pretty traumatic for me lately. At the start of this year I lost my dear wife, Gladys, to cancer. Now that’s a hard pill to swallow, and it still sticks in my throat whenever I think about it. Needless to say, my health has been on a roller-coaster ride ever since: high blood pressure, diabetes, high cholesterol, low bone mass, and blocked arteries, just to name a few. And a couple of months ago was the topper--I underwent open heart surgery.

That’s when my memory problem started.

I asked my doctor if this was a normal occurrence after this type of surgery and he appeared as baffled as I.

“The anesthesia we used could have had this effect--loss of memory, disorientation. But I’ve never seen a case like this before where it lingered on for so long.” He referred me to a shrink that specialized in hypnosis, a Doctor Jenkins. “Don’t let this guy scare you,” he explained. “He’s one of those crazy UFO people. He claims to have helped a lot of clients that have experienced repressed memories or ‘lost time’. Just keep an open mind about the whole thing.”

I immediately made an appointment with Doctor Jenkins.

Arriving at his office, I was greeted by a mousy-looking receptionist that nasally explained that Doctor Jenkins was running late due to some sort of a commotion caused by a new member of his UFO support group, but that he was definitely on his way.

I made myself comfortable in the waiting room, filling out liability forms and such, until a man of medium build came bursting through the door in a wrinkled blue suit. He locked eyes with mine, and then marched straight over.

“Mr. Uribe? I’m Doctor Jenkins.” He firmly clasped my hand and helped me out of the chair. “I’m terribly sorry about being late. Won’t you come into my office?”

“Sure, doc, no problem.” He looked like a psychiatrist; from the oval eyeglasses to the well-trimmed goatee he sprouted on his chin.

“Have you ever been hypnotized before, Mr. Uribe?”

“No, never. I don’t normally go in for that sort of thing. I always figured it was a good enough thing for the other guy, but not me.”

“I know. People have a misconception about hypnosis. But it’s just a tool we use to help us unravel missing pieces of the puzzle. Why don’t you have a seat here and we can get started, okay?”

There was an old black leather chair against the wall and I fell into it.

“Let me first explain what we know about hypnosis. We know that those who are fantasy-prone are also likely to make excellent hypnotic subjects. We know that vivid imagery enhances suggestibility. We know that those who think hypnosis is rubbish can’t be hypnotized. We know that hypnotic subjects are not turned into zombies and are not controlled by their hypnotists. We know that hypnosis does not enhance the accuracy of memory in any special way. We know that a person under hypnosis is very suggestible and that memory is easily “filled-in” by the imagination and by suggestions made under hypnosis. Understand?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Good.” He took an expensive looking pen out of his pocket and grabbed a notepad off his desk. “So, tell me what you do remember.”

“That’s just it. Since my surgery, I keep having this feeling that something happened to me that I should know about. It’s like my body knows, but my brain can’t process it.”

“Like a missing limb.”

“A missing limb?”

“Yeah, many amputees experience what we call a 'ghost' limb. They can feel the arm that’s been removed as though it were still there. But the sensation fades with time. So this happened within the past few months?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that should be easy enough to retrieve. Why don’t you just sit back and relax.”

“All right.”

“Comfortable?”

I nodded.

“Good. Now listen very carefully to my voice. You can only hear the sound of my voice. You are calm...peaceful...relaxed. Only the sound of my voice makes you feel that way. Are you relaxed?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s start with the surgery. You’re in the operating room. You’re lying down. There are doctors and nurses all around you. Can you see it?”

“Yes. They’re giving me anesthesia.”

“Yes, but this time you don’t fall asleep. This time you stay awake. What do you see?”

“The doctor is pressing a scalpel against my chest. I can feel the cold steel. He slices downward and I can see the many layers of my skin. God, it hurts! I’m cut!”

“Listen to me. There’s no pain. You feel no pain.”

“No, you're wrong! I can feel it! They’re pulling open my chest! Oh, my God! The pain! Make it stop!”

“Mr. Uribe, listen to my voice. There is no pain!”

“Arrgh! I feel his hand inside of me, moving my insides around. I can feel the cold air inside my chest. Oh, God, no! He’s cutting on my heart! My heart! He’s cutting my heart!”

“Mr. Uribe! I want you to wake up!”

My body buckled in the chair as I tried to escape the intense pain. My fingers tore into the chair’s armrests. “Please, make him stop! I can feel everything!”

“Mr. Uribe!” Jenkins smacked me across the face. “Wake up! Wake up!”

"My heart! I can’t take the strain...."

Then the realization came to me. Perhaps, I never survived the operation. Perhaps, I just forgot I had died, and only now remembered the circumstances of my destiny.