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Rated: E · Short Story · Experience · #717156
A short story about the miracle God gave me, and the out of body experience at that time.
Please Don't Let Me Die

         I woke up at five-thirty in the morning one day in May 1993. The numbness was back; I could not feel the top of my head. My heart was pounding like a thousand drummers had taken up residence inside my tiny body; my breaths were coming in short little gasps. I struggled to sit up on the edge of my bed.

         Fear gripped me, paralyzing my muscles, as I felt myself dying. With every ounce of strength I had left in me, I pulled myself up to a standing position; slowly I made my way to the restroom, and turned on the hot water faucet.

         As I sat there on the commode waiting for the water to get steaming hot, I prayed the same prayer I had been saying for ten long scary years, "Jesus please do not let me die. You know my babies are only seven, nine, and eleven years old; my family does not love me, so how are they going to love my babies?" My tears were streaming freely down my cheeks; dripping off of my chin and forming tiny puddles at my feet. "Jesus, you know who I am, after all you created me and loan three of your finest angels to me. And, Jesus you know I'm a single parent; therefore, the only parent my babies know. Who is going to love them if I must go?"

         Once the water was hot, I wet a wash cloth and wrung out all the excess water my hands could handle. Placing the hot cloth on my head, I walked to the front door and opened it wide. There was a tropical storm blowing from the north and was pelting us with forty mile an hour winds. I put my face right into the wind and crossed my fingers hoping the wind would force oxygen into my burning lungs; but, it was to no avail.

         Fear tightened its grip on me as I crawled back into bed beside my boyfriend. Scooting over as close as I could get, I gently shook him awake and asked, "Baby, please take me to the hospital. I'm scared and do not want to die." Tears dripped onto my pillow as I laid beside him desperate for help; he replied, "can it wait until morning? Go see if Julie will take you."

         I turned over and prayed,"now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep, and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." I had hit another dead-end; there was nothing else for me to do but put myself in God's hands.

         I had started going to our local emergency room with chest pain when I was twenty-one years old; my boyfriend's reaction was not unusual; I faced that sort of reaction, and worse, from doctors, nurses, and family members. I was called a hypochondriac, drug addict, and a complainer just to name a few. It hurt the most coming from my family. One sister told my Daddy to prepare himself that I probably had AIDS. If it wasn't bad enough knowing I was dying and nobody believed, it was unbearable for my family to say, and believe, these horrible things.

         May turned into July, and I was twenty pounds lighter. My clothes no longer fit me, and I felt worse than ever. The numbness had spread into my face, my muscles were twitching constantly, and I could no longer hang clothes on the line to dry; it hurt to hold my arms above my head. I kept on praying, and at times, I could hear Jesus telling me he could save me with help from the doctors. I was desperate because I did not want to die leaving my babies behind. Death was a peaceful offering; but, It was not one I could take.

         On July 10, 1993, I collapsed into a heap on my kitchen floor. My sister, Barbara, was terrified because I had turned blue. She called an ambulance against my objections. I did not want them called because I could not bare hearing the same old thing again, "you're too young for it to be your heart." Once the EMT's arrived, I was told that my EKG was normal. I once again felt slammed into a brick wall. I was so close to letting God wrap His loving and comforting arms around me. And take me with Him. I had never, nor ever felt so desolated in my entire life.

         I became so totally disheartened. I would sit in my Bentwood rocking chair while tears streamed down my cheeks. I had accepted my plight; it was so incredibly painful knowing that my babies would grow up without a mother and without each other because I knew they would be split up. My heart was shattering like an expensive crystal figurine. I cried buckets of tears for the teenage years I'd never get to witness, the girlfriends I'd never get to meet, and the grandchildren I'd never get to hold.

         Bless Barbara's heart because she started crusading beside me. She was beginning to see how neglectful the doctors and everyone was treating me and became angry as well as scared of losing her baby sister. She took me to the emergency room herself, and told them they had better find out what was wrong with me. That's how the wheels of testing got started. They put a twenty-four hour holster monitor on me and scheduled an echocardiograph after the removal of the monitor. They did not reveal the results of the holster monitor, but they did discover a massive left atrial Myxoma. It was a massive tumor the size of a tennis ball. The tumor was so large it had stretched my heart.

         I left the doctor's office feeling more confused, scared, and tensed than ever before. I knew I needed open-heart surgery and was trembling like a leaf in a March wind storm. I didn't want to tell my children because I wanted them to have faith that God had always held me in His arms and wouldn't stop doing so now. My heart surgery was set for July 22,1993. My Daddy,stepmother,sister(Evelyn), her husband, and Jeff drove me to Jacksonville's St. Vincents Hospital. The whole trip reminded me of a tomb because everyone was so quiet. From where I was sitting in the back seat, I could see tears running down my Daddy's cheeks. I slid up to him and gently put my arms around his neck,and whispered these words,"I'll be alright Daddy, God is with me, so please don't cry."

         When we arrived at the hospital and went inside, the hospital was huge. We were walking to the admissions office, when, all of a sudden, a nurse came running down the hall pushing a wheel chair. Her already pale skin had paled even more. She asked, "Why is this child walking?" I was not aware that I should not be walking; the doctors in my home town never told me any difference. Humph! I guess I should have considered the source! Especially beings they let me leave their office with the knowledge that the tumor was so huge it was down into my left ventricle.

         Once I got settled into my room, the main doctor came in to meet me. He told me he would like to do a heart catheterization but was not able to because the tumor would break off and go into my pulmonary artery and cause my death. If I was not terrified before, I was definitely terrified now. Just for good measures, another Echocardiograph was done for the hospital records. After the echocardiograph was complete, the nurses came in and shaved my whole body! Man, not only did I look like a plucked chicken; I felt like one also! I could not stop laughing because I felt so ridiculous!

         My surgery was scheduled for seven a.m on July 22,1993, and I was petrified. I had so much trouble sleeping until the nurse gave me a sleeping pill and a nerve pill. The next thing I knew, the nurses were getting me up out of bed for me to take my betadine bath. I turned a pretty orange color after that. It seemed like I had just gotten in the shower when the patient transporters were there to take me away to what ever fate was in store for me. The doctor ordered Morphine for me to start my sleeping process, but the medicine did not do anything for me. Instead I laid there shivering out of utter fear so badly that my gurney was shaking.

         As the nurses and porters pushed me to the surgery room, my family walked along beside me. I'm glad they were there with me, but at the same time, I wish they were not there. I put on fake smiles when all I wanted to do was bawl like a baby. With my family walking along beside me, I felt as if I was on my way to the gas chamber! I was so scared I would not make it through open-heart surgery. The nurse stopped by my operating room, and I kissed each and everyone of my family members; I thought I would never see them again.

         During my heart surgery, I thought I had awakened. I did not feel any pain though, and the most peaceful feeling surrounded me. I opened my eyes and looked at my open chest. I watched the doctor on my left for a few minutes as he sewed up my heart. My gaze shifted out in front of me, and I saw ten to fifteen people dressed in white. In my minds eye, I thought them to be doctors. Then my gaze fell to the doctor on my right. In his gloved cupped hands he was holding something bloody, and blood was oozing out from between his fingers. I knew he was holding the tumor that had once lived in my heart. After I looked around, it felt as if I just went back to sleep. The next thing I remember was waking up in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit.

         For many years, I really did believe I had woke up during surgery! My son's psychiatrist told me that what had happened was I had an out of body experience. I went to thinking about the surgeries I have been through and seen on television. It was then I realized the doctors tape the eyes shut and put a blue sterile sheet up over the face to prevent any germs around eyes, nose, and throats from contaminating the incision during the operation. However, I'm not scared of out of body experiences any longer. I hope this story touches as many hearts as it did mine. Always remember that God does answer prayers and walks by our side holding our hand in His; He carries us on the days we aren't strong enough to carry ourselves. I sincerely hope that y'all think about me and the miracles God bestowed upon me. I've gotten to see my sons grow up, and I have a beautiful little granddaughter. May God bless you all.

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