posted on Feb, 20 2016 @ 11:31 AM
Page 2 of 2
So, some 20 odd years later, here was my “abyss of terror”…
I had gone to the hospital, thinking I was having a heart attack, but it turned out to be 3 pulmonary emboli, and the doctors were clear that I would
probably not survive. They hooked me up to all sorts of needles and tubes and gave me high doses of IV Heparin. They scampered for a cause but made it
clear that they had no treatment, at the time, so I was confronted with the possibilities of my imminent death, while at the same time, except for a
few chest pains, I felt perfectly fine. In fact, at first I didn’t believe them and I tried to continue to run our own business from the hospital
But I could read in the doctors’ eyes that my focus was, perhaps, time not well spent. I was inwardly terrified, but I wanted to be brave for my
husband, my employees, my few friends, the nurses, and yes, myself. This was somewhat easy to do with the right combination of denial and
compartmentalization, until one night, when I awoke and I felt rather odd…
I felt funny. I felt cold and light headed and groggy and I opened my eyes and I was surrounded by a purple haze. So, here is my experience of my own
thoughts, thus responding to the moment of death, or mighty close to it:
My first thought was, “Oh my God! I am dying!”
My second thought was, “Oh my God! It really is a purple light!”
My third thought was more of a reaction to everything that was happening, and that was to freeze and try to remain calm and “think, woman,
At this moment, while trying not to move, sort of illogically hoping that this purple light was just sort of poking about and undecided as to whose
move it was, I found myself try to carefully glance about the room, as if I could foolishly avoid its attention, but only if it didn’t see me move.
I foolishly assumed that I might convince it that I was already dead and it might move on. You could say it was a twisted, reverse type of
anthropomorphism towards death. But in the process, of ever so slowly and carefully trying to look about the room, I saw my husband fast asleep in the
lounge chair that they had brought in for him.
I wanted to shout out to my husband. But I was still feeling the need to stay very still. And this hesitation bought me some time and gave me pause to
think. I realized that I was terrified, but I also knew that there was nothing that I, nor he, could do about it. I knew I was about to die and I
wanted desperately to gaze into his eyes one last time. But at the same time, I realized that in so doing, he would be gazing into mine, and while it
might be a comfort for me, it might not be a comfort for him, as he would remain standing over me, watching me take my last breath, and feel the angst
and grief of not being able to stop it. I compared this thought to what would happen if I just died quietly. I reasoned that he might awaken to my
death, and feel the associated grief, but he would also falsely assume that I had died peacefully in my sleep, and I found that this slight
consolation was worth the calculated bit of dishonesty from me. It was going to be my silent gift to him.
So I decided that I would die quietly. But now what? I was still surrounded by that purple haze. I was confused as to why I was even still conscious
and became rather self-conscious at the moment. I put my attention back to my own eminent death and was confronted with the fact that I had no idea
what I was supposed to do or be thinking at the moment of death. I was in no mood to pray, as that just didn’t feel honest, plus I was at a loss for
words in this regard. But here I thought of that Book of Tokens, and I just trusted that those words meant something, even though at that moment, I
wasn’t feeling it. Still, I put my trust in those words, while preparing myself to die.
For me, what followed was the ultimate pregnant pause. I was thinking that I should have some last profound thought. I didn’t want to die with
useless idle chatter in my mind, so I turned my attention onto trying to force some thought worth thinking, but I was just shooting blanks.
Realizing that my thoughts were not serving me well, and I was quickly running out of time, and still desperately wanting to be with my husband, I
decided that I would turn my thoughts towards him and think of him. And as such, it occurred to me that since I didn’t know what to do, that I could
do (imagine) whatever I wished, so I chose to have, in my imagination, one last dance with my husband…
For a brief moment, we were both young again. It didn’t hurt to breathe and the air was fresh. We were tall and thin. I had my long braid, with
fresh flowers tucked into it. He had his full head of hair. I could feel the strength in his arms, and the power of his lead. I could hear the beauty
of the music. And I felt myself melt into the dance, one last time.
But then, I became aware of sirens sounding. I opened my eyes and was in that ugly hospital room again. The lights had been rudely shut on and some
were flashing to the rhythm of the alarms. The purple light was instantly replaced with bright hospital lights and nurses were rushing towards me. All
this sudden commotion frightened me, and it is my believe that the sudden rush of adrenalin of that rather rude awakening is what kept me alive long
enough to reset my own ability to live. Plus, to my joy, my husband had awakened and was rushing to my side — and the guilt of awakening him was no
longer resting on my shoulders.
Of course, the nurses, mumbling and grumbling as they reset the alarms, insisted that I did not have that experience and was never in any danger, as
it was simply an equipment failure, and had nothing at all to do with me.
What can I say? They weren’t there. But I wonder how many others are having that same “equipment failure,” and are having it even as we all
That’s it. Thank you for listening to me.