An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Eleven

Life went on as it always does, after I came home from the hospital. I took my time and moved a lot slower during this trying time, I’d learned by now that getting stressed, hurried, or even getting excited brought on what I called episodes. I tried each time my heart raced to count the rate but how accurate I was, who knows. I think they were usually over 300 beats per minute. About this time because of my forced inactivity, to my distress, I gained weight. I went up at least two sizes. It took me several years to lose the unwanted pounds and I never went down to my youthful weight but at least found a satisfactory and more healthful weight.

Not too long after my hospital stay—in the Psych Ward of all places—I scheduled a visit with my doctor. Not a psychiatrist (I know what you’re thinking) nor even a cardiologist. Just my regular general MD. He had me lie back on the examining table and when listening to my heart, wonder of wonders, my heart started racing. This was a first. He took my pulse and said, “You really do have a problem.” That was the first time he believed me. Yes, I should have sought out another doctor when this whole thing started. Not sure why I didn’t but he came highly recommended and he was on our insurance plan. I never did like him very much, though.

Finally, I got a diagnosis. He said that I had “idiopathic electro tachycardia” which when translated into plain layman’s language means that the part of my heart that controlled the electric impulse that regulates the heartbeat chose to go crazy periodically resulting in a rapid heart beat. The idiopathic part means, as he explained it to me, that they didn’t have a clue about why it happened. But it could be fatal. “No kidding.” This was back in the early Seventies and not as much was known about this condition. Today it’s called Atrial Fibrillation as well as other similar terms.

My life could finally really return to normal. The doctor prescribed a medication, Inderal, and this kept the problem in check. I found I still needed to keep my caffeine intake down to almost non-existent levels plus there were several over-the-counter pain meds I couldn’t take. None of this bothered me. The relief to have my regular life back made up for any inconvenience. The weight gain did bother me and since that time I’ve had an ongoing struggle with my weight. Anyone who’s ever needed to lose weight knows what a struggle it is. If you could just give up eating completely…sigh. Guess not.

I attribute my still being here, alive and kicking, to my heavenly Father’s intervention. I’ve reached the conclusion that when we’ve finished what he sent us here to do, even if we’re not always sure what that is, then He will take us home—and not a moment before. Our lives truly are in God’s hands. I’m glad about that, aren’t you?

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Ten

The next day after the experience mentioned in my previous blog, I feared another similar episode would result in my death. So I sat down and wrote a letter to Laurie and a letter to Stephen to be read after I died. I wanted to assure them that I was in heaven and urge them to live for Jesus so they would one day join me there. I also wanted to assure them that what had happened to me was okay, I was okay and they would be okay.

I put them in a separate envelope for each child and addressed to each, sealed them and put them where they wouldn’t be found until the right time. Where exactly that was I don’t recall now but at the time I felt they were in the right place and I’d done what I could do. I so didn’t want them to get angry with or blame God for not having a mother. I didn’t want to say anything to them because I didn’t know what would happen and didn’t want to worry the kids.

A couple of evening later, Larry was at work as he worked the swing shift.  The kids and I had settled down for the night. As I relaxed in bed my heart took off again, beating a mile a minute. Convinced I wouldn’t survive this episode I called Larry at work—this seems so weird to write this now but I guess you would have to have been there—and told him I was dying. I don’t recall his response but the next thing I knew here came several EMTs pushing a gurney.  They loaded me onto it, loaded me into an ambulance and off we went, sirens blaring.

I’ve thought about it a lot but for the life of me I don’t know how they got into the house; the kids, I guess. The only thing I remember about the ride was just as they reached the Emergency entrance and unloaded me everything went black and someone pounded on my chest and I revived.

I recall very little about my hospital stay other than I slept almost night and day and had no episodes while there. The only visitor I remember except Larry was my pastor. He and Larry happened to be there together and I got up the courage to tell them of my visitation by Jesus, what happened that night and explained that was why I thought I was dying. I think the kids must have come up a few times, don’t know how many. I still have the cards they made for me and brought to me in the hospital. Stephen’s had a flower or two drawn on it and read, “I miss you Mommy. Come home soon.” Laurie’s had a drawing of me on the gurney as they took me out of the house with “Get well” written under it and signed, Love, Laurie. I can only imagine what a traumatic experience that was for them.

One memory that remains vividly to this day still boggles my mind. The kids had come up and I actually got out of bed and walked out to an area to visit with them. This area must have been a nurses’ station although there were no nurses in the vicinity at that moment. There, I happened to see a placard that read, “Psychiatric Ward.”

Psychiatric Ward? They think I’m crazy? After the kids left I crashed on my bed and pondered this, but, you can believe this or not, my mind was still too tired to wrap it around this strange discovery. Later when I got back to my normal life and my mind worked better, I figured that since they were told I thought I was dying, they thought I was suicidal. Strangely, though, I don’t have any recollection of a psychiatrist coming to talk to me or of being put into a support group. My recollection is sleeping almost around the clock for a week. I must have eaten but don’t remember that either. Why they released me, I still don’t know.

But I did get back home, but still no diagnosis of my malady. So as I picked my life back up I still had the possibility of more episodes occurring.

Do you think they were correct in thinking I was suicidal? Do you think perhaps they placed me in the psychiatric ward to be on the safe side?

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 9

Something weird happened in my early thirties that probably had nothing to do with the cancer but everything to do with my health. I say weird because it came out of the blue—the doctor even had no explanation for it. I mention it here because I am a survivor of more than cancer but also to point out and emphasize that God’s hand has kept me all these years.

One evening several of us from the church went as a group to a revival service at a neighboring church. I left the kids home with their dad.  While standing during a song I felt weak and had to sit then realized I needed to lie down. My pastor had someone put a makeshift bed on the floor in the nursery and helped me there so I could be comfortable. I was grateful that the message was piped into the nursery. It was about heaven and I felt like I might be going there that very evening. My heart raced and I could only lie there and wonder what was happening to me.

Then an equally amazing thing occurred. My pulse slowed to a normal beat and I was able to get up and walk out to the car on my own. I felt tired but okay.

Thus began a pattern that happened many times over the following weeks. I saw my doctor, a general practitioner, and since he didn’t observe an episode he declared it was all in my imagination. I got the distinct feeling he thought me a hypochondriac at that point.

So I went about my life as usual, praying an episode wouldn’t occur while I was driving or teaching school. Now what I’m going to describe next may seem unusual—and it is—but I’m merely telling you what happened to me. And this isn’t easy, believe me.

We were in bed asleep when I awoke, my heart racing. I lay on my back waiting for it to cycle through and subside as usual but this night was different. I felt my spirit moving up my body starting with my toes. I sensed it was preparing to leave my body. Weird, huh? It seemed like the way someone would roll up a blanket. The word “irrevocable” played over and over in my mind AND I sensed Jesus standing at the head of the bed, arms outstretched. I couldn’t see Him except with my spiritual eyes and that image remains with me to this day. As clear as I saw it then.

But—when I sensed my spirit reaching my face, the thought assailed me: I can’t leave now. My husband is unsaved; my kids are too young. I need to be here. Instinctively I turned toward my husband, who slept soundly through it all, I might add. When I made that choice my spirit returned (for lack of a better word) to my body and my pulse went back to normal.  And Jesus left, although I knew His presence remains with me always.

If all this isn’t strange enough, though, my life took an even stranger turn a day or so later.

 Have you ever experienced something like this? I'd like to hear from you.