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?
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