Prayer of Agreement

"Again I say to you, that if two of you agree on earth about anything that they may ask, it shall be done for them by My Father who is in heaven." - Matthew 18:19. 

I'm not praying for healing or to live longer. I am praying to maintain the best quality of life for as long as I can, then peacefully pass.  My prayer for my end-of-life journey is to have it a miraculous spiritual journey where I grow closer to Christ. And that's what God has been blessing me with. It's a more casual and relaxed relationship - yet I feel known by Him as He shows me more about Him. It's not always "spiritual" things God and I do as we hang out. We may watch a rerun of Star Trek, and He seems as real and involved and loving me as He is when I read my scriptures or pray. Okay, so it's a rerun for both of us - but we may laugh together and enjoy our camaraderie of just being together.  I use to feel that spiritual intimacy when walking in nature; but I have to drive the 20 yards to the mail box now, so not much hope of enjoying God while I enjoy hiking in his beautiful creation. So we adapt.

If we put the prayer of Agreement scripture and my prayer for this end-time together, I can find few people willing to pray that prayer with me. 

I think Western culture is messed up. Many African and Eastern culture do not fear or find death degrading or shameful or terrorizing; that seems to be the norm for Western culture. From my reading, death in many cultures is just part of the cycle of life (not all who see death this way are into reincarnation but even some Christian groups worldwide see it as a normal, natural part of life that releases our spirit into God). I was raised to see death as a normal, natural part of life. I'm born, I give birth, I grow old, I die. The same cycle that has been in effect since Adam. A cycle created by our loving Father God. A beautiful cycle. A cycle of joy and delight.

I've heard North American Christians pray for others. I find it sad that they don't find out what the prayer recipient desires in prayer but projects their own wants onto the prayer for the other person; it feels to me like spiritual bullying. I've even heard people say things like "nobody wants to die" or "she deserves to be healed".  Some may say our revulsion of death is a distinguishing characteristic of being human; but what if that's wrong and our prime distinguishing characteristic is desiring eternity with God. It changes the whole formula of Western thought.

The last 15 years of my mother's life, just about every week when we'd talk, she'd express her disappointment that God hadn't come to take her home to heaven yet. She was so eager to join Jesus and family who was living in eternity. Heavenly homesickness. As my health worsens, I have that attitude of longing for eternity and the desire grows weekly. I don't talk about it much but cherish it in my heart because most people don't understand.

I have an aversion to people praying for me. If it's at church and people know I'm sick; they take their eyes of Jesus and look at me. I don't like that. We're there to worship our Lord, not to evaluate my health picture. Give attention to God, not to my liver. 

It seems when people pray for the sick, they use a uniform prayer begging God to heal the person so they can live a longer life. Mom would scoff that 97 years were plenty long enough and she didn't want people to pray more longevity for her.  I can pray in agreement for people who actually want a healing and longevity; I certainly wouldn't pray God lets them have a beautiful death before they are ready.  I just with Christians had more compassion: to find out what the person desires and then honestly state if you can pray agreement with that prayer. Asking and saying, "No, I can't pray that." is a loving and honest response. I'd be quite willing to hear a no; because I'd probably hear lots of Yes that means others were supporting me with prayer during this time.

I don't think people who like to project their wishes onto sickly people are bad or uncaring; they are just naive. It's too bad the church doesn't do better teaching in how to be supportive to sickly people. 

I just thought of something that would draw a funny cartoon. A person ready to go to heaven and accepting of his soon-coming death, and Jesus chasing him around screaming Jesus wanted to pray for him to get healed.  I'm grateful Jesus is a gentleman.

I'm grateful Jesus has given me scriptures that He is supportive of this desire - that I believe He put into my heart.  Psalm 90:10.

Choosing Hospice

I went to the oncologist this morning. He says people with mostly functioning livers can go through oral chemo with minimal nasty side effects, but patients with severally compromised livers, like mine, usually get every bad side effect and often no change in cancer or longevity. We discussed pros and cons of me taking it. Since it was only pallative for me, I couldn't decide which way to choose.
We (me, my sister and doctor) made the hard decision to not take chemo but to start hospice soon. We talked to one hospice company a few weeks ago, will interview the other. Then decide.

My sister and I were both wet faced. No, we made the water ourselves, doc didn't have to throw buckets of it on our faces. Although after treating only liver cancer for 35 years, he's probably given that speech thousands of times and probably most with him shedding a tear of compassion and a bear hug - like today. 

I asked the question of how long I have. He said enjoy Thanksgiving and Christmas with my loved ones. He said 3 to 6 months. I am grateful he didn't hide the probabilities.
I've known for six weeks this day would happen soon. I didn't know it would hit me emotionally so hard. 

This afternoon, I am learning to find comfort in 1 Peter 2. 21: "Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps." and Hebrews 12.2: " Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God."

I don't feel brave right now. But I do hold my faith in Christ to be brave and strong through me as he meets me in my weakness and self-grieving. 

There are so many things to joyfully look forward to in the afterlife. My late first husband, our unborn baby, my parents, grandparents, my cousins Donny and Kurt, aunts and uncles - especially Joe and Madonna who helped raise me, classmates, friends - so many who have already passed. Of course, for me, the best will be seeing Jesus face to face. 

I'm not hoping to live longer. I am looking to maintain the best quality of life for as long as I can, then peacefully pass, have a green burial and have a live oak tree planted on me so my remains will give back to nature that has fed and nourished me, shown me the beauty of my Creator for so many years. There's a part of me with a feeling of great satisfaction for the life I lived...mistakes and all.

Funeral Planning

“I am going to talk to my little friend here,” he said, pointing to a small plant. He kneeled in front of it and began to caress it and to talk to it. I did not understand what he was saying at first, but then he switched languages and talked to the plant in Spanish. He babbled inanities for a while. Then he stood up. “It doesn’t matter what you say to a plant,” he said. “You can just as well make up words; what’s important is the feeling of liking it, and treating it as an equal.” He explained that a man who gathers plants must apologize every time for taking them and must assure them that someday his own body will serve as food for them. “So, all in all, the plants and ourselves are even,” he said. “Neither we nor they are more or less important.” - quote from Carlos Castaneda. Journey To Ixtlan (p. 24). 

The above quote, although not Biblical, changed my thought of death to a more wholistic view. After reading that statement, I did not want a traditional funeral with cremation, embalming, caskets, urns or a vault. The type of funeral that I had viewed for decades as a showcase of successful lobbying of morticians legalizing the stoppage of natural process of dying and decaying. I wanted to feed plants who had fed me all my life, or fed the animals who fed me. I feel so close to God in nature; especially in the forested mountains along the Atlantic coast – it’s like a cathedral with trees, wind, wildlife, flowers. I wanted a place where I intuited God’s presence and felt close to him – as the Celtic would call it a “Thin Place” between heaven and earth.  In this journey, I heard my niece talk about cemeteries where trees were planted on or near the grave-site. That warmed my heart. Now that my time draws near, I hope to be planted in such a location. I found one two hours from Orlando near Gainesville.

Today my oldest son drove me to this beautiful graveyard, Prairie Creek Conservation Cemetery.  Some facts I learned was a regular graveyard has 1,000 people per square acre. This natural burial has 100 people per square acre and each plot is 10’x15’. They said two funeral homes who have prepared people for natural burial are Philip and Wiley Funeral Home and Countryside Funeral Home. They said other mortuaries may be willing to work with me. I decided instead of training a new mortuary; to use one of the experienced natural burial morticians.  The links to their sites are below:

In the evening my oldest and I went to my sister and brother-in-law’s house to discuss what we’d seen, gather funeral suggestions and ideas from them.  My youngest son, his wife and teenage son joined us. I thought video chat could only be two locations but when the conversation was over, I stated to my eldest son that I’d wished his wife could have joined in as she’s a lady with good ideas and a beloved part of the family.  My son said it was possible. I felt sad and guilty that I hadn’t asked earlier if 3 locations could join.

Ideas:

• Burial in the forest area instead of plains; near the road so older people don’t have to hike far.
• Have a live oak tree planted at my feet at the next planting season.
• My un-embalmed body can stay up to a year in the mortuary’s refrigeration unit; although they suggest less than 6 months.
• Instead of biodegradable coffin, be buried in the white, cotton shroud.
• The family, along with a group of grave-digger volunteers, may chose to help the morning of the funeral by opening the grave; they said many people find this healing and cathartic. Many of the volunteers had loved ones buried in the cemetery and found helping digging their graves meaningful and like to pass along their help to other diggers. 
• Have a small funeral either at the mortuary chapel or rent the small hall at the cemetery. Have my sister’s pastor officiate at the funeral and grave site prayers.
• The grandchildren who want to perform at the grave site prior to the prayer, may play their instrument, dance, sing, whatever they have worked out with their parents to participate.
• Several suggested no food at the funeral; but those who want to meet after at a local restaurant to fellowship and eat are welcome.
• Have pieces of paper and a pen for any who want to leave a note or comment to toss into the grave.
• If the appropriate planting season, have approved wildflower seeds for the children to plant on top of the coffin.
• Those who wish, can toss a handful or shovelful of dirt to start refilling the grave or refill it completely; the graveyard personnel said some people find this very healing.
• There may be other approved plants, such as native orchids, that the children can help plant. Need to check with management for what is appropriate.
• Those desirable, may want to hike into the forest and pick up pieces of broken limbs to decorate the grave. There were beautiful crosses tied together with vines, arches and other designs loved-ones had used to honor their dead one. 
• The commitment will be words from the pastor, and his reading the Anglican commitment prayer and has been so meaningful to me the last 11 years; and was read at my mother's grave-site ceremony. 

As my youngest son said after me asking for ideas, suggestions and comments. “It’s hard to know, I’ve never had a Mother die before.”  Good point. I’ve never been a mother dying before and planning an event to help them grieve, move-on and grow. Although for me, this funeral, in my opinion, is not about me.  I’ve gone through last 4 months since discovering I had cancer, discovering their is no cure, being told to start hospice; all of that with only a few tears; but planning this event for them has brought me to tears many times. I so much want to be successful at this last act of “mothering” my children; loving my relatives and helping them cope and heal. That’s a bigger order then dying. 

Prairie Creek Conservation Cemetary

https://www.prairiecreekconservationcemetery.org/

Philip and Wiley Funeral Home

https://www.phillipwiley.com/

Countryside Funeral Home in Ocala

https://www.countrysidefunerals.com/

Life Continues to Arrive

Like raindrops while on a gentle evening walk, life continues to arrive and I could see it as a way to refresh and cleanse me or pelt me. I choose to see it as cleansing me. 

The better I adjust to having cancer, the more peace I have and the closer to Jesus I feel. He's here - almost tangible - in my living room, in my bedroom, in my car, wherever I am - He's there.

Some of the blessings:

• I get to eat lots of low-sugar added fruitcicles in lieu of water that tastes to me like a mouthful of liquid coins. 
• I've lost 24 pounds in about 6 weeks and gained 4 inches around the waist so I don't have to buy slenderer clothes. 
• I can drive an electric cart when I go shopping. It's fun. 
• The funny ways my pain pills make me feel and cause me to walk like I just got off a boat on a stormy sea. I find it fun; but a bit embarrassing when I walk into cars or buildings.  
• Since I can't eat much, I get 5 or 6 tiny meals. I tend to find a food that works and stick with that and fruitcicles for the alternative meal. The recent top meals are bean burritos with ranch dressing or meat-free perogies.

Some of the disadvantages:

• Insomnia. Yet, I seem to survive on 90 minutes, a gap and then 3 hours of sleep a night.
• Pain. Some days it's minimal and other days I may yelp when I move. But still more good days then bad.
• The probable bed sore on my back that oozes yellow stuff.

 __________________________

 I am blessed my sister goes to medical meetings with me and takes notes and that she truly loves and cares for me - even her self-sacrificial love without complaining inspires me. Yet I often feel guilty as she is busy care giving her husband, their business and their home. It is so hard to see my sister so pained by my future demise. I rediscovered this stanza from Psalms 90:10:  "Our lifetime is seventy years or, if we are strong, eighty years."  I am often amazed that I have lived this long with 47 years of liver disease; I count that as a testimony to God's goodness and my obedience. I am content. 

Today sister and I met with the hospice assessment nurse. We learned what they can do for me and what hospice means. Mixed feelings. I was disappointed they help me to self-care when I can no longer do that - like help me shower, change dressings, etc. They will help get the hospital bed and other equipment to help me better maintain my independence. They do not help with cleaning or shopping; so I will need to hire that done eventually. I would also have to give up my family doctor for a hospice approved MD.  They do not have an end-of-life facility; but I would need to go onto Medicaid and into a rest home during the end-of-life time. That means a lot to think about while I still have the facilities to think for myself... since I feel hepatic encephalophy increasing some days.
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I was periodically thinking about Reverend Patsy the last few days. One of the greatest Christian skills she taught me during my 8 years under her ministry is controlling my mind.  I remember when she walked up to a parishioner during ministry time and said "You have the most beautiful butterflies flying around your head. One will land on your head for a moment, then another. It's beautiful." Then she prayed in tongues and gave the interpretation that the butterflies were thoughts. This person would not try to keep the godly thoughts, but just allowed any thought to bombard him/her. She said this was causing doubt, confusion and harming his/her Christian walk. I knew I was similar. I didn't know how to encourage my good thoughts and shoo away the negative thoughts. But I became aware of how much of my thought life was spend on topics I didn't like and weren't helpful. My brain - and I wasn't in control of it. Yucky place to be.

When I was saved in 1975, two of the first scriptures I underlined in my Bible were these: 

Philippians 4:8 - "Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." 

and

Ephesians 5:19 - "Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord.." 

It gave me the desire to do that; but left me powerless to activate that scripture. It seems when I can't automatically do the first scripture, then go to the second scripture until I overcome negative thoughts. 

It became easier to do both of the above "thinking" scriptures after God placed me under Reverend G's ministry where he taught Christian Lectio Divina and we practiced twice a week as a group. He would read a passage of scripture and like a buffet, each attendee was to pick out a short phrase or even one word that had spoken to our heart. He would remind us to sit with our hands in our lap, our feet flat on the floor, be aware of our slowing breathing. Then he'd read the passage again and we'd "practice" lectio divina.  It is a practice because it does not come naturally to shoo those butterflies and allow the butterfly of the chosen scripture to be the only and repetitive thought.  We were not to analyze the scripture, memorize the scripture, but to let the phrase sit gently in our mind as we repeated the word or phrase over and over during our 10 minutes of contemplation. I've done Lectio Divina so frequently with Psalm 27: 1-6 that it's butterfly is at the ready and when negative thoughts come, my knee-jerk reaction is "You Lord are the Light who keeps me safe."  Hallelujah. At times, God graces me with the gift of silence from Psalms 46:10 "Be still and know that I am God" - where I sit silently inside and silently outside while gazing at my loving Father God, who gazes at me. 

I found a beautiful article about God's gaze at https://www.ignatianspirituality.com/god-looks-at-me/ 

God Looks at Me

By - Loretta Pehanich

 While reading Pope Francis’ book, The Church of Mercy, I stopped in my tracks. He asks, “Do you let yourself be looked at by the Lord?” I wondered if I take time to be aware of God’s gaze upon me. Pope Francis continues, “God looks at us, and this is itself a way of praying.”
The Pope’s words led me to the following contemplation.
I picture myself before God, like a child self-dressed for school standing before a loving parent. “Just let me look at you,” the parent says.
I stand a little taller, enjoying that smiling gaze, knowing I am the center of attention. True, my outfit is mismatched, and there’s mud on my knee and a tear in my sleeve. But God overlooks all these things, seeing only with joy the beloved child who eagerly looks back into a loving face. “Turn around.”
I pirouette, allowing myself to be studied, and God smiles. I stand looking into that face, and Divine Mercy looks lovingly at me.
I have a drawing in my hand, and I offer it for God’s approval. I’ve made a picture of my life’s plan, with all its decisions and expectations. I’ve scribbled in where I will do this or that. I picture it like a hopeful kindergartener’s rudimentary artistic effort. God accepts it, looks at it, and laughs. “It’s beautiful.”
Again, I find God gazing upon me. And I return the gaze.
Suddenly worry sneaks in. I wonder if I am going to get my picture back. What if God shreds it?! I gaze at God, not saying a word, but the anxiety shows on my face, I am sure. I sense the Almighty saying, “Trust me.”
I relax a little, but I can tell I have not surrendered that drawing. Will God hang it on the heavenly refrigerator? Will God show it proudly to every visitor to the house? “Isn’t this precious?” I can imagine God saying, pointing to my picture.
I return to the image of God and me looking at one another. God stares at me a little longer with love. I find myself letting out a deep breath. I didn’t realize that I was holding on to it. I exhale loudly.
“Trust me,” God says, handing back my drawing. The Holy Spirit wrote something on it. What does it say?
I stay still, allowing my Creator, my Redeemer and Sanctifier to hold me in a long, loving look. And suddenly, I am ready to go to sleep, and this is OK with God. While I sleep, God will continue to look at me, like a parent smiling into the restful face of a babe who gently snores with complete surrender.
Still, God looks at me.

Death, Dying, Caregiver and Patient Thoughts

Three of my oncologists and my family doctor have all suggested going from palliative care to hospice. My unique sense of humor found that hilarious. Two weeks ago when I asked my life expectancy, they said I had a 10% chance of making it five years. I realize they don't have a crystal ball to give me exact date and time; but it seems there is such a disparity between the two weeks pronouncements.  Since the oncologists make their living with cancer patients, and my main oncologist does mostly liver cancer, it seems experience would have him able to say I have months or years left. It would be nice to know more so I could plan a budget so something is left for my progeny and it doesn't all go to the medical team and hospitals. I do know that God knows how long - so I guess that's good enough for me.

I've been thinking of the responsibilities of the caregiver vs the responsibilities of the patient. My sister has agreed to be my caregiver and person to make decisions when I no longer can. I sit here with tears because I had no idea how much compassionate responsibility this would be for her and how challenging it is for her - and for me to see her struggling emotionally and spiritually with my demise (whenever that is). I hate the pain this is causing her. That hurts more than the cancer. As a Christian, I pray God uses this for her her good. I rely on "All things work together for good to those who love God..." in Romans 8:28. I'm so grateful she came to Christ I think 13 years ago. Now she's my double sister: genetic and spiritual.

We're both trying to make this easier for each of us as we discuss my future demise. It is growing us closer together in a way that is God-sent and I am grateful for that.  I'm so grateful for "Five Wishes" program that in this state is a legal document that  makes my wishes known so family will have a blueprint to know what I desire. You can read more at www.fivewishes.org - I'd highly recommend friends my age consider doing this long before you have a terminal diagnosis; so you can talk about this with your loved ones without the added burden of emotions associated with a loved one's palliative care making it harder. 

I have a US/Florida Five Wishes almost finished, my DNR (do not resuscitate order is signed and filed with my doctors and hospital), my eco-friendly or natural burial and graveside funeral-ette are being planned before my brain gets to foggy to do it and I'll need to pick my hospice facility eventually. I've lived a simple life, and want a simple send-off. I'm fortunate that Gainesville has an eco-friendly cemetary; where my corpse will have a tree planted on top of me and my remains will fertilize that plant.   

Here's a quote from Carlos Castanada in "Journey to Ixtlon" that touched me deeply when I read it a few years ago and compelled me to change my mind from cremation to a natural burial:

He explained that a man who gathers plants must apologize every time for taking them and must assure them that someday his own body will serve as food for them. “So, all in all, the plants and ourselves are even,” he said. “Neither we nor they are more or less important.

Except for my will; the other documents have been or are being discussed with my sister. Are my wishes something she would be comfortable fighting for when I can no longer be proactive for myself? If there are things repugnant to her, then my prayer is that we can discuss them now and make compromises so both of us have some comfort and some discomfort.  No man/woman is an island; and I try to keep that primary as I move forward. We are unique sisters, but even during these emotional discussions - we have found things to laugh about. Maybe I can laugh about them because I see death more of a spiritual exercise to bring me closer to the Father, then preparation for a physical end. I know I'll go to heaven - not because of me but because of God's grace - and I know He's promised when there's a new heaven and new earth I will have a new body.  Plus, I've had a near-death experience and I miss heaven so much. It's a yearning to return to my Creator and that wonderful peace He gives that is so awesome it can't be put into words.
________________

I don't remember being the class clown; but I am having fun laughing at my cancer. I mean who wants to spend the rest of their life whining and crying and regretting when I can find things to laugh about. Here's a couple of funny ones: 

A telemarketer called. I was coughing until I could hardly hear him speak. Cough out - wheeze in. Trying to find common ground, he said, "Oh, sounds like you have the same thing I had last week - it's sure nasty."  My reply: "I'm sorry you had incurable liver and lung cancer last week; it's great you can still work."  Dead silence.  He talked another few seconds, didn't try to sell anything and said good bye. Neat trick to use with telemarketers!

A thought from today: Since I have opted to not be embalmed or cremated. I wonder if I'll be sitting in heaven around Jesus feet and feel the worms wiggling around my ticklish feet on earth and I'll break out laughing. I believe Jesus would laugh with me on that. I intuit his sense of humor was part of what drew the crowds to learn from him.

And if my sister ever reads this: please think of me and say, "Beep, beep, I'm a little bread box."  It was a game we played riding in the back seat of Dad's Kaiser from grandma's house. Fond memories we both still laugh about - we can play that game together or apart - so when you miss me -- you know what game will bring us close until you turn 97 (like Mom) and join us in heaven.
__________________

I can not put into words how much my sister's care means to me. I realize she is caregiving me, her husband who has had a stent put in two weeks ago and another one a few days ago and she is running their business during a very busy season. Yet she finds time for me. She goes to all my MD appointments to scribe and ask questions; she takes me grocery shopping or if I'm too feeble, picks up my groceries. She carries them in the house and puts them away. She adjusted my toilet riser and then hugs me and says she loves me - because she knows how frustrated I am that I don't have the strength to do what I could even two months ago. She even took my laundry from the dryer and folded it until I figured out I can sit on my roller chair and do it myself. I don't know what I'd do without her. In many ways, big sister, I grew up wanting to dress like you, act like you, be smart like you, be athletic like you, be like you and you were my hero - you still are. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love you more than I can put into words. 

I have the easy job: just trust God as this chapter of my life unfolds and I get to the "...happily ever after" in heaven. You also trust God; but your job seems so much harder: so much detail work to walk this path along-side me, so much balancing so many things, so much responsibility. You've cried about my health, but you've never complained or shown self-pity about your new responsibilities. You're amazing!  

My near-death experience

My death experience was amazing and very unexpected.  I’d read books where people who died talked about going through light tunnels and found angels, Sunday School style streets of gold, etc. Mine was different.

In 2016, I had an episode of ascities and edema due to cirrhosis. Both my family physician and gastro were preparing to go on their month vacation (Canada’s socialized medicine perk). I would call one and told to go to the other; I went back and forth. I was given all sorts of prescriptions for tests, but didn’t get to see either doctor. Because the waiting line at the hospital to get blood tests can include a several hour wait (another socialized medicine perk); I got up early in the morning and was there at 7am so hopefully would be home soon. As I started the walk from the parking lot to the main entrance, I could not gasp enough air to walk that far. I went to the Emergency Room to sit down and get a breath before I walked all the way to the laboratory. The triage nurse took one look at me and refused to let me go without being seen. The ER was still quiet, so I got to see the ER doctor within 10 minutes (often there is an 8 hour wait to see the doctor).  After 20 years of socialized medicine and decades of capitalistic medicine – there are pros and cons for both.

He had the lab phlebotomist come to my cubicle to get my blood; had me put in a wheel chair and pushed to X-ray for a chest X-ray and treated me like I was a queen. He had copies of the tests sent to him since he would be working at 10pm the next night and would check the results and call me. He did! He said to have somebody drive me and to bring a suitcase because I’d probably be admitted.  A friend drove me – fast – she even drove up the off ramp to get onto Veteran’s Highway quicker.

We arrive at the hospital and she drops me off at the ER door so I didn’t have to walk far. The triage nurse knew I was expected, had a wheelchair for me and I went first in line past all of those who had been waiting hours. Doc showed me the X-rays, explained ascities, explained my right lung had no air sounds and was full of fluid. He started a glucose IV drip. The internist arrived about an hour later to admit me. The only problem was I had no pain; but he was determined I did. When I refused his narcotic pills, he had pain meds injected through the IV. They don’t help me sleep comfortably, they make me hyper.

The first on the agenda was to reduce the ascites, so I was taking lots of diuretics and was grateful the bathroom was about 4 steps from my hospital bed. He approved of my vegan lifestyle. My first breakfast was fried eggs, boxed juice, milk and cold cereal with soggy-buttered toast. I didn’t feel like eating, but none of those were vegan or health-building and turned my stomach. The third meal I refused brought the dietitian to my rescue; she was appalled I was a vegan not a lacto-oovo-vegan and gave a lecture on good dietetics (I prefer nutritionists who usually embrace vegan or vegetarian lifestyles). She thought since she’d removed the sausage and bacon that it was vegan. Live and learn. By the end of the week, the food staff grasped what vegan was and I made sure to compliment the lady who delivered the food.

I was admitted on a Friday night. By Wednesday, I’d lost 30 pounds of water weight and the internist was ready to start transfusions so my platelets would be high enough I could have my lung tapped to remove the fluid. The floor nurse brought in blood, showed me the three places where people had typed and cross-matched it and started the IV. If I’m at the teaching hospital, they give two bags of platelets; however, a regional hospital does not have access to platelets, so they use plasma.  The first bag wasn’t so bad, except I got very cold. The second bag I started not only being cold but felt drunk. I was out – top half of my body hanging over the bed rail and the other half laying down on the mattress.  It just happened a nurse walked by and saw me. She started removing the IV and flushing it with water. The plasma was golden colored; so my first groggy, drunken-feeling comment was, “Was that Jim Beam or blood?”  Oh, my, did that offend her and she went off on me that she didn’t make a mistake. I was trying to be the class clown and add a little humor. It didn’t work. She continued to take my vitals. When I felt safe to ask another question, I asked her how low my blood pressure went. She said, “I won’t tell you, but currently it is 50/30.”  I’ve wondered how low it went. 

During the time I was out; I call my death experience. My MD said it wasn’t because they didn’t need paddles to start my heart. But it was still a very spiritual experience for me. Several months later, my boss had a similar experience only she needed paddles. When comparing notes, they seem consistent only she got CPR and heart paddles and I got IV fluid.

I felt lighter than air and although I wasn’t floating near the ceiling, I was floating in warm, unconditional love at a here-before unknown place. I have never felt so much acceptance, so much love, so alive, so cherished, so peaceful and joyful or safe. I knew there were millions of other people there with me although I had not yet opened my eyes to see them. We were all separate entities; yet we were all a unity of loving acceptance. I could feel Jesus there and loved ones who had gone before. I knew it with such certainty I did not open my eyes to see them. It wasn’t a physical, emotional, intellectual knowing – it was a knowing that permeated my whole being. Heinlein fans may use the word gork as that is the only way I can even start to explain it. Sometimes I recall a starry sky above me, but I do not know if that describes it or if it is a true recollection or superimposed over the event. With eyes closed, I don’t know how I could see stars; but the metaphysical does not have to follow the rules of the physical universe.

In Acts 17:28, the Bible says, “In Him [Jesus] I live and move and have my being.”  In Colossians 1:27, the Bible says, “Christ in me, the hope of glory.” Although I knew I was in Him and He was in me and we were both separate yet unified, I can not adequately put that into words any more then I could write about how it feels to be in love. I now understand how the closer a Bible writer came to perceiving God, the more similes and metaphors were used and less precise descriptions could be used. There is no language to describe the metaphysical accurately.  

When I gently left that place, I was profoundly changed, especially in my doctrine. It took a week before I could care about my surroundings. My only goal was experiencing that blessed place again. By two weeks, I was willing to communicate with others and started back to work and could concentrate to do my detailed job. But in my quiet time I wanted to close my eyes and return to that beautiful place. It was like I had a heaven-shaped hole in my life that only heaven would be able to fill.  About six weeks later, I knew God was not going to fulfill my dream of a quick return there. I made an effort to participate in my earth-life, work, enjoy friends, read, music – do the things I had done before heaven happened to me. At night during my quiet time, I would hold my clinging cross and meditate on Psalms 28 and feel a small percent of what I had felt that special day. It brought such comfort and joy to consider returning there.

I have looked forward to the time God calls me to return on a permanent basis. I don’t want to rush my death as I believe preparing to die and dying is some of the most important spiritual work a person can do. I’m trying to enjoy the process – the same way as I enjoyed the process of learning my relationship with God when I accepted Jesus on October 11, 1975.