As
you might expect, I communicate with my own angels on a regular
basis. They describe what is most likely to occur in my life at any
given time-and all of the steps I need to take to avoid unnecessary
challenges or stumbling blocks. Throughout this ongoing process, I
have come to realize that some traumatic events cannot be avoided and
must be personally experienced in order to learn important spiritual
lessons.
I
have always been an optimist who chooses to look at the positive side
of things. Thankfully, I'm able to find humor in the most trying of
times. However, two big events occurred in 2009 that tested my faith
in what I was meant to accomplish, and whether I was going to remain
on the earthly plane to achieve my destiny.
First,
my new book, Bond With Your Baby Before Birth was published in
April. The book focused on a topic that was very close to my heart
and took a full year to complete by arising incredibly early while I
maintained my full-time psychic practice and traveled to conduct
national workshops. Since I was a little girl, writing has been a
passion and it was always my dream to create literary projects that
could, in some small way, create positive shifts in the world. Bond
With Your Baby Before Birth began in a lucid dream in which my
angels told me that it was part of my destiny to write a nonfiction
book about communicating with the spirits of unborn babies, something
I had been doing as a professional channel for over twenty years. I
was very keen to follow through with this idea because I had
experienced incredible negativity from others when I had my own
children in my mid-forties, and I wanted to extend support and
encouragement to other women who were destined to give birth over the
age of thirty-five. So, I wrote a book proposal, quickly found a
literary agent, and was thrilled to obtain HCI as a publisher. Things
were happening like a domino effect, just as my angels predicted. I
then began the long, arduous process of completing the manuscript. I
consider being published a huge privilege, and I labored (no pun
intended) over the book for a year, inspired by the notion that the
project might encourage other women to fulfill their dreams of having
a baby.
Just
before the book was to hit the shelves, I was shocked when my
publisher gave me two pieces of crushing news. First, as I understood
it, Borders Books was having such terrible financial problems that
they were not buying any new books, which meant that roughly half my
readership would be lost. Much worse, HCI relayed that the book buyer
for Barnes & Noble had chosen to place my baby book in the New
Age section of all of their national stores, instead of the
mainstream pregnancy area where it would be discovered by women who
were trying to conceive or who were already pregnant. I was keenly
aware that women who are pregnant do not search for books on
pregnancy in the New Age section of a bookstore. While I appreciated
the fact that Barnes & Noble chose to carry my book, I realized
that even if I promoted the book around the clock, it would have
little chance of gaining much of a readership, buried on a bookshelf
where my target audience would never find it. In tears, I channeled
with my angels; they advised me to prevail. Everyone encounters
setbacks. So, I pushed on. Marketing the book would be the only way
to overcome what had happened, but I had no extra money with which to
hire a PR firm. My husband is a stay-at-home dad and I support our
family of four, as well as my eighty-one-year-old mother. I literally
had nowhere to turn for extra money. Synchronistically, my angels
prompted me to watch a film about Winston Churchill, a hero of mine.
I was very surprised to learn that his wife, Clementine, had sold
some of her jewelry to keep the family afloat during lean times. So,
that gave me an idea. With my hubby's endorsement, I decided to
sell my sapphire and diamond wedding ring to fund a PR campaign for
the book. My ring sold, allowing me to hire an East Coast PR firm
that my angels promised would do everything they could on my behalf.
The PR firm gave me the opportunity to discuss the book on numerous
radio shows, on blogs, and on a local Fox News show. But, after four
months, my money ran out. I was quite let down that the PR firm had
not secured at least one national TV appearance, but I acknowledged
that they worked as hard as they could to accomplish the goals we had
set. I continued to reach out to the contacts I had, trying in vain
to promote the book on TV. I continued an ongoing series of speaking
engagements and book signings throughout the summer to do everything
possible to help my little book find its way into the hands of the
women who could be supported by it. There was no way I wanted to look
back with regret about not having done everything possible. To date,
after weathering all of that stress and putting forth a herculean
effort, Bond With Your Baby Before Birth has sold just under
1,500 copies nationally-considered an unimpressive number in the
publishing industry-which means that it may go out of print before
most women can even hear about it! The money I had spent on promoting
the book was not the issue; I had sacrificed much more in the past
for much less. Professionally speaking, because of what happened with
Borders, Barnes & Noble, and my failure to garner national
publicity, this experience was like discovering an unborn baby-my
book-that was truly wanted and cherished, is dead...at the very end
of an incredibly difficult year-long pregnancy!
The
second major challenge I faced in 2009 occurred, ironically, in late
August, as I was continuing to promote Bond With Your Baby Before
Birth. I was completely exhausted and very depressed, fearful
that my writing career-which had always been so profoundly
important to me-had come to a screeching halt, and that I might
never have another literary "baby."
One
Friday morning in late August, I woke up with a numb big toe. There
was no pain at all, but the skin around the toe appeared strangely
gray and flaking, as if it was dying. I asked my husband, Britt, to
take a look, and he said "it always looks like that." But I knew
that wasn't correct and that something was wrong. I went to the
computer and clicked on WebMD. I typed in "numbness," and was
very frightened and dismayed by all of the potential disorders
associated with that symptom. I stopped in my tracks, realizing that
what I needed to do was ask my guardian angels about what was going
on. My angels told me to "call the doctor-NOW!"
I
called our internist and was offered an appointment the following
week because they were so busy. Then my angels prompted me to tell
the receptionist why I wanted to be seen, and after I told her
about the numbness, she asked me to hold. In no more than a few
moments, one of the nurses picked up the phone, and asked, "how
soon can you get here?"
"You
mean...today?" I replied.
"No-now!"
she said with concern. "Get here as fast as you can!"
Without
even showering, I threw on some clothes and raced to the doctor's
office. I was led to an exam room right away. Almost immediately, the
nurse practitioner warmly greeted me, took a seat, and asked me to
rest my foot in her lap. Brow furrowed, she told me that she had
never seen anything quite like it. Excusing herself, she went to get
the doctor. No more than a few moments later, he arrived and took a
look. He recommended some heart tests be performed immediately.
Several
nurses wheeled in an electrocardiograph and while they were attaching
the sticky flat monitors to my chest they proceeded to ask some
questions.
"Has
your heart been racing?"
"Yes,"
I nodded. "But it always has." I explained that when I was four,
I was hospitalized for two weeks with endocarditis,
which is an inflammation
of the inner layer of the heart. Since
that time, my heart had always raced.
"Have
you been experiencing chest pain?"
"No
pain," I answered. "Just some sharp pinching."
"For
how long?"
"About
three years," said I. "But isn't that normal with a lot of
stress?"
The
nurses exchanged a glance.
They
finished the electrocardiogram and were obviously dismayed by the
results. They scheduled several more tests the following week,
including one in which I had to wear a Holter monitor overnight to
gauge the consistency of my heart rate. When they looked at the
results, the nurse said, "Oh, my God!" My heart rate consistently
peaked over 180, even when I was at rest. I told them that when I
walked on the treadmill at the gym, the gauge on the machine often
indicated that my heart rate was 190...but I just assumed that it was
broken!
The
internist referred me to cardiologist Dr. Afnan Afzal. However, the
internist's nurse practitioner warned me that Dr. Afzal had just
come back from vacation and that his schedule might make it
impossible for him to see me immediately. Miraculously, I was fit
into his hectic schedule the very next day. I knew my angels were
hard at work and they spoke very highly of Dr. Afzal...so I knew that
he was the right choice.
Prior
to that office visit, I channeled for information. Sitting at our
kitchen table with a cup of steaming French roast, I asked for an
overview-from an angelic perspective-about what was happening
with my health. My angels told Britt and me that I had been born with
a congenital defect with my aortic valve and the endocarditis I
suffered as a child had, in effect, ruined it and the valve could no
longer function. I asked my angels if I really needed that valve,
hoping that it was a non-essential organ, like an appendix or a
gallbladder. They quickly assured me that the aortic valve had to
function properly to sustain life, and that I would have to have
heart surgery to replace it. I always ask for my angels to speak
frankly with me, so I was actually a little relieved to have that
angelic diagnosis; now I knew what was happening...and they promised
that I wasn't going to die. That's all I cared about. I simply
had to undergo more tests for the doctors to come to the same
conclusion!
At
Dr. Afzal's office, I did a stress test, an echocardiogram, and a
series of other exams. Again, the results were not good, so Dr. Afzal
arranged for me to go into the hospital for an outpatient TEE test.
In that exam, after a light sedative is administered, a very large
tube is thrust all the way down into the throat to get a picture of
the back of the heart. Following that test, the doctor knew what was
wrong, thank God. He discovered the congenital aortic defect and
concluded that the endocarditis I had as a small child had severely
damaged that valve. Dr. Afzal explained that as I matured, the
damaged valve developed calcium plaque, which can break off at any
time and cause a fatal stroke. He surmised that the numb toe was a
result of a piece of aortic plaque breaking off and traveling to my
toe. The doctor told me how lucky I had been to have avoided a major
health catastrophe. The cardiologist explained that I had to have the
valve replaced in an open heart surgery, which I had already been
expecting, thanks to my angels. Dr. Afzal referred me to a cardiac
surgeon named Connie Hutton.
Of
course, by this time, many friends and family were recommending
surgeons and hospitals with which they were familiar. But my angels
remained adamant that I have the surgery with Dr. Hutton. So, I had
already decided, based upon what my angels were urging, to have Dr.
Hutton conduct the surgery...even before I met him for the first
time!
When
Dr. Hutton entered the exam room, I quickly sensed that we had known
one another in numerous past lives. I psychically intuited that he
had been my father in many of them. I felt very secure and at peace
with him.
"I
bet you wish you didn't have to be here," he said to Britt and
me, shaking our hands. He had a very friendly, casual manner which I
liked immensely. I inquired about his feminine first name, and he
shared that his father had been a fan of Connie Mack, the baseball
legend.
Dr.
Hutton went on to explain that after carefully reviewing all of my
tests that I did indeed require open heart surgery to replace the
damaged valve before I suffered a stroke. I asked him how soon he
would schedule the procedure, if he was in my position. He looked at
me and said plainly, "as quickly as it could be scheduled."
Dr.
Hutton pointed out that, before the surgery, there was a major
decision to make. I had to choose between a mechanical valve, which
could last forever; or, an organic valve, which might have to be
replaced in later years. He explained that if I chose the mechanical
valve, it would be unlikely that I'd ever need another open heart
surgery, but that I'd have to take a dangerous anticoagulant
pharmaceutical called Coumadin for the rest of my life that he
referred to as "rat poison." On the other hand, if I chose the
organic valve, I would likely need another open heart procedure to
replace it, and he said earnestly, "you really don't want
that." I asked the doctor which valve replacement he would choose.
He told me that health care professionals were equally divided on the
issue. I simply could not believe that there was no replacement valve
that could outlive the patient without requiring "rat poison." I
knew that this was a question for my angels. So far, because of their
guidance, the whole process had been incredibly simple. Dr. Hutton
recommended that Britt and I talk about the valve issue and get back
with him right away.
"I've
given birth to a nine pound, three ounce baby," I told the doctor
with confidence. "So how bad could this be?"
He
chuckled and said something about my "positive attitude."
My
husband and I went out for lunch and discussed what I should do. We
agreed that I needed to channel and get more angelic advice. Later,
when I got back to my office, I also contacted a handful of physician
clients and asked what they would do. Sure enough, they were equally
divided in regard to which valve they would choose!
That
night, when I communicated with my angels, they recommended the
organic valve which would allow me to forego the pharmaceutical
Coumadin, in spite of the fact that the valve might have to be
replaced sometime in the future. I had complete trust and faith in
what they told me, so that decision was simple to make, too. My
angels had helped me get diagnosed correctly; find the perfect
cardiologist; the perfect cardiac surgeon; the perfect hospital for
the procedure; the perfect valve; and the perfect time in which to
have the surgery-all within ten days!
It
quickly occurred to me how untimely the surgery was going to be
because my work schedule was jammed with private channeling sessions
six days a week, weekly two-hour teleseminars, and two full-day
workshops in California and Texas. Plus, I had promised to take my
eight-year-old daughter to see Hannah Montana in concert, having
gotten the tickets and made all the arrangements to go to Dallas for
the big sold-out event. I asked my angels if perhaps December might
be a better time to have the surgery because cancelling everything on
my schedule was going to be massively inconvenient. They answered by
asking, which is more inconvenient: revamping your schedule...or
dying from a stroke? Of course, they had a valid point! Plus, my
husband argued that since a stroke could take place at any time, it
wasn't even safe for me to drive or go out alone.
I
wasn't nervous in the least as long as I didn't allow my brain to
kick into high gear when I went to bed. I remained enormously busy
the few days before my surgery, conducting a few last channeling
sessions for clients, rescheduling the teleseminars and workshops,
and sending out emails to friends and clients with the big news. My
daughter was devastated about missing her favorite pop star, and I
felt like Mommie Dearest because I knew that I would never be able to
make it up to her.
A
lot of people were shocked that my attitude was so casual about what
was going to take place. Over the years, I had channeled for many
people about surgical issues and I have always had many health care
providers in all different specialties as clients; so, I was very
familiar with what to ask my angels and I had complete faith in the
information they provided. Because of that, I was determined to enjoy
the time before the surgery because my angels told me that I wouldn't
die; that my surgeon and anesthesiologist were top-notch and wouldn't
fail me; that I wouldn't pick up an infection from the procedure or
facility; and, that I would have no complications after I returned
home. They also told me that the new valve would work beautifully and
that the surgery was like a "tune up" that would allow me to live
into old age. I was resolute and determined to get on with it! I took
my children to Target so they could feel involved and less
frightened, and they helped me choose a few pairs of cute pajamas and
nonskid socks. I figured that if I had to spend time in the hospital,
I could at least look cute while doing so! My hospital bag weighed a
ton because I packed books, magazines, all my toiletries and hair
products so I wouldn't get bored and so that I could do my makeup
and hair a few days after the surgery. I figured that I might feel
dreadful immediately after surgery, but surely in a few days, I'd
be back to my cheerful, energized self. I deliberately asked my
angels not to share what I was going to experience in the
aftermath of the procedure because I thought it might make me nervous
and scared, and I wanted to remain strong and positive.
It
did not escape my attention that during these last few days before I
went into the hospital, there were a number of people in the news who
had died suddenly of a heart attack, and they were only in their
forties and fifties! I was eager to get the surgery behind me and
very thankful that my condition had been discovered-of
course, through divine intervention-before something terrible
occurred. My babies and husband needed me, and I knew I still had
many people to serve spiritually.
To
complicate matters, right before the surgery I developed a bad sinus
infection and I was very worried that at the last minute the
operation would have to be delayed. Britt and I raced to the
cardiologist's office where I was examined and deemed just fit
enough for the surgery. That was a big relief! Knowing that my aortic
valve could lethally explode at any moment was certainly a
distraction.
I
checked in very early on Thursday morning for the first surgical
procedure called a cardiac catheterization, in which a thin hollow
tube was going to be inserted into an artery in my
groin that lead to my heart.
In
preparation for the surgery, I donned a hospital gown and sat on the
gurney in a small curtained area waiting to be wheeled into surgery.
When I get nervous, I joke; so, I was regaling my husband with all of
the funny stories I had recently heard, and I was laughing and very
upbeat. Just then, a call came in on my husband's cell phone and he
felt intuitively prompted to take it. It was a producer calling from
Hollywood who had read my memoir, The Calling, and was
expressing interest in turning it into a film! My husband passed me
the phone and the producer asked if I was busy? No matter what
was going on at the time, I would have taken that call! We talked for
about ten minutes. Then the nurse came to take me into surgery, so I
told the producer that I'd have to get back with him in a few days.
As I handed the phone back to my husband, I was laughing and crying
with joy as I was wheeled into the first procedure...and, believe me,
I was the only patient doing so! My husband and I marveled at the
amazing synchronicity of receiving that call literally minutes before
I was whisked away. It conveyed to us that the universe was giving me
a sneak preview of what was ahead, as if to say, you're not
going to die and you have so much to look forward to!
That
first simple surgery went without a hitch, and later that day, at my
request, Britt went home to take care of the children and I spent the
night at the hospital. My roommate was a young woman who had serious
diabetes and she told me that she was in and out of the hospital all
the time. I wished I had holistic healing powers so that I could have
helped her. I remember having a big turkey dinner that night and
marveling about how terrific the hospital food was. Later that
evening, I showered with the special antibacterial soap given to me
by the nurse and washed my hair. I started to feel a little nervous
about the big procedure-the valve replacement that was going to
take place the next morning-and I tried to focus on everything my
angels had told me. I really missed my husband and children. I slept
fitfully; but I was more excited than nervous about the film that
might be made of The Calling.
The
next morning, I was transferred to a gurney and wheeled for what
seemed like miles through the hospital labyrinth of elevators and
hallways to a large surgical waiting area, where patients lay on
gurneys and wait standby in tiny, private curtained areas.
Psychically, I could feel unimaginable levels of nervous energy, both
from the patients and the staff.
The
anesthesiologist entered my curtained cubicle and stood looking down
at me and kindly asked if I had any last minute questions.
Unfortunately, I had recently seen a TV special that depicted
surgeries in which patients appeared to be knocked out, but could
really feel everything that was happening during their invasive
procedures. The anesthesiologist smiled and assured me, "I
guarantee that you will feel nothing. In fact, we use a
special anesthetic that will not allow you to remember anything
about the surgery." He said it so emphatically that I
completely believed him and that suited me just fine! After all, this
was not a liposuction procedure! So, being nervous, I laughed and
replied, "Then-let's get this party started!" I still
remember the puzzled expression on his face and I guessed that
perhaps very few patients had so eagerly and happily been wheeled
into open heart surgery.
The
next thing I remember, I awoke-somewhat-to find myself in a very
large private room in the intensive care unit. I knew I hadn't died
because the pain was so excruciating! I had tubes and wires coming
out from everywhere...and I wondered in my drug-induced stupor...why
I couldn't move my head? I reached up and discovered a huge tube
coming out of the artery in my neck. Every part of my body hurt like
I had been hurled from a twenty story building. I have a very high
pain threshold, but this was unimaginable! Why hadn't my angels
warned me that it was going to be this bad? Then I remembered that I
had asked them not to, because I didn't want to get insanely
nervous before the procedure. The anesthesiologist was right-I
couldn't recall anything about the surgery. I became aware of my
heart beating very loudly and very slowly. I was afraid that
my heart was stopping! I asked one of the nurses if I was dying and
she explained that my heart was now functioning properly. The nurse
handed me a small heart-shaped pillow, and told me to use it when I
needed to cough. Suddenly, I went into a coughing fit as my body
reacted to all of the chemicals I was given during surgery. The pain
in my chest was indescribable! I quickly learned why I needed that
damn pillow! The nurse showed me how to sit up a little and hold the
pillow over my broken sternum, which had been wired shut after the
valve had been replaced. I begged for some pain medication and she
gave me several pills, which I eagerly swallowed and then promptly
threw up. I began to cry...I needed those pills! Me-the person who
hated medication of any kind!
My
vital signs were checked incessantly. I realized that the needles,
wires, and tubes were left in place to allow them to draw blood, and
in case there was some emergency and I had to be shuttled back into
surgery. I also had to breathe into this tubular gadget which hurt
like bloody hell. One of the big concerns after heart surgery is
pneumonia, and the nurses wanted to determine how strong my lungs
were. It seemed like all the body's movements were tied to
the sternum. My husband visited, but I asked him not to bring the
children until I was out of ICU. Quite frankly, the incredible pain
and my body's reaction to the toxic anesthetic made the weekend
pass minute by minute, like a nightmare from which I couldn't
awaken.
On
Monday, Dr. Hutton arrived, accompanied by a nurse, and told me that
we needed to talk. I thanked him for saving my life, and he modestly
nodded and smiled. He proceeded to explain that after he replaced the
valve, my heart would not function on its own and that this situation
is not uncommon after the brutal invasive procedure. He was there to
determine if and to what extent my heart had begun to function since
the surgery. He was holding a small box. Another nurse trotted to his
side, and said, "I want to see this!"
"I
don't understand," I mumbled, semi-propped up on the recliner
next to my bed. "How are you going to check my heart-from there?"
"I'm
going to turn off your pacemaker," he replied simply.
"Pacemaker?"
I repeated dumbly. "I have a...pacemaker?"
"See
that box?" he said, pointing to a black cracker-box-shaped gadget
that sat on the bed to the right of my chair. For the first time, I
noticed that it was attached-to me!-with a series of thick wires
that came out of my right side.
"But
don't worry-I have the fastest fingers in the West," he
promised.
"Wait
a minute!" I cried, now wide-eyed. "What are you going to do?"
"Tell
me what you feel when I turn it off," instructed the doctor.
"No!"
I cried, unable to fathom what this experiment would entail. "Don't
do it!"
Just
then, Dr. Hutton turned a knob on the small gadget he was holding.
Immediately, I began to black out. Unfortunately, I had time to yell,
"Holy shit! Turn it back on!"
Suddenly,
I was conscious again.
"Okay,"
noted the surgeon. "Your heart is still not completely functioning
on its own, so I'm going to install a pacemaker in your chest."
"Another
surgery?" I shrieked.
"You
can't live with that big box outside your body with all of those
wires," he firmly pointed out. "That pacemaker is helping to keep
you alive. What if someone damages it?"
"Yes,
I can live that way-with the box outside!" I
insisted, feeling so absolutely wretched from the valve replacement
that I would have gone on a date with Adolph Hitler to avoid more
surgery and anesthesia!
"Do
you hunt?" he abruptly asked.
"No,
of course not," I replied, confused.
"I
told you she didn't hunt," said the nurse at his side.
"Do
you play golf?" he inquired.
"No,"
I answered, now really puzzled.
"I
told you," said the nurse to him.
"Okay,"
he said decisively. "We'll put the pacemaker on the right side."
"No!
Please!" I begged, now openly sobbing.
"Don't
worry...it's going to be fine," he reassured me. "I'll do it
tomorrow."
The
very second he strode out of the room I could hear the sound of
someone stumbling, followed by a loud crash. Whatever fell to the
floor had obviously broken.
"Oh,
no!" I heard my nurse cry in alarm. "I think I broke your
pacemaker!"
Panicked,
I forced my head to swivel, and saw her fiddling with the cracker
box.
"It's
okay," she said, hesitantly. "I think I just broke the left
side...and you only need the right."
"Do
you need to call someone to check?" I asked, consumed with
fear. "Isn't that what's keeping me alive?
"No...it's
okay," she responded. "We would already know if there was a
problem..."
I
sensed that my angels created that situation so I would realize that
Dr. Hutton was right. The next afternoon, I was wheeled back into
surgery for the installation of the pacemaker. A few hours later, I
was back in my room in ICU. There was no more cracker box connected
to my body with a series of wires. Now, it was surgically embedded in
my chest. I could feel the pacemaker, which was the size of a thin
matchbox, right under my skin. I was warned that for the next six
weeks, I should not lift my arms or I could dislodge the position of
the pacemaker wires and require another surgery. That got my
attention!
The
next day I was released from ICU and transferred to a regular room. I
didn't feel I was ready; I still needed a lot of help with the most
intimate of bathroom activities. I was assured that I'd have nurses
who would look after me just like in the ICU. I was told in no
uncertain terms that I was not to get up alone to use the
bathroom. That restriction was really not a problem for me because I
still remained very dizzy and disoriented from the anesthetic. Just
the thought of doing my makeup seemed so absurd that I could have
laughed...if it didn't hurt so much!
That
night, several hours after my husband left, I had to use the
bathroom. I called for the nurse. Shortly thereafter, a young man
buoyantly entered my room resembling a youthful Arnold
Schwarzenegger.
He was well-muscled and had to be at least 6'4". With a smile, he
introduced himself as Nurse Bob. I explained what intimate tasks I
needed help with, and he responded jovially, "no biggie! That's
what I'm here for!" That first night with Nurse Bob, I addressed
any qualms I ever had with the issue of modesty. Plus, I learned to
comfortably and willingly ask for help when I needed it-which, for
me, was a radical departure.
After
ten days in the hospital I returned home, thrilled to be back with my
husband and children. I was equally thrilled that my surgery was
over, and that each day I would be a little farther along with my
recovery. It was going to be weeks before I could climb stairs, so I
was installed on the couch in the den where I could slowly shuffle to
the kitchen and bathroom.
Surprisingly-as
I began to heal-I felt an increasing fear and sense of dread about
dying that I recognized as intuitive. What did I have to be
frightened about...now that the surgery was over and the outcome had
been so positive? Most people feel fear before their
procedures, followed by overwhelming relief afterward. My experience
was just the opposite. I felt an inexplicable fear building as the
days passed. I had no memory about the surgery itself due to the
powerful anesthesia, and I figured I never would.
Intellectually,
I knew the worst was definitely over and that I had so much to be
thankful for; however, spiritually and emotionally, my fear of dying
was overwhelming. Every night when my family went to sleep and left
me alone in the quiet solitude of the den, I could suddenly hear the
loud, sluggish beating of my heart, and each night I was certain that
at any moment I would be taking my last breath. After a week went by
and the fear kept escalating, I realized that I had to uncover its
source. My angels recommended a hypnotherapy session that would
transport me back to the surgery itself because the answer lay there;
I needed to return to that traumatic event to see what had
transpired-first hand.
Once
again, I called upon hypnotherapist Carolyn Grace. She made a
house-call and we promptly got to work. Immediately after I
surrendered to the hypnosis, I found myself returning to the
operating room where my open heart surgery took place. But I wasn't
in my body. My soul's spirit was nervously flitting above the
operating table. The surgery was not going well. I was bleeding,
which the doctor was able to stop. But then...I died. The doctor
quickly looked at the anesthesiologist as if to say, "is there a
problem on your end?" The anesthesiologist shook his head.
Suddenly, while I was still in spirit, I saw the operating room
crowded with angels who formed a tight oval directly above the
operating table. In spirit, I was very frightened! I have so much
more to do on earth! I need that physical body!
All at once, the
angels told me to "step back!" The angels were hovering so
closely above the operating table that, for an inordinate amount of
time, I couldn't see what was happening as the doctor labored over
my physical body, but the tension and anxiety in the room was
palpable. Then, the angels changed their position, allowing me to
witness the surgery. The doctor reached for defibrillator
paddles. Suddenly, my physical body was lifted by the current
and heavily fell back against the surgical table. My body did not
respond. I need that body! I cried fearfully. The angels
turned to me, and once again demanded that I "step back!" Dr.
Hutton used the paddles again, and still I did not respond. With the
angels surrounding him and guiding his hands, he tried again. My body
was lifted by the current and fell back to the table. My physical
body was suddenly alive again! Dr. Hutton-and all of my angels-had
saved my life! During my near-death experience, I had not returned to
heaven-but was a spectator in spirit to what was taking place in
surgery. For the entire duration of the four and a half hour
procedure, my spirit had remained tenaciously hovering around my
physical body.
I
came out of the hypnosis understanding why I was so afraid of dying!
I had died, and that experience was so frightening to my
spirit that the fear remained inside of me, waiting to be healed and
released. I continue to wonder if the postoperative depression so
many heart patients experience is a reflection of what they
spiritually and emotionally felt during surgery-unbeknown to them
on a conscious level-and if hypnosis would allow them to release it
as it had me?
Ironically,
all of these painful and frightening experiences made 2009 the best
year I've ever had. Although Bond With Your Baby Before
Birth had "died," and The Calling project was still on
hold, my physical body had lived to allow me to accomplish the
greatest portion of my destiny, which is yet to come. From these
experiences I learned some invaluable lessons:
I
learned that I should ask for help when I need it and that people
really will respond.
I
learned how many people care about me after receiving an unexpected
avalanche of cards and emails after my surgery.
I
learned about prioritizing and that some things really don't
matter.
I
learned that, since dying, I can suddenly see myself with stunning
clarity; and, for the first time, really appreciate my gifts,
talents, and abilities.
I
learned that I am a beautiful being who is alive because of an
angelic miracle, and I am reminded of that daily when I see the nine inch scar down the middle of my chest.
I
learned to give up the habit of criticizing my physical body and
love it even as I carry an extra twenty-five pounds gained since the
surgery.
I
learned how nurturing my husband could be as he supported me through
all of the pre-operative tests; held my hand in the hospital; and,
then when I got home, took full care of the kids, helped me shower,
go to the bathroom, combed my hair, provided all of my meals,
continually awakened in the middle of the night to check on me, told
me how much he loved me, and kept insisting how gorgeous I was as I
laid on the couch with straggly hair, no makeup, and eyebrows that
made me look like the Missing Link.
I
learned how empty my children's lives would become if I were no
longer there, and how they depended on "the Queen of Tomfoolery,"
as they call me, to help their world bloom.
I
learned what a loving brother I had in Mike as he visited me in the
hospital, and then took my children to Build-a-Bear so they could
make me a stuffed owl-that really hoots-which I hugged during
the worst moments of my healing.
I
learned what an amazing sister-in-law I had when she called every
single day for weeks to check on me and gave her love and support
while I cried and complained, and brought chocolate goodies that fed
my heart and soul.
I
learned, once again, how fortunate I was to have Carolyn Grace as a
spiritual facilitator.
I
learned about forgiveness when, during the course of the first eight
weeks of healing from the open heart surgery, my mom never called,
even once, to see how I was doing.
I
learned what a friend I had in Marge when she performed healings on
me and went bra shopping to find something that would fit my hugely
swollen body.
I
learned about confidence and self-worth, and what it really means
not to need anyone else's permission, endorsement, or approval of
who I am, what I believe, or about any of my new projects or plans.
I
concluded that one book does not kill a writing career. If only one
woman was supported or encouraged by reading Bond With Your Baby
Before Birth, then it was a huge success.
I
realized how precious writing is to me regardless of the inherent
setbacks, and this has allowed me to complete 150 pages of a new
novel.
I
have finally discovered what it really means to live in the moment,
without placing my creative energy on the outcome of future goals. I
no longer "expect" certain events or opportunities to occur
because I have "earned" them. I enjoy and appreciate whatever
comes my way.
I
have also learned that control is only an illusion on the earthly
plane.
As
each new day unfolds, I'm continuing to discover a deeper
spiritual understanding because of the hardships I endured, and how
blessed I was to have had those experiences. I am now able to
celebrate all that I am-and will be-by looking at life on the
earthly plane as a wondrous ongoing adventure...because of
all the challenges.
I am also blessed, my friend, that you share
this earthly experience with me.
