The Night I Died: The Whole Story, Part 1

This is part 1 of a 2 part series. Read part 2 here: The Night I Died: The Whole Story, Part 2

On March 8, 1996 I awoke in the night feeling odd. I went into the bathroom and hemorrhaged. In a split second I lost a very large quantity of my body’s blood. Beyond the initial blast of pain, there was no pain.

I must have been in shock because I wasn’t thinking clearly. I remember looking at all the blood in the room, on my body, but not realizing I was in real trouble. I wondered if I should call my neighbor. I even crawled into the bathtub to clean myself off so I’d be presentable. I toyed with the idea I might need more help than Emmy could give.

My soul was up on the ceiling, in the corner, looking down on me like I was watching a movie. I couldn’t see well; there were flashing lights in my eyes blinding me, and a “bright light at the end of a tunnel” that beckoned. I was filled with a deep sense of peace. It was then I received a message. I can’t say it was a voice, exactly, because that’s not quite right, but it was a clear communication. I was told I could choose to stay or go, live or die; it was up to me and either was perfectly fine. However, I needed to know I had not done what I’d come here to do.

I chose to stay and the tunnel slammed shut. I was there, on the bathroom floor, and I knew I needed to call 911.

But here’s the thing: I’d lost so much blood I was too weak to stand and had to crawl. And I kept passing out. When I made it to the phone I found it unplugged from the wall (something I used to do to avoid being awakened in the night by a late call) and I couldn’t plug it in. I was still blinded by those lights so I couldn’t see well enough and my fingers couldn’t grasp the cord. The only other phone was downstairs in the kitchen. I started the journey. Two and a half hours later I was at the phone but couldn’t reach it on the counter. With terrific effort I pulled it down to me but by then was so weak it was nearly impossible to push the buttons. I lay on the receiver. Nine-One-One. There. I did it.

The woman who answered had the most comforting voice. I remember telling her I wasn’t sure whether or not I needed help, but I’d lost a lot of blood and felt funny. She stayed on the line with me, at the same time ordering the aid car. In time she said, “Honey, they’re at the head of your road. You’re going to hear them soon.” And then I heard them.

They worked on me and called for more help. There was a crowd in my kitchen. I heard them say over and over again they were losing me and, “She’s gone.” But I was there. I heard most of what they were saying. Finally, when I was fully conscious, they put me on a gurney and loaded me in the ambulance. I found out later one of the first responders was a volunteer firefighter on his first call. Poor guy!

My doctors say there’s absolutely no reason I should be alive. But I know the truth: I lived because I chose life. I’m here because I hadn’t accomplished what I came to do. I still don’t know what that is, exactly, but I believe part of it is to learn my own lessons, and another is to inspire others to their creativity—to their authentic lives. And, over time, perhaps other reasons will become apparent. If not, as I’m living now, offering what I have is enough.