It’s a pretty common occurrence to brush shoulders with death. We ride in cars. Those can be dangerous. We shower. We could fall and hit our head. We or someone we know could encounter the next world at any minute. No one is immune. “I almost died” is not an outlandish statement. It can be scary, but it can be a reality. With that being said, I am not sure how to process my recent encounters with my own “near-death” experiences. I spent a solid week as a wandering soul, stuck somewhere between this life and the next. I feel strange when people talk to me about it. When they describe the sensation of sitting in my hospital room, watching my sleeping body, teetering on the tightrope between time and eternity, not sure which direction I would fall at any given minute. I have no elaborate out-of-body experience to describe. I only have medical facts, second-hand information from my husband, loved ones, and doctors, and a lingering sense of displacement in a world that seems a bit off and foreign at the moment.
It started with a simple outpatient surgery and a body that was more fragile than the doctors had accounted for. They had been told, but they brushed off the warnings of my faltering health as they tossed me into the assembly-style line set up to be prepped for surgery. My one doctor who was keenly aware of my precarious state had made every effort to set the stage for caution, care, and safety, but her words were disregarded by the business side of the medical industry as their hands were somewhat forced by financial constraints imposed by the broken system of insurance-dictated care.
Thus, I was sedated normally, operated on as a routine patient, and tossed like rag-doll back into the assembly-line recovery room as my descent into the valley of the shadow of death began. They did not realize that you cannot toss a china doll like you can a rag-doll, and unknowingly, they started a slow shattering of my delicate physiognomy that would usher me up to the gate of heaven.
Pain was unmanaged, my lungs could not cope, there was systemic collapse and chaos, shifting the balance of my precarious composition to a place of toxicity and implosion. No one can blame individuals within the system. They are over-extended, with computers full of faceless names, as they carry the lives of these names, into a place of fragility and vulnerability. It is their job. They may or may not care about the faces, about the back-stories, about the countless lives intertwined in the lives of their patients. There are many who do indeed care. But they are slaves to the broken system which is a slave to a broken system called fallen humanity.
I am thankful, exceedingly, abundantly thankful, that my life, my real solid substantial life, was never truly in the hands of the broken system. They were never truly in control. Under the master care of the Master Caregiver, I was always safe. He held my hand in the darkest valley of systemic bodily failure, cardiac uncertainty, and roller-coaster blood levels that threatened to send me careening into eternity. I was never abandoned in the midst of compromised external care, because my Jehovah is the Lord who heals, who holds, whose arms are never too full, who never loses His children in the shuffle, or overlooks a critical lab value. The same would be true if He had carried me into eternity in the midst of the chaos of last week, because HE would have been the one who carried me there. I am not lost or overlooked. I am the beloved of the Most High God, and He holds me in the palm of His careful, tender hand. He knew all about my journey to the precipice of death before I took my first step into the surgeon’s office, and He whispered to my soul, “It is well. I am with you.”
I am so thankful that I am not lost. I’m also very glad to still be on this side of eternity.