Posted on 03/03/2015 4:38:20 PM PST by Mrs. Don-o
I've been discharged from Rehab and am now home. "Going slow, but still going." Thank you all for about a million prayers.
What follows is my recollection --- or reflection --- or maybe raving --- about one thing I experienced while in critical condition.
------------------------------Raving-----------------------------------
“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Mark Twain
Hello, friends, this will have been your first and probably your last communication from me until Christ our God grants a better body/brain recovery. But I wanted to write what I can before it all disappears down the Memory Hole.
Collapsed on Jan 19, septic shock from UTI. EMT's say BP fell to something like 40. Dead.
Cardiac arrest. And again. And again. Dead, dead, dead.
No bright tunnel of light, no golden escalator with old Fleetwood Mac mix tapes, no exclusive book and movie rights. I even forgot that I'd promised, if I were ever in dramatic straits, to ask for the intercession of Elizabeth Anscombe (1919-2001). A giantess in the field of philosophy and one of God's noblewomen, she
just needs a teeny-tiny documentable miracle in order to be beatified. I even blew THAT. I wasn't only nearly dead, I was really most sincerely dead.
Teams of people, however, were darting me with epis and drilling holes in my face, neck and groin to pump in corpse-warmer concoctions faster than my baffled body could tolerate them. They forced the issue, Lord love 'em all. I was on a ventilator for sixteen days.
Prayer groups started double and triple teaming me, which opened up spaces even in the Enemy's territory where grace could operate. Dozens of St Mary's people came tumbling into the Med Center ICU with their hand-knotted rosaries and their Divine Mercy prayers, with sweet trust bordering on obstinacy.
Was it before or after my airway collapsed that a Greek Orthodox priest friend anointed me with sweet oil from a myrrh-bearing icon of St. Anne? Was it before the Two Specialists started staring at the CT and MRI results and muttering “Look at the size of that obstruction. Christ Almighty, what a mess!”--- that my pastor came and gave me the precious Blood of God –- a transfusion from the veins of Jesus Christ Our Lord?
Lord have mercy 12 x. Lord have mercy 40 x. Lord have mercy Women's Plus Size XXL with elastic waistband.
Was it before or after I started hallucinating, that the “Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, Chant-o-Matic” was being dialed up to Max right there in the Med Center atrium? Yes, dearest Baptist friends, Catholics do chant. (And OK, Orthodox buddies, we do mumble.) Anyway, a skeptical world could see how Catholics come fully armed and ready to rumble.
If you're laughing a bit, here's where it stops.
I was given a vision of evil.
I am not writing this because I want you to think, “Oh woo-woo, Mrs Wiley must be holy, she has these Mystical Experiences TM” or even (closer to the truth) “Is there nothing this proud, ignorant, hypocritical woman will not say for 15 minutes of fame?” I haven't the strength in my shaking hands to waste on dubious claims of “God told me,” nor breath in my body to argue about these things, nor (this is the important point) do I understand what I saw. God (!) told (!) me (!), “You're not going to understand but zero-point-one percent of this,” and behold, all-y'all, the fact is, I don't understand it.
I saw evil.
I saw the mouth of evil.
I know that, trembling hands or not, I'll have to explain about the “mouth,” –- though I can't. But I'll try.
It was not large. It was about an inch square, no bigger than a typical chessboard square. It was not a lewd, loose-lipped, lolling Miley Cyrus mouth, nor a thin-lipped Atheist Medical Ethicist mouth with moustache attached, like a cheap movie Mephistopheles.
In fact, there was no face attached. It was a mouth. It had one single snaggle tooth, barbed and recurved on itself like the kind of fish hook that, when the fool fish tries to back off, just digs in deeper. On the tip of the snaggle tooth was a single drop of green venom sufficient, I thought, to destroy life on all inhabited planets.
And the mouth was inside-out.
How you can tell a “mouth” is "inside-out" I do not know, except that it seems I read somewhere about some odious marine parasite that chomps down on some part of its intended victim and then turns itself inside-out, so that the victim is enveloped and slowly digested by the writhing, now-exterior intestines.
Holiness? Heaven? People speak of near-death experiences glowing with consolation and beatitude; my NDE was more involved with Homicide and Hell.
On the way from the CT scan unit to the ICU I had an RN transporting me whom I know only slightly, but who has always been---- shall we say ---- a challenge to my Faith-Hope-Charity. She is brisk, paper-rattling and officious, a sort of pointillist-Catholic as it happens, and I was already running almost bone-dry in the Theological Virtue department.
She got passive-aggressive with me when I was experiencing anguish and terror. She had disputed with me for hours, contemptuously, dismissively, over whether I could have a freaking mouth swab.
Not that I could speak much beyond “ungh, ungh.” But I could point to the mouth swabs which were an inch beyond my reach, and point to my mouth where everything was stuck together like Crazy Glue, and make the classic Praying Hands gesture, and she would say, “You had swab 32 minutes ago, thang Q!” and then walk away.
I couldn't make out her accent but she had evidently was trained someplace where they told her that it is the ultimate in American professional courtesy to end every sentence with “Thank you,” regardless of context. Thus:
“Do NOT bite tongue, thang Q!”
“Do NOT move finger, thang Q!”
“Stop BREATHING, thang Q!”
“You are NOT thirsty. You had swab 44 minutes ago, thang Q!”
He face right next to mine (and she smelled like Citrusy-Fresh Floor Disinfectant) “You are not thirsty. You had swab only 55 minutes ago, thang Q!”
I was left sweltering in my own sweat for hours in a claustrophobic underground corridor between the CT unit and the ICU. "Nurse DeeDee" attempted no gesture of consolation, offered nothing, disappeared for hours without explanation, would pop back round the corner with,
“I SAID, Do not bite tongue, thang Q!”
Bad nurse. Nurse Ratched.
Motto: Service to Subhumanity.
DeeDee, Destroyer of Worlds.
If I had a choice between Jesus Christ or a filet knife, I would have chosen the knife. I'm sure I could have done a satisfactory amount of damage with it. If I had a choice between Jesus Christ or pushing this despicable woman through a window, my dying words would have been, “Ah, lovely bloody plate glass.”
Then I saw the Mouth of Evil open up to swallow me and the entire world. And the entire world. And I heard an intense warning:
“Forgive her.”
“I can't, Lord. Can't You see my mind is disintegrating?”
“Forgive her.”
“Are YOU freaking crazy, too? I'm being destroyed by this stupid disease and I'm laying in this stupid lithotomy position at the mercy of this stupid odious DeeDee, my mind is being shattered under the hammer-blows of pain and fear. I can't chose anything, can't calculate anything, can't desire anything ...”
“I didn't say anything about 'Calculate.'”
“I can't forgive her.”
“Of course you can't. Your pulmonary, cardiac and renal functions are failing. Your brain function is disintegrating. YOU can't forgive her. How right you are. Ask Me to forgive her.”
“How long do I have to decide?”
“You moron! There is no more time! Do it now!”
I was well and truly freaked.
“Oh, Dear Lord...?”
“Yes?”
“Dear Lord, forgive DeeDee...”
“And?”
“And wash away her iniquities, or whatever it is You do...”
“And?”
“And don't hold her offenses against her. And help her to become the kind of RN and the kind of good Catholic woman she ought to be.” There's a whole lot more I could say but I'm already past my 0.1% comprehension and well into the realm of Memory Remodeling and Confabulation (Google it.) Thank you all so much for your prayers. The infected kidney stone? It disappeared. Gone, baby, gone.
Forgive your DeeDee's.
And as for Servant of God Elizabeth Anscombe? Thank you, old girl, thank you.
Continue prayers and glad to hear this.
I must admit I've been laughing about that since I first read your recollection of events. It's good to see you back and in good spirits.
Compared to some of the things Jesus called people - hypocrites, brood of vipers, dead, children of Satan - “moron” is an endearment.
gw! Baby!
How is it going? So nice to see you, even if you haven’t been leaving many trails lately.
You know I have had my problems with FR but this is my family — we may spat but we always have each other’s back.
People like Mrs. Don-O and, yes, you, are what makes FR the greatest place on the interwebz :)
>>Mrs. Don-o Hospital, Portal of Purgatory!!<<
One of my favorite running jokes is “if you don’t (protocol such as avoiding hard-coding) you won’t go to Heaven. Catholics have a 2/3 shot at avoiding perdition since Purgatory might be an option.”
Once people know me it always gets a laugh.
Again, super happy to see you doing better and continued prayers for your upward health trend! :)
Mrs. Don-o, I had no idea of any of this. The Good Lord spoke to me too (at Eucharistic Adoration), many months ago, and said something on the order of Him hoping I would dismiss myself from the RF threads on FR that disparage His Mother (or set up the possibility for same), as they cause Him great pain to see Her undergo this additional sorrow (and I listened to Him eventually staying clear of almost all other RF threads as well).
That being said, you haven’t lost an iota of your humor or ability to entertain. Thank you Jesus, for saving Mrs. Don-o. Thank you! Thank you! As far as seeing evil, my mother-in-law’s mother passed away long ago; she was the sweetest person in the world (many think maybe a saint), but before she died (it seemed she had everything possible wrong with her, and had every surgery imaginable), her grandson (the priest!) said she couldn’t stop swearing.
Of course, no one ever heard her swear during her lifetime. But the swearing was intense, Fr. Bill said, and he wondered why it was happening. I’m thinking (now that I’ve heard what you have said) that maybe at the very end of our lives, the devil tries very hard (I’ve read about this through a saint’s accounting as well) to try to grab one’s soul. What do you think?
P.S. I was pretty bummed out to hear there was no Fleetwood Mac. And great job on forgiving DeeDee (you did forgive her, not just ask Our Lord to, correct?), thang Q.
But they shouldn’t be - especially when Hell is not just a condemnation, it’s a choice.
The damned CHOOSE to follow that path, even though they have been told - and warned - and warned again - of the final result of their choice. And they still hold the course.
Dear Mrs. Don-o,
I really do wish it were hunting season, as then I would at least have an excuse for being so fully and utterly ignorant of your plight - I am so sorry to hear how you had to be dragged through a knothole backwards, but I am very happy for all y’all that, with the kindness of YHWH, and your typically indomitable spirit, you seem to have survived the ordeal with nothing but a few extra holes and some ruffled feathers!
You might consider having a cup-hook mounted in one of those holes they drilled in your face - Not only would it hide the scar, but it would be a handy place to hang your car keys. Brass though - Porcelain would be a bit gaudy, don’t you think?
Forgive me if some of your experience didn’t translate - but I did get ‘Whopping Big Miracle’, ‘Meaning-full Vision’, and ‘Life-Changing Testimony’, even through all the chanting and such ; ) ... Definitely one of those Way-Past-Wow experiences, where in the midst of terrible trial, when all is lost, YHWH comes along and not only pulls your fat from the fire, but does it with such a magnificent flourish, that it’s witness will thunder down the halls of time to distant children of your House, and will ring like a bell to everyone in your life. How GREAT is our God!
So glad to hear that you are recovering, and thank you for your testimony!
Welcome back! You were missed.
I do think most people get a quick purifying singe in Purgatory, polishing-up with a wire brush and sandblasting too, maybe, until they are sparkly enough for heaven.
This is people who are forgiven, mind you.
I can imagine myself requesting it. "I am so smudged. Refiner's fire, moderate heat, 5 seconds, please!"
Thang Q!
>>Mrs. Don-o, I had no idea of any of this. The Good Lord spoke to me too (at Eucharistic Adoration), many months ago, and said something on the order of Him hoping I would dismiss myself from the RF threads on FR that disparage His Mother<<
God always directs us towards His will. Mrs. Don-o has always been one of the good ones in terms of humor and spirit.
When I feel the tension on an RF thread tighten me up (such as the Mary or ROC bashing), I try to back out with as much dignity as available to me.
My dander do get up (I am Irish, go figure right?) but I don’t avoid RF as a matter of course — this thread is a great example why not to do so :)
In the case of the saintly elderly lady swearing her head off, I think there could be several things going on.
First, it could well have been a psychiatric disorder known as Tourette's Syndrome in which the sufferer involuntarily starts swearing and saying filthy things. This is rather rare but I did know of an elderly Benedictine nun who had it. It caused her much suffering even though she and everyone around her knew it was involuntary. It's basically untreatable although there are flare-ups and remissions for unknown causes.
Second, she may have suffered a stroke or some sort of infection, or even have been on some kind of medication, which undermined her higher executive brain functions of impulse control, awareness of socially appropriate behavior, etc. Especially as we get older, we are very sensitive to conditions such as low blood pressure, low blood sugar, and especially dehydration, which cause scary brain and behavior changes.
Third, I think Satan DOES try to get his meat-hooks into you at the last minute if he can. Look at Therese of Lisieux. Maybe there was a see-sawing spiritual struggle going on there.
Jesus judges very compassionately and knows exactly what is going on with our poor frail mind/body equipment. We are judged by the very Person who has the exact insight into what is going on, and the exact cure. And He loves us hugely and will leap over mountains and break through barriers and move Heaven and Earth to save us.
So have no fear.
And as for DeeDee? Yeah, I guess I did forgive her. Not whole-heartedly, but the Lord is working on me.
He did indeed pull my fat from the fire.
After all the heparin ports, catheters and stuff were removed, there was blessedly little evidence of damage except some scabby-crusty patches on my scalp, an odd pattern on my forehead (which has now disappeared) and a bitty scar in my neck. Since I am not a tattoo-type person, I'm not going to make it the center of a post-op petunia.
I did see a tattoo once, that to me said it all: "He loved me at my darkest."
I've gotta keep thinking about it so the lesson will not have been in vain.
**The Good Lord spoke to me too (at Eucharistic Adoration), many months ago, and said something on the order of Him hoping I would dismiss myself from the RF threads on FR that disparage His Mother (or set up the possibility for same), as they cause Him great pain to see Her undergo this additional sorrow (and I listened to Him eventually staying clear of almost all other RF threads as well).**
I think this is true for all of us.
Thank you, Religion Moderator. Means a lot, coming from one of the Bosses :o)
Whenever you look in the mirror and see that little scar, you can say a prayer for that nurse! Maybe God put you two together because she needs prayers! 💖
Thanks so much! I really loved the part about her little daughter and the Eucharist. I bookmarked the page, and would like to add the prayer for beatification to my daily prayers. God sent you a special intercessor, and I for one am grateful!
What a blessing, too, that those of us here, who don't always agree, are together rejoicing, and thanking and praising God! In this, we are truly brethren! God is good!
“How good and how pleasant it is, brothers dwelling in unity.” (Psalm 132:1)
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.