Is there a place between the living and the dead: a sort of vantage point where your loved ones watch over you after they have died? Before 1994 that kind of question never crossed my mind.
Back then I knew there was life after death. I knew ghosts were real and the physical world was a school with mandatory attendance. How I knew these truths is a long story, a story best told in another article.
I was sick really sick and tired of paying medical bills with money I didn't have. My sense of humor was just as shot as my nerves and part of me wished the process of kicking the bucket would hurry up.
Like a bad novel I was allergic to the only drug prescribed for the auto immune disease that had taken my youth. I quit my immune suppressing medication and opted out of chemo drugs all together. The details of my decline aren't important. I will tell you I did all the right things, went to the hospital when I should and kept my doctors up dated on the dreary, miserable symptoms of my illness. So far I was miserable but not dying.
When I didn't think it could get any worse it did. One day like a light switch being turned on my stomach was hot to the touch and all I wanted to do was lay on a cold floor on my stomach. After an expensive round of tests I was told I wasn't in any danger and other than an enlarged liver and a bad attitude. So medically speaking I was treading water just fine.
Like most consumers I believed my doctor. Why not he is making the big bucks for a reason isn't he? I went home and stayed in bed most of the time watching soap-operas and infomercials.
Two months later I woke up and he was in my room. Not to be too mysterious the person that came to my room was a relative that I loved and knew well. A relative that had died a long time ago. He looked the same as when he was alive down to the plaid flannel shirt he wore and his neatly pressed paints. I couldn't move or talk as he walked toward me, my only reaction was surprise laced with gratitude. More than anything I was grateful he hadn't forgotten me. Like a bolt of lightning running through me I felt his concern for me. Then he put his hand on my belly and said your spleen, your spleen. Just as he finished those words he was gone and I was alone in my bedroom with tears streaming down my face.
Part of me didn't care what he said only that he had come back to see me. The logical part of me wondered where in my body was my spleen? Several days later as I was waking up I heard someone whisper spleen, spleen. A few days later the same thing happened again.
Now I was worried. I could no longer ignore the message, I knew instinctively it was time to act or I would die. I chose a doctor who knew that I wasn't a cry baby about my illness. I flat out told him that I was going to die if I didn't have my spleen surgically removed. I joked that it was a shame that I couldn't cut it out myself and skip the expensive hospital bill! Sometimes a little gallows humor injected into a tense, dark subject doesn't hurt. I told my doctor in a roundabout way what had transpired. I was careful not to mention more than the message. I was quick to cut out the part where I received a burst of emotion from the ghost. He quietly wrote me a physicians order for the operation. Something told me inside he had heard stories like mine before. He was more open to the supernatural then any doctor I had ever met.
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