It was an ordinary day, in an ordinary year, with two ordinary people – Stan and I.
We had been running a bed and breakfast and the guests we had staying that day were from, Kenya, Germany, and the USA.
The lady from the USA was celebrating her birthday, so I suggested we all cook a traditional dish from our homeland. What a fun way to spend an evening, talking with others about their lives, learning about their cultures, and eating something that was traditional and typical.
There’s something about bonding over food isn’t there?
Stan had felt a little ‘off’ that day, but in true Stan fashion didn’t make a fuss about it.
As we sat down to eat the entrée – which was my fish dish, he pushed his plate away from the table.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling well. I’m going to lay down.”
“Honey,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
He reached around and touched his back. “My back hurts. It really hurts.”
I have no idea what made me ask the questions, instinct? Maybe, but I would say, Papa God whispered to me and pushed my thoughts in that direction.
Suddenly, I knew what it was. I knew why my husband had been not quite right all day.
“Show me where it hurts,” I demanded. And he waved vaguely in the area behind where his heart would be.
“I’m calling an ambulance. You’re having a heart attack.”
Strangely for a man who hates fuss, he didn’t argue.
As I gave the call center the details, I ran next door, pounding on their door. “Paul, please watch out for the ambulance, and show them where we are.” Our house was a little bit hidden, in behind theirs, so occasionally visitors went to the wrong house, thus Paul’s assistance was imperative.
Our guests were looking completely bewildered.
I’m so grateful for our medical system. So grateful to the paramedics who transported my husband to the main hospital, ‘blues and twos’ flashing and wailing.
Because once he was there, once he was in the assessment room, hooked up to heart monitors…
His heart stopped.
What followed felt like a shambles; A cacophony of shrill urgency where nothing in my tiny orbit made any sense, where people were milling around me, but I didn’t hear them. I watched as Stan was wheeled, no, not wheeled, rushed down the hallway into theatre.
Thank God I had Ian who stayed on the phone with me, praying, interceding and working with Holy Spirit to ensure Stan stayed in this realm.
And I felt quite, quite bewildered. Standing there alone. Wondering what to do. What would happen, when a nurse touched my arm.
“Mrs Orme,” she said. “You can come and say goodbye now.”
Goodbye?
My mind shrieked GOODBYE?!?
I followed her to the operating theatre.
He was still alive? Why was I being told to say goodbye to my husband?
Oh! Only goodbye until he was out of theatre, WHEW!
Over the next few days as Stan recovered in hospital, I had to continue looking after our guests, going through the motions, doing the cooking and cleaning.
But it was in the supermarket that trauma kicked me.
I remember. It was in the fruit and veggies when it happened. I heard a siren, not too far away. Panic overwhelmed me. The trauma of the night before handed me a go to jail now card. And I lost it among the fruit and veggies.
We’ve all read someone saying ‘I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest,’ and yes, it’s true. And not only the pounding heart, but the cold sweat of panic, while I silently cried “Lord, help me.”
He is so good our Lord. He is so kind. Have you ever felt him literally touch you?
I have. That day in the fruit and veggies. He put his finger under my chin and lifted my head to look straight at him. “Look at me. Don’t stop looking at me.”
Fear ceased to be relevant as I looked at Jesus.
All around the supermarket, as I kept looking at Him, I was ok. The trauma unlatched and let go. I learned something then.
I learned that trauma is a gift. It is sent to blanket us, so we do not feel the full impact of whatever is happening. But it’s only when trauma stays that it becomes a problem.
As I looked at Jesus, following Him all around that supermarket, I felt that trauma slip off me and fall away.
And Stan? He sustained minimal damage to his heart. But whenever he tells anyone the story, he can’t help himself.
“Oh yes,” he says dramatically, “Yes, my heart stopped. Contrary to what you may have believed, it was proved that I actually do have a heart.”
And those listening inevitably ask him “What happened? Did you see anything?”
“Well,” he says. “It’s as though I was being drawn into a bright white light, and was powerless to stop. I found myself in front of some large gates, and a voice that sounded thunderous called to me. ‘Go back, we don’t allow your type in here.’”
His audience always, but ALWAYS look incredulous. “Really!” they exclaim, looking bewildered.
And himself then laughs saying “No, of course not. I made that up. I didn’t see anything.”
Welcome to my world of Stan'isms.
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