A VISION OF A JESUS-FILLED WORLD COMING TO PASS

The Morning Star Rising on the First Day

THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT AND THE INITIAL PROGNOSIS

In my prior posting (MY DAY OF DEATH,) I communicated how a spiritual attack sent me to an emergency room (ER), fighting for my life in a spiritual war that would continue for almost three months in the hospital and beyond.

This message will convey what happened that first day in the ER and disclose the rarity of my affliction and my slim chance of survival. It will also provide a foundation for future postings that tell of the spiritual warfare that continues in the spiritual (non-Earthly) realm, which is available via the following links:

The First Day in the Emergency Room

I eventually arrived at the ER parking lot after a long drive from home; I exited the car and meandered toward the door, unable to stand fully upright while clutching my stomach in a great deal of pain. I proceeded to the admissions window, being very sick and understandably irritable, demanding immediate attention. Unfazed, the nurse at the window handed me several forms to fill out and requested proof of insurance. Looking at all the paperwork, I wondered if I would get the treatment I needed in time. I gave the nurse my insurance card and started filling out the forms when I began to sense that I would have to vomit again and then quickly bolted for the restroom, leaving all the paperwork behind.

I entered the men’s room, still thinking that I had food poisoning and that all I needed was a quick stomach pump, and I would be back on my way. On the other hand, I thought that with all the vomiting I had already done, I had to acknowledge that I should be getting better by now, but this was certainly not the case. I now sensed that I could be acutely ill.

Exiting the men’s room, I found an ER nurse waiting for me with a wheelchair, who took me to an examination room. 

female nurse pushing a wheelchair

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

A man who looked like a high school student soon entered the examining room. I thought to myself, surely this can not be my doctor. As it turned out, he was the intern on duty and, yes, the doctor who would perform the preliminary examination.

He inspected my stomach and had the nurse take blood samples. As I waited for the assessment of these tests, my pain steadily worsened. The young doctor returned in an hour, stating that he had arrived at a very rare determination. As a result, he requested a second opinion from the senior doctor on duty.

Thirty minutes later, the senior doctor reexamined me. After checking all the data, he informed me that he concurred with the young doctor’s diagnosis. However, because of the diagnosis’s rarity, he would also require verification by the hospital’s lead doctor.

I wondered why this was necessary and asked about the diagnosis, but they refused to disclose anything. Suddenly, things were getting a bit scary. What could be so bad that it needed this level of attention?

Image result for Copyright Free Images Websites doctor in ICU

So the head doctor arrived an hour later. He also reexamined me, and then, after a lot of deliberation, they all agreed that I was suffering from a malfunctioning pancreas. They had a nurse move me into an intensive care unit, but by that time, the pain had spread throughout my entire body. I had pain inside and on the surface of my body as well. It was everywhere, and it felt like I had needles and pins puncturing every square millimeter of my body, inside and out. The pain was so great that certain parts of my body were now going numb. They administered morphine for the pain, but the initial doses proved ineffective, and neither were the additional doses they provided. So, they connected me to my own personal morphine injector machine that gave me the ability to regulate my medication level within tolerances. When the pain would start to get nasty, all I had to do was push a button at the side of my bed, and another dose of morphine would be injected into my body through a catheter in my arm.

Interestingly, the morphine never totally made the pain go away. It just got me to a point mentally where I did not care about the pain anymore. So, for example, at one point in time when my stomach started to hurt again, I remember thinking oh well, so what!

My immediate family came to the hospital to visit and check on my condition. Although I did not know it at the time, the doctors had already advised them to contact any faraway relatives who may want to see me one last time because they believed I might not even live through the night.

The physicians did not tell me then that they had done all they could, that there was no medical treatment for the pancreas-related problem I had. As it turned out, all they could do was keep me from eating food and hope I would pull through.

The last thing I recall in the ICU that night was the nurse closing the curtains on my small cube and turning out the lights as she left. After lying there for a while, staring at the ceiling and wondering what my outcome would be, I became groggy and drifted off to sleep.

I did not know it at the time, but I would soon find out that the devil had me right where he wanted me, sick, in pain, and near death. I was about to pass over to the other side, into the truth of the spiritual world where I would experience its horrors and find its mercy. The continuation of this saga continues here: LEAVING MY BODY.

A VISION OF A JESUS-FILLED WORLD COMING TO PASS

The Morning Star Rising on the First Day