SEEKING JESUS

A VISION OF A JESUS-FILLED WORLD COMING TO PASS
The Morning Star Rising on the First Day

This posting is one of several chronicling what happened when I began disbelieving the devil’s existence. They convey just how physical and spiritual warfare can be and warn all who hold such a belief. You can read my previous post here, MY DAY OF DEATH, as it is a lead-in to this material. 

THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT AND THE INITIAL PROGNOSIS

I staggered into the emergency room (ER), unable to stand erect, clutching my abdomen in pain. Being irritable from my physical disorder, I rudely demanded immediate attention at the admissions window. In response, however, the nurse handed me several forms to fill out and requested my proof of insurance. All this procedural stuff took so long that I wondered if I would receive treatment in time. I then felt the urge to vomit again, as I did several times at the concert, and hurried to the lavatory on the other side of the lobby. In the restroom, I reasoned that I should have emptied my stomach by now and, therefore, getting better. But this certainly was not the reality. 

I stumbled back into the reception area, knowing I was acutely ill. Surprisingly, as I exited the restroom, I found two ER nurses with a wheelchair waiting to take me to an examination room.

A very young man came in and examined my abdomen. He appeared like a high school student to me, and I hoped he was not my doctor, but, as it turned out, he was the intern on duty. He completed the preliminary examination but needed blood sample results to provide a prognosis. As I waited for the results, my pain deepened. 

The young physician returned an hour later and advised me that he had arrived at a very unusual diagnosis. As a result, he requested validation from a resident for confirmation. Thirty minutes later, the resident physician arrived to reexamine me. After reviewing the data, he concurred with the intern’s preliminary diagnosis. However, because of the rareness of his opinion, he also wanted confirmation from the hospital’s top doctor. I asked what my infirmity might be, but both doctors were hesitant to say anything about their diagnosis. Things were becoming scary. What could be so dire that it required this level of consideration and secretiveness?

So, I waited in pain for another hour to allow the head physician to commute from home. When he arrived, I received a third examination. After deliberating with the other doctors, they all agreed that I was suffering from a malfunctioning pancreas.

They then transferred me to an intensive care unit and gave me morphine for the pain, which had now spread throughout my entire body. At this point, it felt like needles and pins were embedded in every square millimeter of my body. Soon, the discomfort was so extreme that various body parts went numb. 

Although I did not know it then, the physicians had already informed my immediate family that they did not expect me to live through the night. Further, they recommended contacting distant family members who might want to see me before I died.

The initial shots of morphine proved ineffectual, so they gave me several additional doses, but these were also inadequate. Eventually, a nurse connected me to a morphine injector pump that enabled me to control my medication level by simply pushing a button. Interestingly, all this morphine never made the pain entirely go away. It only brought me into a mindset where I did not care about the pain anymore. I recall thinking at one point when my stomach pain intensified, oh well, so what!

Interestingly, my doctors never told me they had done all they could, that there was no treatment or medication to address my condition. 

Their solution was to terminate my food intake, which would pause my pancreas functioning and arrest the production of digestive enzymes that decompose proteins during digestion. Unfortunately, these enzymes were in my bloodstream, decomposing my body tissues and damaging my muscles, organs, and brain. So, by stopping the pancreas function, they stopped the production of these enzymes and the destruction of my internal body. 

Interestingly, the doctors never informed me of the gravity of my illness, but this turned out to be a good thing because, throughout this entire ordeal, I always believed that I would recover. 

I remember the nurse closing the curtains in my ICU room and then turning out the lights as she left. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling while wondering what my fate might be. Eventually, I became groggy and drifted off, not knowing I would soon find out. The story continues in Entering The Spiritual Realm.

A VISION OF A JESUS-FILLED WORLD COMING TO PASS
The Morning Star Rising on the First Day