Christmas Miracles Page 6

  We walked the full length of the hall and back, and I realized quickly that that was more than enough. “Thanks, Becky,” I said. “I needed that.” By then I was feeling a bit dizzy and needed to get back in the bed.

  A few minutes later, as I stared up at the white ceiling again, I found myself contemplating the mysteries of the universe—which was not like me at all. But I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t felt any fear or anxiety while I hovered over my body in the operating room. I’d known I was dying, yet I felt no regret or sorrow over what I was leaving behind.

  It wasn’t what I’d expected.

  None of it was, considering I was never the type to believe in souls and heaven and all that silly spiritual mumbo jumbo.

  A voice in the room startled me out of my thoughts and caused me to jump. “Did someone order a psych consult?”

  I lifted my head on the pillow. There stood Leah at the foot of my bed, wearing a white lab coat with a blue shirt underneath it. The evening sunlight from the window reflected blindingly off the aluminum clipboard she hugged to her chest.

  “That’s a definite yes,” I replied, more than a little relieved to see her again, “for the crazy cop in room 604.”

  Her face lit up with a smile as she moved to the side of my bed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Let’s get you sitting up so I can do a proper assessment,” Leah said. She laid the clipboard on the side table and raised the head of my bed with the push of a button.

  This allowed me an opportunity to admire, up close, the lovely details of her face—and how much she had changed. She sure wasn’t a kid anymore.

  “Isn’t there some sort of conflict of interest here?” I asked. “Because we know each other personally?”

  “I didn’t mention that to anyone,” she said. “Did you?”

  “Not a single soul.”

  “Then let’s keep it that way, as long as you promise to be honest with me.”

  I raised a hand. “Scout’s honor, Doctor.”

  She sat down, reached for the clipboard and pulled a retractable pen out of her breast pocket which she clicked with her thumb. “You were never a Scout, were you, Josh?”

  She quickly scribbled something down.

  “Looks like you caught me in a lie already. Are you making a note of that in my chart?”

  She chuckled. “Relax. I’m just jotting down the time of our interview.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it these days? An interview?”

  I waited while she wrote a few more things down, sat forward and crossed her legs.

  “I’m just going to ask you a few standard questions to get us started. Are you ready?”

  “Fire away.”

  Pen in hand, she looked down at the chart. “Do you have any medical problems?” Her eyes lifted and she winked at me. “Besides having been shot twice in the past week.”

  I inched upwards on the bed. “Well, I have no spleen, but otherwise, I’m pretty healthy. I exercise regularly, eat well. My blood pressure’s always good.”

  “Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness in the past?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever seen a mental health provider such as a psychiatrist, psychologist, or social worker before? Perhaps at work?”

  Again, I said no, and she asked if I was on any medications, or if anyone in my family suffered from mental illness.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “The next bit relates to your social history,” she said. First she asked about my relationships with members of my family and if I’d ever been abused, physically or emotionally.

  “No,” I said. “And I’m very close to everyone in my family.”

  “Do you belong to any particular religion?”

  “Not really,” I replied. “I mean…I was baptized in the Anglican Church, but we only ever went to services on special holidays like Christmas and Easter. It’s not really a big part of my life.”

  She wrote that down as well. “Would you describe yourself as a chronic worrier?”

  “No.”

  “Have there ever been extended periods of time where you felt down? No energy? Trouble sleeping? Not just for a week or two, but for many weeks, perhaps months?”

  I thought about all the nights I’d tossed and turned when I was thinking about Carla. “I’ve had some trouble sleeping lately, but I don’t think it qualifies.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it was normal, everyday relationship stuff. Things were going downhill with my girlfriend. Then she dumped me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Leah replied. “When did this happen?”

  Suddenly I wished I’d kept my big mouth shut and had simply answered no to the question.

  “The morning I was shot,” I told her. “Clearly it was one of those days I should have just stayed in bed.”

  Leah’s eyebrows pulled together with concern. “How long were you seeing this woman?”

  “About a year.”

  “So it was serious, then.” She wrote something else down.

  “I suppose you could say that,” I replied, “considering I’d just bought her an engagement ring.” I shrugged a shoulder. “But what are you gonna do, right? She fell for some other guy she thought was her one true love, so I had to withdraw from the race.”

  Leah stared at me. “Interesting that you would use the word ‘race.’ Do you consider yourself a competitive person?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And how did you feel about coming in second with this woman?”

  I shrugged again. “That’s life, right? All’s fair in love and war?”

  She watched my expression a little too closely. I felt grossly exposed and soon found myself averting my gaze.

  “Anything else you want to say about that?” Leah asked. “We could set up a time to talk about it some more if you like.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  She wrote some more things down. Then she flipped the page, paused a moment and took a breath.

  “All right then. We’ll leave it at that for now. What about hallucinations, Josh? Have you ever had any unusual experiences such as hearing voices that other people can’t hear? Or seeing things other people can’t see? Or do you have unusual ideas, such as feeling that you have special powers that no one else has?”

  I hesitated a moment, and she watched me intently.

  “It’s written in my chart, I suppose?” I asked. “That’s why you’re asking this question?” Great. Now I sounded paranoid.

  She continued to stare at me. “What’s written in your chart?”

  “What I told Dr. Crosby when I first woke up last night. That I might have had a…” I paused again.

  “You might have had a what, Josh?”

  I cleared my throat. “It’ll probably sound ridiculous, but I think I might have had a…” I lowered my voice even further. “A near-death experience during surgery.”

  When she did nothing but blink at me, I quickly raised a hand. “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I don’t want that to go on my record at work. That’s the last thing I need because they don’t typically issue a weapon to a cop who’s delusional or being diagnosed with some sort of weird psychosis.”

  Again, Leah simply watched me, and I sensed she was waiting for me to elaborate on what happened. Or what I thought happened.

  When I didn’t offer anything more, she clicked the finial on the top of her ballpoint pen and slipped it into her breast pocket.

  “Was it an out-of-body experience?” she asked.

  I wet my lips. “I don’t know. Maybe I went to heaven for a minute, except that I don’t really believe in that stuff. I was hoping…maybe you’d know, being a psychiatrist and everything. Have you ever dealt with anyone who’s experienced something like this before? Is it common?”

  Leah reclined back in her chair. “I wouldn’t say it’s common, but it’s not unheard of either. Personally I haven’t dealt with
it as a clinician and I’ll be honest with you, Josh: Most members of the medical community are skeptical about near-death experiences. Based on the literature I’ve read, it’s usually documented that the patient experienced something—in most cases some sort of hallucination. But there are those out there who are interested in finding answers. I’m sure they’d love to talk to you as part of their research.”

  “I don’t want to be anyone’s lab rat,” I told her. “I’m only sharing this with you because I trust you and I want to figure out what happened.”

  Leah sat forward and rested her elbow on her knee, her chin on her fist. “What do you think happened?”

  I stared at her uneasily. “I’m pretty sure I died during the surgery and somehow I witnessed what was happening in the OR from a place outside my body. I just want to understand how that could happen. And what was the light I saw? Was it God? Or is that what happens when the brain shuts down? Is it physiological?”

  Lean leaned back and rested her temple on her forefinger. “Most researchers don’t consider it proof of God or heaven or the afterlife, although some are trying to prove there’s a connection. On the upside, there’s a lot of interest in the subject and studies are being done all the time.”

  “What do you believe?” I asked.

  She let out a sigh. “First of all, it doesn’t really matter what I believe, because we all have our own unique set of spiritual beliefs. But if you want my honest opinion as a medical professional, I think this is something beyond our ability to understand at this point in time. Maybe someday we’ll be able to prove what it is, but for now, it’s still considered fringe science. With that said, I have an open mind.”

  A profound sense of relief moved through me. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?”

  She chuckled softly. “That’s not a word I like to use when I’m describing my patients.”

  I felt the corner of my mouth curl up in a grin. “Sorry.”

  “Apology accepted, but on one condition—if you’ll tell me more about your experience.”

  I glanced at the chart she’d set aside. “Can it be off the record?”

  “I can’t promise you that,” she replied, “but for now I’ll stop taking notes if it makes you feel more comfortable. I’ll just listen, because I’m curious to hear what you remember about that night—specifically, what happened when you flat-lined. Then I’ll do some research and see if I can find you some answers.”

  “That would be helpful,” I said.

  Just then, we heard the squeaky wheels of the meal cart in the hall. My stomach growled rowdily.

  “That must be the juicy steak I ordered,” I said.

  Leah checked her watch and reached for her clipboard. “Wow. I can’t believe how long I’ve been in here. Time just flew. I have some other things I need to do but I’m on the night shift if you’d like to continue this later?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “My sister Marie is coming by later. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

  Leah stood up. “Marie? I’d love to see her, too. How is she doing these days?”

  “She’s great. She married a really good guy. He works for the city and they have three adorable kids.”

  Leah started to go. “That’s wonderful. I’ll try to come by. I’ll see you later, all right?”

  With that, she left the room.

  The very next second, the orderly walked in. “Look what I have for you. Chicken with potatoes and carrots.”

  It wasn’t exactly the big juicy steak I’d been dreaming about—and sadly there was no wine with the meal—but my mouth watered like Niagara Falls when he lifted the stainless steel lid and I breathed in the delectable scent of solid food. At last.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Leah didn’t return until shortly after 9:00 p.m., and she began apologizing as soon as she entered the room. “I’m so sorry, Josh. There was a suicide case in the ER and I had to admit someone. Did Marie come?”

  “Yeah. I told her you worked here and she was really hoping to see you.”

  “I wanted to see her, too. Maybe tomorrow if she visits?” Leah approached the bed. “And I know it’s late. If you’re too tired, we can reschedule this. I just didn’t want you to wait up for me.”

  “We don’t need to reschedule,” I said. “If you’re free now, I can talk. It’s either you or something boring on television.”

  She moved closer and sat down on the chair beside the bed. “All right. I can’t promise to be very exciting, though.”

  “Me neither.”

  She reached into her pocket for her pen. “But as soon as you start yawning, I’m calling it a day.”

  “Deal,” I replied.

  * * *

  Because I trusted Leah, I was willing to describe every detail of my experience in the operating room, and how I floated to the ceiling and moved toward a light that drew me in and escorted me to another luminous place.

  “It’s true what they say about your life flashing before your eyes,” I told her. “I saw everything. I felt it, as if it were happening in real time, yet a part of me knew it wasn’t. I knew I’d been shot and that my body was dying, yet I was reliving the past. The last memory I had was from the day I met you, Riley, and your mom in the hospital when your sister was born. It was Christmas. Do you remember that?”

  Leah nodded.

  “Strangely, I think it was your voice that pulled me out of that memory and helped me regain consciousness. Or maybe that’s why I was having that memory in the first place—because you were here and talking to me. Which came first? The chicken or the egg? Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was staring up at your penlight, here in this room.”

  Leah pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and sat forward. “Tell me more about those beings of light. You mentioned that you recognized your grandmother? Did she speak to you?”

  “There weren’t really any actual words spoken,” I explained, “but I knew she was saying hello and welcoming me. There were others that seemed familiar, but I couldn’t make out who they were. It was a bit fuzzy.”

  “Fuzzy,” she repeated.

  I nodded. “I was…disoriented. I was resisting everything I was seeing. Like I didn’t want to believe it was real.”

  “Were you afraid?”

  “Not at all.” I looked down at my hands on my lap. “It seems odd to me now, how people fear death.”

  “How do you feel about being back among the living?” she asked. “Any regrets?”

  I had to think about that for a moment. I hadn’t enjoyed coming back just to get dumped a second time by the woman I loved.

  “I don’t know yet,” I said. “Part of me is wondering if I returned for a specific purpose. I kind of feel like I was pushed.”

  “Pushed? By whom?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s crazy. Maybe all of this is crazy. But I feel like that ball of light knew something I didn’t. It struck me as being very knowledgeable.”

  Leah wrote that down.

  “I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” I said. “If you were any other doctor, I doubt I would say a word. I don’t want this to affect my job.”

  Then came the inevitable yawn.

  Leah flipped the chart closed. “It’s time for you to get some sleep. We can continue this tomorrow. There are some other things I’d like to talk to you about as well, if you’re up to it.”

  “You know where I am,” I said, “although I think I’m scheduled for some physio during the day.”

  “That’s all right. I’m on the night shift again anyway. Sleep well.” Leah bent forward and kissed me on the forehead. “And for the record,” she added, her face mere inches from mine, “I don’t usually make a habit of kissing my patients goodnight at the end of an interview, but this is different.”

  “Because we’re old friends,” I replied, feeling a spark of awareness in my veins from the warmth of her touch.

  She stroked her hand across my forehead and spoke in a whisper.
“Yes. I’m glad you’re all right. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  I nodded and watched her go.

  After she was gone, the room seemed extraordinarily empty.

  Chapter Twenty

  The following day, I spent an hour in the physiotherapy department where I exercised my muscles and was taught movements I could do on my own while lying in bed. Afterward, I returned to my room to find my partner, Scott, waiting there.

  “Hey, you look great,” he said optimistically, setting aside the magazine he was reading. He rose to his feet. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too,” I replied before limping back to the bed.

  The nurse lowered the side rail and helped me onto the mattress, while I silently braved the pain in my leg after that challenging hour of stretching and moving.

  She covered me with the sheet and chatted with Scott for a minute before leaving us alone.

  “How’s your arm?” I asked him.

  “Fine,” he replied, bending and flexing it. “All they did was bandage me up and send me on my way. You’re the one who took a beating that night. But we got the guy, thanks to you. He’ll be doing time, no doubt about that.”

  “That’s good news. Are you back at work yet?”

  Scott sat down in the chair and rolled up the magazine which he held on his lap. “No. They gave me a week off to recover. When I go back they’re saying they’ll want to keep me in the station for a few weeks. I suspect they’ll be sending me out for some therapy, just to make sure I’m not going to freeze up the next time I pull someone over on the turnpike. You should expect the same when you get back.”

  I nodded with understanding. “I’m already talking to someone. They ordered a psych consult about thirty seconds after I opened my eyes.”

  “No kidding? The stuff we have to put up with…” He shook his head. “Otherwise, are you doing okay? I heard from some of the guys…it was rough that night. They weren’t sure if you were going to make it.”

  “I almost didn’t.”