A Place with 'No
More Tears'
I
know what I am talking about because I felt Heaven. Hum Drum. Cross your
fingers or tie a bow around one finger and remember that throughout this book,
I live drip to drip (intravenous fluid) and battery to battery (9 Volt, to be
specific). The Hum Drum is my pump, pumping in fluid 24/7, so that my heart
does not empty of blood, and I can stand up without fainting (syncope). Drip,
drop. First the car accident occurred, and then I was bedridden. On my first ER
visit, I went to a place.
It is a
place with ‘no more tears’. I know, because I’ve been there.
Even
though I’ve never heard a lecture on this subject. Not from any church I have
ever attended since I accepted Christ as my personal Savior in second grade
Catholic school. Not from elementary or high schoolteachers, not from the
philosophy Professor in college, and not even from the Holy Spirit class in
medical school. Not from Professors of internal medicine, pediatrics,
obstetrics/gynecology, oncology, cardiology, surgery, anesthesiology, nor
critical care. Not from the priests or the religious clergy standing with me,
as patient after patient died in the intensive care unit (ICU) over a span of
probably hundreds of deaths and four years learning or leading others in how to
help a dying person leave this world with dignity and grace. To be there as
each person took his/her last breaths, ‘gave up their spirit’, and died. And frankly, I cannot even recall the
specific Bible scripture that references Heaven as being a place of “no more
tears”. Remember: hum drum. Drip,
drip. It keeps me alive.
But I was
there, outside the door to Heaven, and I was filled with profound relief and
ecstatic joy at never crying again. I felt it so purely and so overwhelmingly
that I hope to impart on you one iota of what it feels like to have ‘no more
tears’. And to impress upon you an
indelible story that will change your individual human world forever. To let
you know that you too can really, truly be at Heaven’s door and be possessed
with the monumental knowledge that you would have ‘no more tears’ for all of
eternity. To feel ‘no more tears’ and revel and bask in the enormity of an eternity
of it.
Unimaginable.
Hum drum,
drip drop. I am a living miracle, wearing a gray Camelback tiny backpack that
my son picked out for me, modified with a button, to hold an intravenous bag
and a pump. It goes with me everywhere; I cannot live without it. The fluid
allows blood to go to my brain. Beep!
The pump computer reads, "Occlusion", so I punch outward my left arm,
hoping that the motion straightens out any part of the catheter that is kinked.
It does, and I can relax a little after the alarm went off. But that "KNEE-KNOW, KNEE
KNOW" double alarm irritant AKA my CADD pump. It really hurts my head.
Heaven.
It is neither just a feeling of tranquility, nor a fleeting touch of an
everlasting sense of peace. No foo-foo words like that are able to impart the
skimming of the waters of the feeling. Not placing time in a bottle and having
a standstill or momentary feeling of ‘no more tears’ that you realize is
time-limited because something will happen or someone will say the wrong thing
to you and then your ‘no more tears’ will be lessened or gone. Instead, it is
an all-encompassing beginning that starts outside the door to Heaven, before
you even pass through the door to Heaven. It is an inkling, a blink of the
eye. First you don’t have it, and
then suddenly you have it all.
You are
bathed (i.e., submersed, surrounded, uplifted, and glowing) with one immediate
trait of knowledge: no more tears. Hum drum, drip drop. To simultaneously
comprehend that your most beloved ones on earth would be actively crying for
you forever, either literally or in their own memories. To know they are crying
for you now, as you lay in the Emergency Room gurney with death’s mask on your
face, pale and green with blue veins under your eyes.
Hum drum,
drip drop as I am writing this book. On the way to Heaven, one realizes a few
things. Knowing that your sons and your daughters would grow up without you
guiding them through life, laughing with them, playing with their hair, or
tucking them into bed. Knowing
that your loved ones would not see you again, and that you would not share a
snack or a meal with them. Unless they ended up with you in Heaven when they
died. Hum drum, drip drop as I thank God for another day, and another battery.
Each time
we insert a new catheter in my arm, we realize that we may not be able to use
this arm again, as we ascend upward from my elbow (i.e., antecubital area) to
my upper arm with each different catheter. Hum drum, drip, drop. Eventually,
the radiologists want to go into my neck veins. When we run out of arm veins.
Hum drum, drip, drop. A sound very ‘vampire-ish’ to me, and it does not cause
me to have great enthusiasm for this procedure. I think we will.....wait. When
we run out of arm veins. Once we run out of arm veins, we'll use neck veins. Hum
drum, drip, drop. Hum drum, drip, drop.
If
there's nothing "new" out there by then, I have been told that I'll
be a patient with dysautonomia and all her veins used up. Hum drum, drip, drop.
My life is as long as the veins last, as long as the PICC line lasts, as long
as we use sterility in procedures such as iv tubing changes every three days so
we don't get another presumed PICC line infection. Hum drum, drip, drop. My
PICC line is in for life, they say. But God has a plan.
Getting
back to Heaven, and knowing that you will not cry for your loved ones; hum drum,
and drip, drop. I live second to second, knowing that any minute I can fall,
have a blood clot go to my brain. But even that information would not take away
your own feeling of the purity of basking in the permanence and purity of ‘no
more tears’. To be so very filled with ‘no more tears’ that you are stunned at
yourself when you vehemently and most assuredly say to yourself, “They are
crying for me on earth. But I am
not crying for them.” And knowing that you will never, ever shed one more tear
that rolls down your cheek and lands on the floor. Hum drum, drip, drop.
You see,
I was hit by a lady and then sustained a traumatic head injury with other rare
injuries that took faith in God, the support of my husband, perseverance, my
own medical knowledge, and ‘doctor shopping’ to ultimately reach a long list of
diagnoses. Hum drum, drip, drop. I had to micromanage myself as a physician,
and think as a physician, in order to reach this point in my life where I can
stand up and walk around. Hum drum, drip, drop. I may as well accept this
rather peaceful pace of the pump. But the hum drum wakes me up all throughout
the night, and I hate it when the PICC line iv gets accidentally pulled out. We
drop all plans and realize it will be another hospital stay for me. Anywhere
from 3 days to 2 weeks. Pop! At any time. Hum drum, drip, drop.
My
three-year old was in the car during the accident. Hum drum, drip, drop. I am
constantly reminded of the palatable beauty and pleasure that interacting with
children brings. Now six, she has an old soul and never knows when her Mommy
will be taken to the hospital. Or if her Mommy will be home when the little one
gets home from school. She never knows if this is the time that Mommy will die,
and when I come home from the hospital, I have to teach her to trust in loving
me again. Hum drum, drip, drop. My iv bag holds one liter, so it lasts 16 hours
or so. I hope someone took my next bag out of the refrigerator to thaw, because
I do not like cold fluid going directly into my superior vena cava, which dumps
blood directly into the heart.
I was not
in an intersection or at a light or stop sign when the accident occurred. Hum
drum, drip, drop. It was a bright and sunny day, around 2:00 pm on a Tuesday.
BAM! My first and repetitive thought was, “I didn’t do anything! I was just
driving on the street!” She hit my left passenger wheel, rippled under the gas
tank, pulled away some of the rear bumper, then BAM! I faced a slew of oncoming
traffic, since now I was across my lane and into opposing traffic. Hum drum,
drip, drop. Apparently she hit someone behind me and I thought I would be
repetitively accordioned like a standstill tennis ball; hit from in front, then
hit from behind over and over again.
My rear axle was broken.
The truck behind me (the second BAM!) was totaled, as was the lady’s
car, a Beemer that was now accordioned up to her front seat.
Everyone
walked away from the accident, including our 3-year old our daughter and our chocolate
Labrador, Ella Bella. Slowly, my
conditions creeped up and declared themselves to the point that my life is the
way it is today. Hum drum, drip, drop.
Did I mention that no one stopped to help? Every car wiggled its way
around our three displaced vehicles and proceeded along as if life was normal.
One lady had her window down as she kept driving away, and I kept shouting,
"Will somebody stop? I have a baby in the car!" Hum drum, drip, drop.
As time
would eventually tell, to date and to my knowledge, only I was injured in the
accident. Today, other mothers volunteer to me that I was plodding around
because I "took" all the injuries the same way as any good mother
would want it to be: so that my child would have none. Hum drum, drip, drop,
and hope my PICC line stays in through Christmas. I still agree with them, and
I feel so blessed that the others in the car seemed fine. I am convinced that
if the lady had not hit me first, her impact on the truck would have cost the
truck's passenger his life. To this day, I am inwardly glad that she hit our
car first. Remember the sound of the pump. It never stops. Hum drum, drip,
drop.
Two
months later, I lay in my bed upstairs. Something was very wrong with me and I
felt death was upon me, slowing taking my soul away. Unbeknown to me, my left
vertebral artery had begun to dissect.
I looked out the leaded glass windows to the pepper trees and oleanders
beyond, thinking that I would never get to garden again. Hum drum, drip, drop.
I looked around our room, focusing on the bedroom set that we picked out after
being newly married, recalling that I never wanted to purchase another set
again. The bedroom set, handmade from Bali, was unique and tropical, classy and
fun at the same time. It was a good bed to die in. If I fell asleep, I knew I
would not wake up. I was tired. Hum drum, drip, drop.
I don’t
know why I didn’t telephone my husband, who was downstairs. Instead, I reached
for the phone in a last-ditch effort to relay my thoughts. Hum drum, drip,
drop. I called my sister in Maine, barely able to whisper my sentiments. I told
her that I felt that I was going to die. I said, “Make sure and promise me that
my daughter will always be in touch with your daughter. I want all my clothes
to go to my daughter, and my son and husband could figure out the rest.” I
didn’t have the energy to say much else other than, “I feel like I’m about to
die” and “I love you forever”. I didn’t really believe it, or I would have
called my husband. I just felt so tired and only later did tell me what I said,
as I had forgotten. Hum drum, drip, drop. Through God and an excellent doctor,
the pump and fluid have saved my life. Otherwise, the alternate path awaited
me.
I lay on
my stomach, feeling pulled downward, hot and heavy on the bed. My eyes watered
and the tears dropped over my nose as I waited for the inevitable deep sleep to
overcome me and take me away. Hum drum, drip, drop. I was ready to rest. To let
my soul go.
(My
sister apparently was upset as we hung up. Immediately she began stewing in
Michigan for twenty minutes, wondering whether or not to contact my husband,
Michael. After twenty minutes, she then called Michael and he immediately raced
up the two-flights of wooden stairs to reach me.) Hum drum, drip, drop continues day and night.
Suddenly,
I was being pushed and prodded. I could hear Michael’s voice in the distance
but I couldn’t turn over. He turned me over and later said that I had the ‘look
of death’ on my face. As doctors, we both knew what that meant. He asked me to
confirm whether I called, telling her I felt like I was going to die. I
confirmed it. He asked me if I wanted to go to the Emergency Room and I was too
tired to think. Hum drum, drip, drop. That's what I needed then, only no one
knew about my diagnosis yet. Our Nanny Sarah rounded up supplies and in
sundries, the house turned into a hornet’s nest of determination and deadlines,
and to the Emergency Room we went. Maybe we should have called an ambulance;
we'll never know. Hum drum, drip, drop. The Bag is almost like my Enemy at
times. I love you sometimes. Other times I hate you. Either way, you are not
mine and I do not accept you. One day, you will be out of my life. Hum drum,
drip, drop.
Andrea, a
friend who happened to be staying at our home, held my hand the whole way to
the hospital. I made her promise to take a year off to be a Nanny for our
daughter if I died. She agreed and she kept me talking, which sequentially kept
me breathing, which by God’s grace helped molecules of oxygen go to my brain.
Hum drum, drip, drop. I am convinced that this most assuredly left me with less
of a brain injury than I otherwise could have sustained.
Flashing
forward in time, among other things, I did end up with two small strokes in my
midbrain. Hum drum, drip, drop. The midbrain, particularly a place called the
pons, contains centers for such basic bodily functions as respiration, blood
pressure regulation, heart rate regulation, and vomiting. Not the traditional
stroke in the outside curly cerebrum brain that leaves people unable to talk or
walk on one side, or smile on one side (and may eventually go away). No.
Because it is I, something else had to happen. Something rare. Hum drum, drip,
drop. Instead, this was a stroke that made my heart rate and blood pressure so
unregulated and disjointed that I would faint just by standing up.
At this
time, we had no "diagnosis' and I 'presented' to the Emergency Room (ER)
feeling “like I am about to die”.
I don’t think there’s a medical billing ('CPT') code for that
presentation. Soon thereafter, I
was unattended and a Catholic priest came to my right side, opened a jar, and
put liquid on his fingers. Hum drum, drip, drop. I knew it was my Last Rights
with a blessing of Holy Oil. He
prayed, made the sign of the cross, and anointed my forehead.
I
immediately drifted off to Heaven, iridescent bubbles going before me in groups
of two or three. There were some bubbles traveling alone, but most were in
groups. It was as if someone was blowing child’s bubbles behind me, and instead
of straying away randomly, the bubbles honed in on a central and elongated
tunnel of sorts. The bubbles hopped along ahead of me toward a bright light, a
door. That’s when it hit me. I felt the overwhelming ‘no more tears’.
Stop.
Stop. Try to feel this place. Sh..sh....sh..... Close your eyes for one minute.
Now. Feel this place.
I knew it
was my Time, and I knew that if I stepped over this hyper visualized and
magical Doorway, I would be in Heaven and would not be able go back to Earth. I
could feel, and I knew, that the following people were standing there waiting
for me: God, Jesus Christ, Mother Mary, and my beloved father.
God was
patient, as I was torn in one direction: to be a Mother. I kept looking
backwards and seeing planet Earth. I looked again. I stepped back and bowed in
humility to God, “I know it is my Time. But if it is okay with you, I would
like to watch my daughter grow up.” The words were silent, yet the words were
said as if they were spoken. God listened to me. Just like He listens to you
every time you have a problem.
Perhaps
he remembered how I tried to helped the less fortunate, to make people laugh,
all the devotion I had to Him throughout most of my life (e.g., except during
my Terrible Teen years). Hum drum, drip, drop. Above all, He listened to each
and every bubble that went ahead of me; each was filled with a prayer of
intersession for my recovery. I knew that I had hundreds of people throughout
the world praying for me, and I knew their prayers were encased in the bubbles.
It was as if God was tilting His head slightly to better hear what they had to
say, as He simultaneously had me presented before Him. Hum drum, drip, drop. He
listened to them. Just as He listens to those who say they are praying for you.
God
listened to the prayers of intersession from others, and He listened to my
acquiescence and humility that His Will be done, not mine. I roasted in the ‘no
more tears’ most luxuriously, comprehended the Entrance to Heaven, and gently
floated and faded back into my own body. I believe that only milliseconds had
gone by, as no loss of consciousness occurred. As far as I recall, it was like
taking a nap.
Since
then, I wake up every morning. I hear the hum drum, and the drip, drop. Before
I open my eyes, I praise the Lord that I get to be on planet earth for one more
day. I check my iv fluid to ensure it won't run out in 10 minutes, and then I
listen and wait until I hear the birds. I, just like you, fight the good fight
to stay alive, despite all the medical odds. I am surrounded by other walking
miracles. So are you. 'Miracle people' are all around you. They range from the
most respectful to the least desirable people around you, but they are miracles
nonetheless.
Now it is
a pleasure to teach those around me, primarily my caregivers and my family. Hum
drum, drip, drop. God has brought people into our house to help me, and has
surrounded me with people that He has sent for us to help. He has given me
insight and strength to go beyond the medical books, beyond the Medical
History, beyond the normal, to relay this book to you. I could have and should
have died and gone to Heaven. Just three months ago, it was rumored in my
neighborhood that I looked like I was about to imminently die. Have traveled
three times and my life is going to continue. My Life.
‘No more tears’. Imagine it, if you can.
Stay in it as long as you can. Earn it by accepting Christ into your heart and
asking forgiveness for your sins. We all have sinned. But Heaven is a real
place and God is a real God. Pray that His Will, not yours, be done in your
life. That He will open the doors that need to be opened before you, and He
will close the doors that need to be shut before you even get there. Allow Him
to work in your life. Human to human. Hum drum, drip, drop. Person to person.
One moment, not one day at a time. Treat it both as an order and a challenge.
Enjoy the journey and laugh along the way. Hum drum, drip, drop. I am less
inclined to hold back my tears of joy, because someday I will have ‘no more
tears’. While you can, revel in your own tears of joy. Because in Heaven, there
are no more tears ever again.
I've felt
it, the No More Tears.
It is not
possible for there to be anything like it here on planet Earth.
It is not
here. It is in Heaven.
I know,
because I’ve been there.
Hum drum
and drip, drop continues. Every time I reread this Chapter, I am dissatisfied.
There is no way for me to explain the things that I saw at the door of Heaven.
It is as if written words can not truly convey the enormity of this to you. I come
back and I still come back again to read this Chapter, and my description falls
far short.
I felt
the rays of light from heaven, touching my feet. I felt the warmth of pure joy,
the peace that passes all understanding, and the sense of being in flight. To
be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. In one blink of the
eye, there was outer space, the door to Heaven itself, and the planet Earth
behind me. I know the Psalms teach us the Lord is our Shepherd and we shall not
want (i.e., but be happy and satisfied with what we have). I know that God
leads us 'through the valley of the shadow of death' and leads us to still
waters. Shadows don't hurt us. It was as if a mild but strong magnet into
Heaven was pulling me, but I was not ready to leave Earth.
I never
saw the 'tunnel'; I made it straight to the door of Heaven. I never saw or felt
the 'valley of the shadow of death'. Hum drum, drip, drop. I trust God for each
moment, each smile from my family's face, each hum of the hummingbirds that
cluster around my leaded glass window seat. Hum drum, drip, drop.
Humbly
grateful, I spoke up. I asked God for mercy. I believe that God took a long
look at my past life. He considered all of the things I did with my life. He
considered the current stream of iridescent prayers of intersession from the
host of other people that I knew were praying for me. Prayers went to God’s ear
from Florida, Chicago, North Carolina, California, Canada, Pennsylvania, Texas,
and beyond. They were still coming in behind me, floating randomly forward
towards God in a fairy-tale manner, like pixie dust is to a magic wand.
Floating. Hum drum, drip, drop that the doctors say will never end. He allowed
for a seemingly predestined life to not follow the predicted pattern of simple
fate, but to deviate from statistically by showing me that mere humans actually
trigger actions or pleas that create a domino effect that leads to change God's
mind. Really.
A human,
and a group of humans in prayer, were able to influence God so that life and miracles
could occur. Hum drum, drip, drop. And so my children could retain their
mother.
A human
was able to influence God. He was listening to my pleadings, and the prayers of
others. I am grateful for every hum drum and drip, drop. It has allowed me to
pass on what I have learned. To give you hope and inspiration, exercises and
bodily strength to recuperate after a life-changing event has occurred.
I am not
special. You too can live for God and lay your life down on the floor before
him, most humbly. But do not just go to God when you need him, or when you want
something. You should have such a good relationship with Him that God makes
things happen for you, he gives you signs when you ask for it, to ensure He is
leading your life. I have asked for a sign from God many, many times when I
really needed to know He was holding me in his arms. God has never failed me.
Hum drum
and drip, drop. I have to remember to change my battery before I fall asleep
for the night, otherwise I'll be shuffling in the dark to accomplish this task.
Don't leave home without an extra bag of iv fluid; you never know if there's
going to be an earthquake or a traffic jam. Of course, I never run out of iv
fluid. At least not yet.
God
considered my request to live. The enormity of this still makes me feel so
small yet important to God. I think I've had people waiting for me to die ever
since the first ambulance whisked me away. My Cardiologist's office has been
impressed with my determination to get out of bed. To sit up, stand up, and
walk.
You
probably do not have to think about walking around after sitting in a chair.
You just get up and walk, without any conscious effort as to your motions. For
me, there is an exceeding amount of energy spent in doing such seemingly simple
tasks. I change positions with conscious effort, and I walk with every step
being deliberate.
It seems
that every three months, my central iv line has been getting infected. Time
after time, I have made it 'out' of hospitalizations and when I got home, I was
like a petrie dish just waiting for another central line infection. Now, I am
simplifying my life (#1 Rule) and am determined that at Christmas time (i.e.,
in three months) I will NOT be in any hospital.
Again, I
need this fluid for the rest of my life, they say. I do not accept it. My
peripherally-inserted central catheter (PICC) iv line pumps in sugar water at
65 cc/hr. I've been down to 50 cc/hr, and up to 100 cc/hr, based on the color
of my face (i.e., white versus pink). All 24/7. My PICC line(s) have needed
changing from the left arm to the right arm or vice versa, every three months
for almost a couple of years, now.
Every time we put the PICC line in the left arm, it left a scar and
undoubtedly some residual wound to the vein itself, including clot (thrombus)
formation. Then we go to the right arm, and the PICC line needs changing again,
usually due to infection.
Eventually,
if you look at the length of the veins in each arm, one can imagine that I will
"run out" of veins. Then I may have to resort to having a PICC line
tunneled into the internal jugular vein in the neck. Until that one runs out,
then maybe the doctors and nurses can then save my left neck vein for last.
Statistically and increasing with time going by, one can see that one day there
will be no vein left. Hopefully, by then, my child will be grown and the Lord
can take me back to Heaven, where I will be waiting for my husband.
God
granted me the ability to return to Earth and be a messenger to you. He not
only wants you to be in the crowd of individuals that believe in Him, but He
wants you to live your life for Him. When we accept Christ in to our hearts as
our personal Savior, we die to ourselves and become alive to Christ. It does
not stop there.
Sorry, I
did not make the rules. "No one goes to the Father except through the
Son". If you know the Bible or if you know Jesus, you, too, will go there.
Try to live your life as if you went to Heaven and then came back to Earth,
just as I believe I did. What would you do differently? Your priorities would
change, especially how much you cherish your children and your spouse, as well
as your loved ones.
Once we
have died to ourselves and have become alive for Christ, we must seek his face,
and listen for that still, small voice of the Holy Spirit that He left us with
(Christ did not want to leave us alone, so He sent us the Holy Spirit).
One last
thing before I forget to write this somewhere in this book. When I was before
God, I do not think that He viewed me as a Baptist or a Catholic, or any denominational
or nondenominational affiliate. He viewed me as a Christian. It did not matter
which Church I attended, or if I attended Church and did home Bible Study
instead. Things would be okay as long as I did my best to live for Christ and
maneuver through life helping others to know God and His endless mercy and
healing qualities....
For more, please obtain No More Tears: A Physician Turned Patient Inspires Recovery.
Dr. Margaret Aranda
No More Tears: A Physician Turned Patient Inspires Recovery
by Dr. Margaret Aranda
BUY IT NOW: www.drmargaretaranda.tateauthor.com/other-works/
ISBN: 978-1-62205-838-2
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Dr. Margaret Aranda's Books:
Little Missy Two-Shoes Likes to go to School
From Menarche to Menopause: A Journey through Time
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