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Three Days In Heaven - Christian Fiction

Three Days In Heaven - Christian Fiction

Book excerpt

The emergency room was calm and peaceful for a place usually full of chaos. Call it divine intervention, the luck of the draw, or whatever, but on that day, I was the last patient admitted during the late-afternoon shift. It was though they were preparing for my arrival before they knew a thing about me. No one said a word to the other, they were moving along doing their jobs, but absent was a patient. Equipment was put in place, and instruments were lined up like little soldiers; then they waited.

A few miles away, with the phone close to her ear, Bev ran to me as fast as she could, called for an ambulance and started CPR. One of the side benefits of her working at the hospital, she had years of experience as a volunteer CPR instructor. The kids were out of control, so with the help of our next-door neighbors, they came over and rounded them up. Our house was a few blocks from the fire station, and within seconds you could hear the ambulance coming from the nearby distance. The siren blared, and emergency lights glared, they arrived in just over a minute.

The EMTs jumped into action and took over for Bev, placed me on a stretcher and continued doing CPR. They quickly loaded me into the ambulance like fragile freight and hooked me up to a heart monitor to check my cardiac rhythm, so the techs could decide what meds to start. They also used an Ambu bag to help breathe for me. When they determined my heart rhythm—what little I had—they started an IV with the right cardiac medication. The EMTs radioed the hospital to give a heads-up of a suspected sudden cardiac arrest heading their way.

The relative calmness of the ambulance was replaced with organized mayhem, typical in a hospital ER. The EMTs emptied their cargo and wheeled me into the emergency room; unconscious and barely breathing, but still alive, thanks to Bev and the EMTs.

The entire medical team rushed into action, taking over and doing everything their education and expertise had taught them to do. Those people were experts at communicating in one and two-word sentences:

“Crash cart?”

“Ready doctor.”

“BP?”

“Fifty-over thirty.”

The doctor shouted over everyone in the room, “Be alert people!”

Someone nearby loudly announced, “We're losing him!”

“Pulse?”

A nurse next to me replied, “Faint.”

The doctor again asked, “Respiration?”

“None.”

Within seconds, someone shoved a tube down my throat and hypodermic needles were everywhere—all of them seemed to be intruding my body. The team followed the medication protocol ordered by the lead physician. They worked on me for over an hour, never letting up. During all the commotion and chatter from the medical team, one sound stood out from the rest. For a few moments, my heart had a weak but steady rhythm, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief—especially me.

The familiar tone of the heart monitor came to life and echoed the room with an endless beep beep … beep beep … beep beep. Though my heart rate came around, the ER doc carried on with his work trying to get us both to the finish line.

It looked like I was going to make it, then out of nowhere a nurse shouted, “Doc, he's in v-fib!”

My heart fluttered violently, and the heart monitor went crazy; it looked like a kid had a heyday with an Etch-O-Sketch. The doctor snapped back into action and barked new orders.

“I'm going to shock him!” the doctor yelled. Meaning to use a defibrillator to correct my heart rhythm.

“Standing by.”

He positioned the paddles and yelled, “Clear.”

Then he zapped me. My body contorted with the electric shock. Complete silence consumed the frenzied environment as everyone waited to see my new heart rhythm—but there was no change.

“Does he have a pulse?”

“No.”

“I'm going to hit him again!”

Then boom! I felt that one, but unfortunately for me and without warning, a few moments later, there was another familiar sound—only this time it was the sound of silence; just a long, smooth tone coming from the monitor.

At the moment, I had plenty on my mind, you know, dying and all, but aside from the quietness in the ER, I heard unfamiliar voices clear as day.

“Hey guys, get over here! I think we've got one!”

“What is it this time? I hope it isn't another jumper.”

“No, he's a drop-dead heart attack. What do you want me to do?”

Then another voice chimed in.

“Let's take him while the iron is hot.”

“He's one of your favorites—he's a lawyer…”

“Fantastic. Why can't I ever get John Daly?”

“…but I think he's a pretty nice guy.”

“Can we move this along? I've got things to do. 'Cross over children. All are welcome. All welcome. Go into the Light.'

“Very poltergeisty. Let's do this!”

The ER doc sat the paddle aside and checked for a carotid pulse. After a brief pause, he took inventory of all the medical knowledge he had and came up short. He shook his head, paused again, then let out a sigh and asked for the time.

A nearby nurse glanced at the clock.

“6:33 p.m., Doctor.”

Everyone in the room knew what that meant: I was finally at rest. My time card got punched. Or the classic, I just bit the big one. To help end the confusion with the euphemisms; I was as dead as a doornail. Crap!

Throughout the silence, the next word I heard the doctor say was…

“Foooore!”

I'm not sure how or why, but I'm standing in the middle of a fairway as a line-drive tee shot is fast approaching my head! All of this happens in an instant. I am paralyzed in place and no time to avoid this impending disaster. Right before impact, the ball stops in mid-flight, turns to the right, circles around my head, then continues its flight, landing safely on the green.

Suicide By Death - Literary Fiction

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Unofficial Detective - Middle Grade Fantasy Adventure

Unofficial Detective - Middle Grade Fantasy Adventure