Wednesday, January 3rd, 2013

His name was Pakesh, and I first "met" him on Monday but he had been watching over me intermittently since Saturday night. He's an ICU orderly, but they call him a babysitter. I had other babysitters in ICU, but Pakesh was noticeably different. While the others were attentive, the first thing they did was change the TV to whatever they wanted to watch and that's how they spent the time in my room. Pakesh was a reader and a thinker. He wrote letters home. Babysitters are not "medically" trained, although I'd be happy to have Pakesh around in an emergency; he knew a lot. Rather his job is to sit with the patient so the nurse doesn't have to be there all the time. If anything goes wrong, he's the human alarm. If anything else is needed, he does it. He was sent by God to save my life, and this is our story.

I was a hot mess. I don't know how often I pooped myself, but every time I was alert for a few seconds I felt like I did or was or was about to do so. Pakesh was so gentle and tender and understanding. He would roll me over, take care of things and tell me it was ok. I'd be so apologetic, but mostly I felt deeply depressed at these times. I was barely alert and in distress, and I know I believed this was my life from now on. I wasn't able to put together thoughts of recovery - I could only see the dread. Pakesh would speak softly to me. I'd apologize and cry and he'd tell me "It's all right - that's why I am here. You will be ok and I will take care of you until you are better."

Pakesh had taken a special interest in me. He had seen my wife and family read The Word and pray for me. I heard him on the phone agreeing to an extra shift "if I can watch Mr. Carter." He was the most constant companion I recalled during these days - even though my wife and brother were there more often, Pakesh was my care giver and my lifeline to conscious thought.

God gave me plenty of warnings about my health, most of which I ignored. You can't blame God for telling you to avoid the accident and determining to drive yourself into the wall anyway. I have experienced it so many times, and if you think back I'd be surprised if you haven't as well. A still small voice; a thought as clear as if it were written on a wall; a cleared field to run through in the midst of chaos. I don't know how God speaks to you, but these are some of the many ways He has spoken to me. God never wanted me to have a heart attack - but God wanted me to be delivered. And while I didn't heed the warnings, God never gave up and He sent Pakesh to comfort me and help me hear His clarion call.

At 4:00am Wednesday morning, my brother (who is an ordained clergyman) awoke in the basement of our house and describes himself as "discomfited" with God. He never feels that way. He began to pray. Within a few moments, he said he felt a palpable presence of God and he knew everything was going to be Ok. "I got this" God told him. The wheels were set in motion with my brothers prayer and believing. God isn't always early, but He is never late. The miracle was happening and it started in the basement of our modest Eagan home.

At 4:15am, I awoke. I was incredibly alert and in terrible, agonizing pain. I had gained over 40 pounds since I arrived in the ER. I was taking enough Lasix to drain Lake Minnetonka. The added weight, the amount of work it took to breath, the severe angina (which they could not relieve with Nitro because I was reacting terribly to its administration) and the incredible depression had won the battle, and I was ready to surrender the war. I rolled slightly (I was still securely restrained to the bed) and saw Pakesh. He was sitting in a chair 2 feet from my bed. He had been meditating. With my eyes barely open, I called out.

Me: "Please help me. Please. I can't take this anymore."
Pakesh: "It's Ok. What can I do.?"
Me: "I'm so sorry, I have soiled myself again. I hate this. I can't go on."
Pakesh: "Don't worry, Mr. Carter, I will clean you up. It's Ok. I will take care of you."
Me: "I can't do this anymore. I hurt so much. I want to quit. All I have to do is close my eyes for 5 minutes, and it will all be over."

I had felt this for a couple days. All I had to do was decide to close my eyes for 5 minutes . . . 5 more minutes of pain and the comfort would come. I believed this without any doubt. Death was completely in my hands and it had won. I was ready, willingly, to embrace an end. I believe in Eternity, I know God has far greater things in store for me than this earthly life. Imagine that! While my life has had its struggles I have joy beyond joy and love everything I enjoy everyday. I could write ad neauseum about my addiction and the calamity that once was my existence, but I still wouldn't trade a day for the joy I have today.

Hebrews 12:2: "And let us gaze at Jesus, who is The Author and The Perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was his, endured the cross and ignored the shame, and he sits upon the right side of the throne of God"

Pakesh came and sat on the edge of my bed, and gently began to caress my shoulder. In his deep Tibetan accent, that delightful dialect that sounds calming and joyous and spiritual to me:

"Oh, no, Jeff, you cannot quit. You must stay strong - you have so much to live for. Look at your family, how they love you. Your wife, your brother, they have been here and praying for you. Think of your tender son - he still needs his father. And your grandson! You have not yet met him. He needs you.

God is not done with you, Jeff. You mustn't quit."

These words fell on my ears like tender drops of rain on the garden. My soul was thirsty for the sustenance; my heart ached to believe. Pakesh continued to massage my shoulders and wiped my forehead. I wept in his arms and reached for his hand. He got off my bed and kneeled at my side. Looking deeply at me, his warm, compassionate eyes locked onto mine and he made a fervent plea:

"Do not give up yet. I know you are tired and hurting. But you must try one more time. God has not come to take you, but to heal you."

With that I felt a warmth throughout my head, heart and body. It was as if I had been dipped in a warm bath, inside and out. My intense pain immediately began to subside. While Pakesh continued to speak, I let the sound of his lyrical incantations drift through my ears, into my head and down to my heart. With each syllable came peaceful relief. Pakesh could feel it as well. While he continued to succor me, a nurse walked in. He looked at her and said "He will get better now." She didn't fully comprehend the meaning, and methodically went about checking my vitals while Pakesh continued to hold my hands and speak.

"When she is done, I am going to clean you up. You will feel much better. I will take care of you, Jeff. You will be all better soon."

When the nurse finished, Pakesh spent 30 minutes cleaning me up. I got a bed bath, clean sheets and a non-stop barrage of joyful musings from his spiritual center. I don't know what he was saying - I was coming down off my cloud and peacefully waiting to land. Every sponge stroke, every careful touch, I felt God calming me, relieving me through Pakesh's fingertips. By 5:00am I sunk into a deep sleep, and for the first time since arrival, did not awaken for 4 hours.

Around 90 minutes later, my brother walked into the ICU and saw Dr. Foster-Smith, another cardiologist who was regularly monitoring my case. He was standing at the desk, and my brother asked him if he had seen me. "Your brother has made a miraculous recovery."

Yes, I had.