My companions and I began to glide along a path, and I knew that I was going home. My eternal home. We were returning to God and we were all very excited. My companions could barely contain their unbridled enthusiasm and were eager to announce my return, celebrating it with all the inhabitants of heaven. As I was drinking in the beauty and rejoicing with my companions, I glimpsed back at the scene on the river bank. My body looked like the shell of a comfortable old friend, and I felt warm compassion and gratitude for its use.
I looked at Tom and his sons, and they seemed so terribly sad and vulnerable. I heard them call to me and beg me to take a breath. I loved them and did not want them to be sad, so I asked my heavenly companions to wait while I returned to my body, lay down, and took a breath. Thinking that this would be satisfactory, I then left my body and resumed my journey home.
We were traveling down a path that led to a great and brilliant hall, larger and more beautiful than anything I can conceive of seeing on earth. It was radiating a brilliance of all colors and beauty. I believe that when people with near-death experiences describe “seeing the white light” or “moving toward the white light,” they may be describing their moving toward the brilliance of this hall. Our vocabulary is just not rich enough to describe the experience in a way that is understandable. Perhaps this is why Jesus often spoke in parables.
I felt my soul being pulled toward the entry and, as I approached, I physically absorbed its radiance and felt the pure, complete, and utterly unconditional absolute love that emanated from the hall. It was the most beautiful and alluring thing I had ever seen or experienced. I knew with a profound certainty that it represented the last branch point of life, the gate through which each human being must pass. It was clear that this hall is the place where each of us is given the opportunity to review our lives and our choices, and where we are each given a final opportunity to choose God or to turn away—for eternity. I felt ready to enter the hall and was filled with an intense longing to be reunited with God.
There was one notable obstacle to my reunion: Tom Long and his boys kept beckoning to me. Each time they begged me to come back and take a breath, I felt compelled to return to my body and take another breath before returning to my journey. This became tiresome, and I grew quite irritated with their repeated calling. I knew they didn’t understand what was happening, but I was annoyed that they wouldn’t let me go. I liken it to the irritation that a parent feels when their young child keeps asking for more things before going to bed: a story, a glass of water, the light on, the light off, the covers arranged, another kiss, and so on.
We arrived at the entrance to the hall, and I could see many spirits bustling about inside. They all turned to look at us as we began to enter, and they communicated great compassion and love. Before we could go inside, however, an oppressive feeling of grief and sadness descended upon my spiritual companions and the atmosphere became heavy. They turned to me and explained that it was not my time to enter the hall; I had not completed my journey on earth, had more work to do, and must return to my body. I protested but was given several reasons for my return and told that I would soon be given more information.
We shared our sorrow as they returned me to the river bank. I sat down in my body and gave these heavenly beings, these people who had come to guide, protect, and cheer for me, one last, longing glance before I lay down and was reunited with my body.
CHAPTER 13
ANGELS BY THE RIVER
“Anyone who doesn’t believe in miracles
Is not a realist.”
—David Ben-Gurion
I became aware of my body and opened my eyes to see the faces of the Longs looking down at me. There seemed to be a sense of relief and excitement as Tom and Kenneth started telling the others what to do for me. They arranged a kayak to be my lift and secured my body to the top. The rocky river bank was adjacent to an extremely thick bamboo forest. The incline of the hillside was steep and appeared insurmountable.
As the Longs considered their options, several young Chilean men materialized out of nowhere. A couple of them helped lift and begin to carry the boat to which I was secured, and the other began to push a path through the bamboo. No words were ever spoken to them or by them; they just knew what to do. It was slow going through the forest and I faded in and out of consciousness. Kenneth has always been filled with the qualities typical of an oldest child, and his drive pushed everyone else. Despite their increasing fatigue, no one was going to stop unless he did.
During my intermittent interludes of consciousness, I would confidently blurt out instructions for them to give me steroids; I knew I couldn’t move my legs and, as a spine surgeon, I assumed that I had broken my back and injured my spinal cord. If such were the case, the timely administration of steroids could lessen my degree of paralysis. This seemed like rambling to them, but it was difficult for them to ignore. Eventually they found a single-track dirt path, which led to a dirt road.
Our entourage slowly trundled along this dirt path, moving forward but not really knowing what they would do when they eventually found a road. The nearest village was too far to reach by walking and any road they came upon would be infrequently traveled. They vaguely hoped to find someone with an old tractor or other farm implement that could transport me more quickly to the village. At that time, ambulances were essentially nonexistent in this part of Chile so it was a great surprise when we emerged from the forested hillside and saw an ambulance parked on the side of the road. The driver didn’t speak, but he seemed to be waiting for us.
After Bill had waved us off at the river put-in earlier in the day, he drove the truck to a sunny spot, parked and pulled out a book in preparation for a leisurely day of reading. He planned to meet us later in the day at the river take-out. During my resuscitation, one woman sort of “freaked-out” and ran away from the scene at the river. With what I am sure was God’s leading, she ran to the exact spot where Bill was reading. After a quick explanation, they both jumped into the truck and rapidly drove along the road in search of our group. They found us just as I was being loaded into the ambulance.
Tom and Chad drove in the truck while Bill and Kenneth rode with me in the back of the ambulance. The driver careened down the road toward the tiny first-aid station in the village of Choshuenco, and Kenneth was somewhat reassured about my condition and my degree of comprehension when I began insisting that the driver slow down before he killed us. When we finally made it to the first-aid station, Kenneth and Chad returned to the chaos at the river. Tom stayed with Bill and me.
When Kenneth and Chad returned to the river, they first tried to find the young men who had been such a great help in carrying me through the forest. These young men were nowhere to be found and the people from the village had no idea who they could be talking about. They didn’t know of anyone fitting their description in the village, so the people thought Chad and Kenneth must be mistaken. Angels? Chad and Kenneth found their return trip through the bamboo forest to the river bank was even more difficult than when they had carried me out. They found the forest to be even thicker and the hillside even steeper than they remembered. It made the success of their earlier efforts seem even less plausible, unless one accepted that the process of my rescue was almost entirely a result of divine intervention.
Once all of the remaining boaters were accounted for, Kenneth and Chad tried to recover the two boats that were still trapped at the bottom of the waterfall. It was nearly impossible. The rock upon which they had been standing when they fished me out of the water was gone. It was not possible for them to stand in the current of the steep waterfall. It was impossible for them to reach or even touch the boats. It took more than an hour of dedicated working and suffering through multiple snapped ropes to get the first boat out. In order to achieve this, they had to first bend and fold both boats in half by securing lines to the boat ends and rotating them such that the current could do this work. When they finally retrieved the lines they had been using, they
saw that there had been enough friction and force between the lines to melt the knots together.
As they returned to Pucón, they were exhausted and overwhelmed by the absolute impossibility of my rescue and the supernatural aspects of what had occurred. God’s presence and purposeful intervention was clear to all those who were present on the scene. Tom, Kenneth, Chad, and Anne have all told me they feel that the situation went from one of total and absolute failure and hopelessness to one of success without any meaningful input from them. They have described it to me as a choreographed performance in which they were each just playing their roles. To this day, they continue to feel that ours is not just a good story. It wasn’t just one miracle; it was a constellation of miracles for which there is no possible explanation other than God’s intervention. As Chad later said, “Let’s not let life muddle what happened. We were all part of a miracle.”
Anne has reported that she was overwhelmed by the simultaneous and contrasting feelings of being so helpless and small in the universe and of being so loved by God that He chose to be present. She, and I think all of us, are still feeling undeserving of His intervention. With all of the suffering and people in need, it is difficult to understand how or why He intervened that day on the Fuy River in Chile, but He clearly did.
Anne has described feeling both helpless and remarkably liberated. She knows that God is in control and she feels that she now understands the verse in the Bible that describes how you must give up everything in order to gain everything:
“For those who want to save their life will lose it, and
those who lose their life for my sake, and
for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”
—Mark 8:35 (NRS)
CHAPTER 14
RETURN TO WYOMING
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
—Hebrews 13:5 (NKJV)
The first-aid clinic in Choshuenco was quite rudimentary, with no diagnostic equipment and few supplies. Bill was relieved to find a supply of plaster however, and expertly applied long splints to each of my legs. I don’t think I said much, as I felt myself drifting back and forth between this world and the one I had left. I was still fully immersed in the visions, the passion, the intensity, and the love I had just witnessed in God’s kingdom.
In trying to sort out and make sense of what was happening, I made one absolute decision: I was not going to stay in Chile for my medical care, nor was I going to stop in any of the large American cities through which we would pass on our way back to our home in Wyoming. Jackson Hole had a great hospital, doctors that I trusted and, most importantly, I knew that I needed to be with my children.
Bill and Tom loaded me into the backseat of the pickup truck for the beginning of our journey home. We drove to Coique, where there was a small airport. Finding the airport closed, we drove on to Valdivia, a bustling city of more than 100,000. Bill’s heart sank and he was brought to tears as we approached the airport entrance and saw that the entry gate was closed and locked. There would be no more flights until the morning.
We drove into the city and found a small hotel with a vacancy. As Tom said goodbye, Bill carried me up the stairs and we settled in for a long and restless night of waiting for the morning. A taxi returned us to the airport at the crack of dawn, at which point Bill found a small plane that was going to Santiago. He secured seats and gently lifted me into the plane. Bill was heroic. He dealt with the bags, the tickets, and with me in my debilitated condition.
I cannot tell you why we decided to take commercial flights rather than calling for a medical evacuation, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Bill carried me off one plane and onto the next. The flight from Santiago to Dallas carried few people, and there were several empty seats across which I could stretch out. Although the flight attendants raised their eyebrows at my appearance and behavior, none questioned my condition too thoroughly.
We were met with a wheelchair upon our arrival at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport and we uneventfully passed through customs and back into the United States. Bill thought it would attract less interest if only one of my legs was bundled up, so prior to boarding our next flight to Salt Lake City, Utah, he removed the splint from one of my legs. Despite this, the flight attendants expressed significant concern after watching Bill gently lift me into my seat. In response to their questions, we stretched the truth … a lot. We explained that we were both orthopaedic surgeons and that I had injured my ankle while on vacation and we simply thought I would be more comfortable with it splinted.
The flight attendants clearly did not believe this fable, so they brought the flight’s captain to speak with us. He explained his concern that I would be a hindrance and an obstacle in the event of an emergency landing or crash. I chuckled internally and wanted to explain that after what I had already been through, I was sure this would be the safest flight he had ever flown. What I actually said was that I was trained in emergency situations, my injury really wasn’t too bad, and I would definitely not slow anyone down. Satisfied, he returned to the cockpit, and we were on our way.
I began to have some difficulty breathing upon our arrival in Utah. When we stopped for something to drink, I found that I was weak, ill, and unable to breathe deeply or fully. I felt very distant and I don’t think either Bill or I were thinking clearly at this point. We never discussed going to one of the local hospitals in Salt Lake City, as I was resolute in returning to Jackson for my care. Thinking that I might have a blood clot or pneumonia, we telephoned my internist and asked him to meet us in our office upon our return.
Bill then loaded me into the backseat of our pickup truck, and we started the five-hour drive from Utah to our home in Wyoming. When my breathing became even more labored several hours into the drive, I began to question my decisions and to wonder if I would make it back to my children. Bill called my internist and suggested that he should meet us in the emergency room rather than in our own medical facility.
The elevation gain as we drove over Pine Creek Pass (elevation 6,720 feet) caused my breathing to deteriorate even further. I began to apologize to my husband—my loving, faithful, constant husband whom I adored. He had been one of God’s greatest gifts to me, and I apologized to him for not being able to make it home, for not stopping sooner, for choosing to return to Jackson, for leaving him, for dying. I apologized again and again and again.
In Chile I had felt confident about my decision to return to Jackson Hole because I thought it was God’s plan. Now that it looked like I would die before reaching home, I was filled with remorse at my presumed misunderstanding. I was overcome with grief for my husband and for my young children. Willie, Betsy, Eliot, and Peter were so loving and vulnerable that I felt great sorrow at not being able to make it for them … for failing them.
CHAPTER 15
THE POWER OF PRAYER
“If two of you on earth agree about anything you ask
for, It will be done for you by my Father in heaven.
For where two or three come together in my name,
There am I with them.”
—Matthew 18:19–20 (NIV)
As we drove over Teton Pass (elevation 8,431 feet), I began breathing so shallowly and taking in so little oxygen that I could no longer speak. Although I was quite comfortable, I began to fade in and out of consciousness as my usually law-abiding husband pushed harder on the accelerator and forced the speedometer ever higher. When we reached the hospital parking lot, the truck door was jerked open and I was quickly moved out of the truck and onto a gurney by the emergency room staff.
When I looked up from the gurney and recognized the face of my internist looking down at me, I knew I was at last home and immediately lost consciousness. I was taken into the emergency room and placed in one of the small examination cubicles. My oxygen levels were dangerously low and did not respond to the administration of oxygen.
Preliminary evaluation showed an advanced pneumonia and acute respiratory distress syndr
ome (ARDS). ARDS is a severe inflammatory reaction in the lungs to a major insult, such as a near drowning, fat embolism, pneumonia, smoke inhalation, or other major trauma. This reactive swelling of the lung tissue often develops after twenty-four to forty-eight hours, interferes with the ability to exchange oxygen, and often leads to death. My internist gravely told my husband that I would probably not make it through the night.
Natalie, the medical assistant of my internist, was sitting in the cubicle next to mine, separated by a thin curtain. She had driven another member of our church, Sherry, to the emergency room for the treatment of a cut finger. When they saw the facial expressions of the people around me and heard the words of my internist, they immediately began to pray. They prayed for the saving of my life, for the healing of my body, for the emotional strength of my family, and for us to be enveloped by God’s grace. They prayed intensely, passionately, and specifically. They soon left the emergency room and went to the high school basketball game, where much of the community was cheering on our young people. They quickly sent around the message of my injury and encouraged others to begin praying. Within an hour of my emergency room arrival, there were a great many people praying for me. Natalie went home and continued to pray fervently. She prayed until four in the morning, when suddenly she felt like she could rest.
While others were lifting me up to the Lord with their prayers, I was lying in the intensive care unit. For much of the night, my body struggled for survival. According to the medical records, about 4 A.M., the same time Natalie felt released from prayer, my vital signs stabilized and the nurses were able to take a tentative sigh of relief. It looked like I was going to make it after all.
To Heaven and Back Page 6
