Medical Intuition for a Dear Friend...
There are those times in life when you receive news that is so unexpected and heavy, it could literally knock you over with a feather. Mine came by phone call after a doctor’s visit for a recently developed, deep seated cough that had become so bad it had drained me of energy and voice. The cough led to a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia. The good news was, no pneumonia. The bad news, it was a tumor the size of a large grapefruit in my lung. Not the call I was hoping for while standing on line at WalMart to pay for antibiotics and a $175 atomizer that I was grousing about. Funny, how quickly an over-priced spray can lose all its shock value. The normally even tones of my doctor’s voice were terse and somewhat sorrowful.
“I need you to get a CAT scan tomorrow and get blood work done pronto. We’ll talk more after the CAT scan results.”
I hung up and called my husband in tears. He was filling in for me at my antique home store and had to excuse himself from a customer to calm us both. Unbeknownst to me, that customer was Jan Healey, a woman whose presence I had always enjoyed, but saw only randomly throughout the year. Joe was shaken up and shared my news with Jan. She got still, and then gently told my husband, “It’s going to be okay.” Isn’t that what well-meaning people say when they try to calm a person in distress? Jan’s words, however, were not trite. She spoke with an intuition of certainty, a knowing. The CAT scan came back showing slow moving ‘activity’ (cancer). Something that large typically meant radiation and surgery. It was time to meet with oncologists, pulmonologists, and surgeons. Time to make sure wills were in order. Time to truly imagine not being alive in a year or so. Time for tears, worry, and the pressing weight of fear.
Jan made a point to see me that weekend. She sat with me and assured me that she really did know that everything would be okay. She saw that this was the universe’s way of making me stop on a dime and re-evaluate my unrelenting pace, my imbalanced work ethic that was keeping me out of alignment with my inner peace. She said she was sorry that it had to be such a drastic consequence, but this was what was necessary to literally make me STOP. Jan is a serious woman, not someone who says things in a trifling way. Speaking with complete calm and conviction, wrapped in her soft loving presence, she somehow overcame my cynicism and distrust in ‘magical thinking.’ Whether I truly believed them or not, her words were resonating with me deep inside my being. My anxiety level was significantly reduced, and that was our “start.” I took a deep breath. "Okay, time to re-focus.”
My new intention was to learn everything I could about such large tumors, amass the various doctors’ advice, make informed decisions, and receive the best treatment available to me. Most importantly, I did the one thing that I could do, on a daily basis. I focused on ‘HAPPY and HEALTHY’ – like a mantra. No time was wasted with negative thoughts or worry. When family and friends would hear of my condition and lament, saying how sorry they were, I stopped them. I told them that everything was going to be okay, that I was happy and healthy. I simply had a tumor and we were taking care of it.
Over the next month I met with numerous doctors and surgeons. Apparently these large sized tumors on the linings of lungs are pretty rare, with only about 800 known in the last 85 years. Removal without rupturing the tumor was the goal, and to that end, a large incision, likely rib removal, cutting of nerves and muscles were all the fun things I had to look forward to. After that…well, time would tell. One step at a time.
Jan checked in with me on a regular basis and her message was consistent. I gradually learned more about her long career as an end-of-life-care nurse, her knowledge and conviction about the afterlife, and her gift of communication with those who had crossed over. In that light, she brought to me another unexpected and uplifting gift. She described, which continues to this day, a woman with a huge personality who hangs out in a back area of my shop. This spirit’s energy was extremely strong to the point of being bossy, and she had definitive things she wanted to tell me. I knew, without question, that it was my dear friend, Jobyna, who had passed at the age of 48 from a fast growing cancer only two short weeks after it had been diagnosed. I was blessed to be by her side when she took her last breath. Jobyna clearly told Jan that it wasn’t ‘my time’ yet.
Two days before my scheduled surgery, Jan called saying Jobyna had been hounding her thoughts and dreams, and was unrelenting. Jobyna had urgent messages for me and wanted Jan to meet with me at my house. Every encounter with Jan had left me feeling more serene, so my reaction was an immediate “Yes, of course.” When she arrived, we walked through my home where I introduced her to each of my three cats. When she met Tigger, my alpha boy, she stopped and asked who the ‘other’ cat was. I was confused. I only had three. “No,” Jan said, “Tigger is telling me there was another.” They were right. My dear Oreo had been a feral cat who, over a four month period, had come to trust me and enter our home. He would run to me whenever I drove up, and wanted to be my constant companion. One night I let him outside, never to return. I walked up and down our dirt road for hours, calling his name. Coyotes were howling nearby and one ran past my car the next morning. I looked for Oreo for a month. Life was just not as sweet without him.
Jan said Oreo’s spirit was right there with us, and he wanted to pass on his mantle to Tigger. She spent a few minutes silently communing with Tigger, and a noticeable shift occurred. My independent fellow has since become my hang out and sleeping buddy, who now paws my face tenderly and purrs contently every night before settling in next to my head. Just like Oreo, he runs up to great me when I pull into the driveway, and comes inside only for me when he’s called.
We then went to my zen den, a small two-mattressed enclosure off in the woods. This is my sanctuary, where I go when I want quiet, meditative time alone or with a friend. I lay down and breathed deeply. Jan centered herself and told me what she was seeing. Oreo was there, agitated and in a fight mode. He hated the tumor and wanted to tear it to shreds. Jobyna and my grandmother calmed him while they knitted a ball of golden threads around the tumor to purify it, making it as tight as possible to insure no rupture. She said that Jobyna wanted me to know that she had brought together a whole minion of passed souls to support me, who would encircle me during the surgery. I was not to worry. Everything would be okay.
My back was to Jan, and as she did some Reiki over my body, a giant smile and tears of happiness were streaming down my face. I felt so completely loved and profoundly grateful. My euphoria continued as I was prepped for surgery. Everyone else was serious. My poor husband looked so worried. I knew I was surrounded by prayers and love from this world and beyond. Having Jobyna there was so comforting. I was absolutely calm, at total peace. The surgery, expected to last for over six hours, was done in four. The tumor was removed without rupture. In spite of the nine inch incision on my back, removal of a small section of rib, and cutting of nerves, I was on my way home less than three days later. The best surprise to everyone (except Jan) was when the Pathology report came back, saying the tumor had been free of cancer. The activity that they had seen had ‘disappeared.’ No chemo was needed, not even radiation. Many say it was a miracle, that I did it ‘right.’ Yes, I maintained an attitude and expectancy of gratitude throughout the whole ordeal. But I know that it was Jan’s insight into worlds beyond this one, that only some of us are comfortable tapping into, which brought me to the other side of darkness and opened me to our endless ongoing connection to all that is good and loving. Some things are unexplainable. Some things can make us a believer. Jan held the lantern for me to see a whole new possibility for living. What brought me to my knees in fear of certain death, I now hold as a sacred blessing of life.
Love, Sandy
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