The white box

Today marks the anniversary of one year since the coma.  As I write this last sentence every part of me wants to giggle.  Perhaps not the normal response, but it is nonetheless. I have been on a beautiful journey and it continues to be LIFE worth living. In celebration of who God is and the story only HE can write I wanted to tell you about this last June (2009) from my perspective. It will come in four posts for reading ease.

Seizures, at least the kind I experience, allow me to be momentarily out of the picture. It’s as if my senses are darkened and my body is able to do what it wants, where it wants without my permission.  Not until after the fact when I begin to feel, hear and understand does it become very painful. My experience in June was elevated in intensity in many ways.  Calm and silence lasted so much longer, but so did the pain, which was more intense than I’d known before.

As I stood by the refrigerator that morning I didn’t think anything was going to change my world so much I’d be in the hospital that evening.  I could not have predicted it.  But, as I heard Grant call my name and sit me down I knew he’d seen something strange.  I couldn’t see it.  I could feel the scrutiny, but I couldn’t see what was imminent.  I didn’t feel strange and though I couldn’t answer his questions properly I didn’t seem to know it.  It almost seemed funny.  And then I was in a white box.

I’d never been in such a wonderful place.  It was padded and soft and white and bright, but not so bright that it would hurt your eyes.  I remember feeling very safe and content in this box, but to this day no one can tell me about this box, because from their perspective I was never in a white padded box.

1 comment to Coma Series (1of4): The White Box

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