Death has always facinated me. When I was younger, one of my dreams was to become an undertaker, and drain blood from bodies, and prepeare them for burial. I never followed that dream.(Phew!) Anyhoo, my step-dad, Jim died last night night. He was not afraid of dying, and so I wasn't sad for him. I knew that Jim was at peace with dying, and that kind of peace can only come from God alone. And when you are right with God, dying is when life REALLY starts. I know that my step daddy is in heaven, right now, with our Saviour Jesus, and it's beautiful there. He is in no pain, and nobody is mean to him there. He is surrounded with love, and God's glory. Lucky man.
I have had my own near-death experience and it was TERRIFYING! Truely. I had been at a drinking party, with a couple of my friends. There I sat, centre of attention, as always, slurping down the 'ol whiskey and coke, smirinoff ice and vodka, and bottled canadian beer. Having a great time. Now back when I was drinking I was one of those girls who thrived on male attention, and I always HAD to be centre of attention, telling jokes, being loud and obnoxious. The women around me were usually annoyed by me, or jelous of me, or maybe just plain unimpressed by me. Anyhoo, there was a girl at the party who didn't like me. That was nothing new to me, and I just ignored her. Usually ignoring somebody worked for me, but she was one of those tough girls who would NOT be ignored, and eventually we started fighting. Like, fist fighting.
I hated fist fighting. I was not very good at it, and usually ended up on the ground, in fetal position, screaming my head off. There were alot of people at this party and alot of them were locals, who I would see on an almost daily basis, and I did not want to get beat up in front of my peers, so I left.
Unbeknownst to me, she followed me over to my other friends house across the parking lot. She brought her mother with her, and as I was sitting at the kitchen table at my other friends house, she burst through the front doors with a paring knife, and started stabbing me.
Now, at the time, I was a really skinny indian, who couldn't see. I was suppossed to wear thick glasses, but didn't, because I thought I was way prettier without them, even though I walked around with a permanent squint. Anyhoo, I had no idea she had a knife, and thought that she was just kind of punching me on my back and shoulder. I was thinking, "Oh Geeze. This chick is wack! This doesn't even hurt. I could probably take her." The whole time I had a beer in my left hand, and as she was "hitting" me, I kept drinking, and tried to push her away with my right hand. After about a minute or two, she stopped, and walked away from me. I was confused as to why she had suddenly stopped "hitting" me until I saw her go over to the kitch sink with a bloody knife, and a bloddy hand. She ran the bloody knife under the kitchen tap very calmly and quietly, as I stood there totally confused.
It finally hit me, and I felt something warm and sticky running down my back. With my non-beer hand, I felt my back, and when I pulled my hand in front of me, I saw that my hand was covered in fresh blood. I couldn't believe it. I didn't feel anything?! I wasn't in pain or anything, so I asked her, "Did you just stab me?" I stood there dumbfounded. She relied, "Yes, and no one here is going to say anything about it." And she walked out the door.
I took a sip of my beer and took a few steps, and suddenly my chest felt like it was ripping apart. Suddenly, panic started to set in, as I wondered where she had stabbed me. How bad was it? Could I stay and finish up a couple of beers before I went to the hospital? Should I call 911? Was it just a scratch? Or was I totally over reaccting? I grabbed a couple of full cans of beer from my friend and told him I'd be back later. That I had to go. As I left the appartment, I realized that I was fatally woundned. Each step brought on more pain from my chest, and I found it was hard to draw a breath of air into my lungs. I knew I was starting to go into shock and all I could think of was my kids.
I hadn't seen them for 3 years. I was completly heartbroken, and found that by drinking I could cope with my broken heart. I didn't think of them as often if I was drunk. But at that moment, as I was walking out of that appartment building, they were all I could think of. I remeber the regret, and I remember the pure fear that shook me to the core. Was this how I was going to leave this earth? Was this going to be my story? Woman, 29, dies of fatal stab would. Would there be a little blurb in the Edmonton Journal, telling my children that their mother had died? Drinking WAS a factor? Oh God, pease, no! Please don't let me die! My soul cried out, out of fear, out of regret, out of shame. Out of the fact that I knew this was it, and that my life had been a total waste. Drinking? Was it really what I had devoted my life to? Really? FFS
As the shock started taking over my body, I started becoming delerious. I suddenly felt the presence of what I can only describe as an angel, or angels. I could hear a soft voice saying, "Just keep walking Starla. Come on. You can do it. Just breath slowly and keep walking." I remembered from my prenatal classes, the deep breathing excersizes I had mastered after birthing 4 kids, and I continued to breath in slowly and deeply. I made it to the front door of some nearby friends, and collasped. I could hear them screaming and crying around me, and could hear my friends shakey voice talking to 911. Although I don't remeber this, my friends later told me that when I collasped, I was praying, and telling God I was sorry, and that I didn't want to die. Yikes. I fell face down onto the floor, bleeding from everywhere. 911 arrived to find me passed out in a pool of my own blood.
I remember waking up in the ambulance with an oxygen mask strapped to my face. My chest felt like it was literally ripping apart everytime I breathed in. It hurt so much inside my chest and I didn't know what was going on. As soon as we arrived at the hospital, the doctor cut me open, and stuffed a large tube into chest cavity. I had been stabbed 4 times, and one of the wounds, in the middle of my back, had gone far enough in to puncture my lung. It scary to think that had the wound been 2 cm over, it would have gone into my spinal cord. The Lord was watching me.
The next 5 hours were torturous. I had to be hooked up to a machine that breathed for me, and it was very painful and scary. I stayed hooked up for 3 days, and was in pain the entire time. As I layed there, I had alot of time to think about the way I was living my life. I knew I was in trouble. I knew that drinking had a hold on me. I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to stop. I was so sad, but I remember when my parents came and brought me a slurppee, I acted tough, the result of so many years living the "street life". I acted like I was just fine, and like it was no big deal. I did care. I was completly terrified. I didn't want to go back to my old life. I just wanted someone to come and say, "Hey, everything is going to be ok." I think that was a turning point in my life.
5 months later, I made that life changing phone call to my Nanny. 5 months later I re-dedicated my life to Christ. 5 months later I found out that I was expecting a little girl.
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