I’ve always had premonitions. My sense of deja vu is stronger than the average person’s, I sometimes know something is going to happen before it happens. I’m a lucid dreamer and occasionally my dreams predict things.
I don’t think it was paid much attention when I was younger. Maybe not even by me, even though I can remember events as early back as age ten when something I dreamed or something I just “felt” really strongly…happened.
When I was 15 I dreamed that my estranged grandfather came to the foot of my bed one night and spoke to me. I remember waking up and noticing that it was about a quarter after six in the morning. I remember that evening getting the phone call that the same grandfather had passed away that morning of a heart attack. At six fifteen.
I have successfully dream predicted the collective nine babies of my sisters. If I tell any of them these days that I had a dream of them being pregnant, they get mad at me.
Which is probably why, three years ago, I was so freaked out to start having dreams of my husband dying of a heart attack or car accident (always found to be caused by a heart attack).
He was travelling for work a lot in those days. There was a chunk of time I remember where, in a four month period, he was home for just under three weeks altogether. He never used to mind driving, in fact he preferred it, but when you do 10-12 hour drives more than once in a week, more than four or five times in a month, it wears on you. I remember that he had to drive to Quebec, just north of Montreal. From our home at the time, a ten hour drive. He packed and he picked up a bunch of energy drinks. I remember getting worried about him drinking them and getting upset with him. But, he was my superman. He was the company superman. Off he went, impervious to problems.
My dreams were pretty vivid during those times. I could actually see the faces of the police officers coming to my door. I saw myself crumpling in tears to the news that he had suffered a heart attack on the road.
On the way back from that Quebec trip, Shawn called me a lot from the road. He was uneasy. He was anxious and having trouble catching his breath. Just inside Ontario again, he decided to go to the hospital. For a man going in with palpitations, shortness of breath, dizziness, the kept him only a few hours. Knowing my man the way I do, I am sure that was partially him, proclaiming his good health to all as soon as those symptoms passed. When he got home we both knew it was time for him to see a doctor. Our doctor passed him over to a cardiologist, who ran all the tests he could. He even put Shawn on a heart monitor for two weeks. They found….nothing.
We relaxed and he put a stop to the constant travelling. The dreams even slowed down for me. Life moved on and we had a HUGE stressor in the fall of 2012, a HUGE move in the summer of 2013 and another HUGE stressor in the summer of 2014. My dreams started to come back. Not about Shawn per se, but that someone in my family was going to die. The dreams alternated between Shawn and our oldest two children. All of whom I had plenty of reason to worry about in those days.
So, when I got that phone call from Shawn 6 months ago today that he was going to the hospital with chest pains and shortness of breath, and I heard him try to blow it off and tell me “not to bother missing work” just meet him there later, I knew I had to be with him immediately.
True to form, he was brushing it all off as best he could, joking with the nurses that it was nothing and he’d be sent home soon.
And then his heart stopped. Just stopped. And all hell broke loose in that small room.
You all know the story now. He lived. He is still living. It has been six months since that day. Six months of renewed life and we cherish every day of it. It’s all very surreal still, but no one is more grateful for the second chance than our family is.
A few times since, we have gone back to the hospital. Shawn was in cardiac rehab for a few months so we would often stop and say hello to the nurses on the floor who took such good care of him. Once in the hallway, I ran into one of the men who had done CPR that day. We hugged and talked and he told me that no one knew our names in emerg, but they all remembered “room 15”. This past Christmas we sent gifts and cards to the cardiac staff, the doctors and to emergency. We signed it, and we also signed it “room 15”.
Any time I see one of the people who were involved in changing our fate that day I thank them. I hug them.
With his permission, I’ve started to write about what we went through. Shawn is one of the 4% of people who survive a 100% blockage of the left artery, the “widow-maker” artery. We were told, had he been anywhere else in the world besides a room in the ER, he would have joined that other percentage. I think it’s so important to share our story. Sure, I write fiction and I blog but this will be my first jaunt into non fiction and so far it is being written from the heart (forgive the pun).
I don’t care how many dreams I have, or have had, or will have that point to something about to happen. Nothing in the world can prepare you for the events we went through six months ago. Perhaps that is why we make a point to be “in” every day with one another. A few years ago we nearly lost our marriage. Now we’re stronger than ever.
I hope to have “Room 15” completed and ready for release shortly before next year. I can’t wait for Shawn to be by my side when it comes out.
Happy life-a-versary, my love.