Episode #0002 The Angels, The Ghost & Grandma

“I made my way through the plastic sheeting, past the barricade. The hallways were lit, but the rooms were dark.”

“His body was emaciated, thin, and gaunt and his eyes were dark and hollow. He didn’t say anything to me. We stood there staring at each other.”

Written by: The Ghost Master

I had a fight with my colon in 2006. I won, but for those months I was sick, the pain was often unbearable. If you’ve ever experienced diverticulitis, you may have some idea of what I’m talking about. In the end, the doctors removed half of my colon, doing some serious plumbing work in the process. What was planned to be a three-hour surgery went into nearly nine hours. *I had the best doctor on the west coast, so I know I am lucky. 

The morning of the surgery, my eldest daughter Marina, who was nine years old, was up early to see me go off to get fixed up. I’d never had any kind of surgery, so I was concerned. I told her I’d see her soon, and I’d be better. 

They took me into the operating room. I remember they had an IV on me, and the nice man who sounded like Crush from Finding Nemo put a gas mask on me saying, “You’re in good hands, buddy. Doctor Chock rocks! Now count backward from 100.” 

“100, 99, …” I went out fast. I don’t know why they say 100. Who stays awake past 97? 

When I came to, I opened my eyes, but they felt like they had been glued shut. Whatever happened during surgery left me intubated. When a nurse came and saw my open eyes, she told me not to try to talk and that she’d get the tube out. I don’t remember too much other than it sucks to have to do that. 

I saw how late it was and someone explained to me my family was still there and I made it through surgery well. I fell asleep again. 

The next time I opened my eyes I was in a different room. I saw a nurse at the foot of my bed. She smiled at me. She seemed nice. Then I realized someone stood to my left. I turned to look, and an Angel stood there, bright and radiant. She glowed like nothing I’d seen before in my life. She was tall and had long hair. She smiled at me and made me feel safe. 

Another Angel flew through the air, left to the right coming out from behind the first and she flew around the perimeter of the room.  The first Angel smiled at me. She reached her hand down and touched my chest and I instantly felt at ease.  A euphoria came over me. I looked at her as she backed away from me. Then she followed the other Angel around the room. They circled twice, all while looking back at me. I told said thank you and that I loved them, and said, “you are so beautiful.”

I closed my eyes. I slept. When I opened them again, I was in another room. This time, my mother and my wife were there. I was on the eleventh floor of the hospital’s west wing. It was quiet except for the machines I was plugged into. I was alive. Although I hadn’t eaten in nine days, it was good to be alive. 

Dr. Chock came and told me it was a success. They took half of my colon but got most of the diseased area. I’d have to get moving and be able to poop before I could leave the hospital. Apparently, she literally tore me a new one or sewed my colon up to the old one. 

The best thing I could do, she said, is to walk around the hospital floor to get myself healthy enough to get home. So that’s why I did.

The second day after surgery, the nurse asked if I wanted to try walking. She walked with me the first lap around the west wing of that floor. But she didn’t offer any help. I felt steady and strong enough to drag my IV tree with me. Then I was on my own. 

That evening, I wanted to walk and see if it was possible to see the sunset, so I walked to the south hall, overlooking the city. The sunset was nice, but I felt lonely. My family had come in and visited a lot, especially my dear wife. I felt determined to walk more. I turned away from the windows and walked to the center of the floor. Sawhorse barricades blocked the east wing entrance. Plastic sheeting hung down in wide strips. It was quiet there. I figured the workers weren’t around. So, I made my way through the plastic sheeting, past the barricade. The hallways were lit, but the rooms were dark.

As I passed a room on my right, I saw movement inside. Walking closer, I discovered a man in a hospital gown, sitting on the bed. His feet were bare, and his skin was a dark yellow/orange. He looked old but I couldn’t tell for sure. His body was emaciated, thin, and gaunt and his eyes were dark and hollow. He didn’t say anything to me. We stood there staring at each other. I got a sense of anger from him. His eyes felt resigned. It was difficult to tell if he wanted me to come in, or to leave. I began to feel guilty for being able to walk when it looked as though his legs could not possibly support him. Then, I realized there was no monitoring equipment in the room for him, nothing at all. I thought maybe he was lost or needed help. With that thought in mind, I turned and looked outside the door toward the nurses’ station to ask for help. But the station was dark and empty. I looked back into the room to ask the man if he needed help. But he was gone. 

I didn’t go back to the east wing after that.  I walked only around the west wing. I asked my nurse if that wing was being renovated and she said it’s been empty for days. She didn’t know the schedule. 

After a week, I was well enough to go back home. I was so happy to get back there. My girls and my wife picked me up with flowers and an abundance of love. 

I could manage myself well enough alone at home. I had pain meds and was mobile. My girls went off to school and daycare and I rested up at home for a few days. One afternoon, I lay on the couch in the living room. It was early in the afternoon, and I had fallen asleep. The couch faced the sliding glass door that led to our backyard. The vertical blinds had been drawn halfway across the doors. 

The unmistakable sound of someone pushing on the blinds woke me up. When I checked to see who came home, I saw my grandmother, who I had not seen since I was 10, standing by the back door. She wore black-rimmed glasses and a brown and orange shirt, and brown pants. Her shoes looked like a stylized modern moccasin. But it was no doubt my mother’s mom, Grandma Rita. 

My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. She stared out at the trees and the sky in the backyard. Her look was far off as though looking for something she no longer saw. She sighed, quietly. 

I sat up on the couch and waited for her to say something. Finally, she said, “Mijo.” She pursued her lips. “I am worried about your mom.”

I looked at her quizzically. “What?” 

She said, “She needs to take care of herself.”  Grandma looked at me. Her glasses looked smudged. She looked into my eyes.

I stood up and walked closer to her, still in shock. She’d been dead for 26 years, almost to the day. My heart beat faster and faster. 

“Tell her.” She repeated.

I said I would and nodded. Then she looked back out the window. Her eyes searched for something in the distance. I looked closely at what she wore. It was real. She was real, right there in my living room. I thought I must be dreaming. I turned around to see if I was indeed on the couch, still asleep, but I wasn’t. When I looked back, she was gone.

I stood alone in my living room not knowing how to begin to process what I’d just seen. All I could think was that nobody would believe me. Thankfully, my mom did. I am still left with questions, but I began to accept that these things can happen, and invariably, they happen to me.