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Whoa, thought it was a nightmare,
Lo, it’s all so true,
They told me, “Don’t go walkin’ slow
‘Cause Devil’s on the loose.Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,Woa, don’t look back to see.
~ Run Through the Jungle Songwriter: John Fogerty – Credence Clearwater Revival
This blog deviates from my standard storytelling. I’ve struggled internally as to should this episode be sugar-coated or not told at all.
But this is too crucial a point in what I went through to be placed onto some forgotten, dusty shelf.
The subject matter is not necessarily on the medical complications (those were a breeze compared to what I’m about to discuss).
Rather it centers on the “kick in the head” attention getter God threw down on me.
I acknowledge that I am going to lose a few of you as I tell my story, so be it.
I will delve into the strange, mind bending fight for the person I am, and to later become.
I’ve had the advantage of six years to digest what this “moral of the story” means to me…
You have to be broken down first, before you can be built back up.
I’m not the Saint you think I am. In my life I have seen crap firsthand that would make a nun gasp, and a demon fist pump.
This is not the place for me to come clean, some sort of confession, as I’ve already done that with my Savior.
I’m just going to say it this way… all the dirt friends and family have on me, including the stuff I had so nicely hidden away, in no way compares to the horrific scenes that were played night after night in my dreams.
Some would rightfully connect the dots between the cocktail of medications, including strong anti-psychotics, that I mainlined during (and shortly after) my induced coma phase.
The effects of this mixture wreaked havoc upon me. I acknowledge that the swimming going on in my mind was influenced by the efforts of the doctors to keep me alive.
I also believe that a spiritual battle had erupted, that directly involved my faith, with the very likelihood of me being recorded as the sole cumulative fatality.
In order to understand how and why this spiritual battle enraged, I’ve got to shed some understanding as to who I was before, my history.
I was a cultural Christian most of my early life; raised Catholic until the age of Confirmation. When I was asked politely by the Monsignor that perhaps the questions on faith I was asking were better answered outside of Catholicism.
At age fourteen I discovered that the path of salvation is actually outlined in the Bible (well imagine that). In hindsight that had been what the Monsignor all so covertly insinuated.
Pieces that formed the answers to my questions were finally in their places.
Baby steps were taken, to begin to move myself from the “cultural” to a personal relationship.
As with any newborn, lessons in life are necessary, and I encountered my share of “touching a hot stove”.
The warmth of the stove lured me to a point where the singes on my fingers numbed most of the pain.
I may have gained the pieces to clearly show me that Jesus is my Savior, but my relationship with Him was dysfunctional on my part.
Unknown to me at the time, God never lost His interest in our relationship.
I was about to find out that His patience may be eternal, but His tolerance can sometimes be short.
The PeopleMover ride at Disneyland moved over a raised track, at speeds slightly faster than snail’s pace.
Leisurely is the best description for type of transportation this attraction represented.
First opened in 1967, I rode this fantasy train as a child. In 2005 I’m riding it again, only this time throughout the halls of UCI Medical Center.
The blue autumn sky, casts a brilliant shine to the snow capped mountains bordering the San Gorgonio Pass.
So vivid are the colors of sky, and that of the desert floor, so real that only a touch is needed for validation.
My ride in this bucket began in SICU; banging open the unit’s doors, with an occasional bump beside a wall, never impeding the train’s wayward course.
The 10 freeway is magically replaced by a raised concrete track.
As the train inches out towards Palm Springs, a breeze of fresh air is felt across my face. Not a sound is uttered, nor heard.
I’m heading out of the hospital to visit my GrandMa at her home in the desert, to a place I spent numerous pleasant summers at as a child.
Only I never make it, a breakdown, a malfunction of the ride has occurred again – the bucket train is being brought back into the station for repairs.
A yellow glow is seen in my room, I know from experience that it is evening at SICU.
I hate this time, it means I’ll be given a “sleep aid” to knock off some of the alertness so that I can gain much needed rest.
Only what the medical staff doesn’t know (and I have no means to verbalize it to them) is that each night I have the same reoccurring nightmares.
As I watch the needle containing the sleepy potion is injected into my PICC line, I pray that tonight I dream again about the Peoplemover, or better yet; to dream of my daughter (maybe then I can remember what Caitlin looks like). Indubitably it is neither.
This guy is big, and is very agitated. This vato loco who is sporting ink across his arms that vaguely resembles Varrio Chico signs, has looked around just inside the open doorway to the building.
All is clear, a motion is made, and two of Vato’s associates carry me in.
Lights are on within what appears to be a vestibule, beyond is the interior space of the building.
I’m dropped upon a baptismal font, its marble is cool, smooth, and dry – there is no water.
I am precariously perched inside of the font’s bowl, unable to move my body into a better position to view the surroundings.
The three are out of my sight for only a short moment; with their return their demeanor is now much more relaxed. Vato Loco stands just a step or two ahead of his buddies.“You know we’re going to kill you ese!” comes from Vato Loco. “But before we do, we’re going to have some fun.”
“Daddy, where are you?” is Caitlin’s call. “I’m scared Daddy.” Her voice is coming from somewhere within the dark space, blocked from my sight by the three gang bangers.
“Yeah ese, we got her too.” hisses el vato.
In unison, they turn back facing into the adjoining room.
At point blank, shot upon shot is leveled into Caitlin. Flashes emit from the gun muzzles. My daughter’s screams are muffled by the bop bop bop bop, a volley of shots.
I’m feeling the searing pain of each bullet that she is taking.
I have no way to stop the onslaught against Caitlin.
I squirm to reach out to her, only to fall from the perch onto the ground, immobile.
Now their attention is turned toward me – I’m tortured to the point just short of ending my life.
There are numerous nightmares of differing themes that this chronicle will not fully record.
During each night, one or more of these hallucinations would be played over again; only they would become increasingly more lurid and horrendous.
At no time would I be afforded the luxury of a segment of the PeopleMover, or a pleasant dream of my family, only round after round of dreadful visions.
I would awaken in a trance like state, sweating, heart racing.
I’d make silent prayers to God to remove me from this state of being. Give me strength to persevere through this period. Show me a way to get out of this place.
I was unfortunate to have Nurse “Cosmic Muffin” (her self-described nickname) work extra night shifts. This particular nurse was one that I had already had issues with. She enjoyed holding court in my hospital room, telling any of the staff that cared to listen of her recent trip to Africa. Cosmic Muffin would emphasis the details of her partaking in local hallucinogenic plants and broths – and their effects on her sexual encounters.
Somehow this nurse picked up on the fact that I would fight going to sleep, probably the monitors gave me away. I would purposely fight off the effects of the sleep aids, then fake being asleep to avoid both her and the nightmares awaiting me.
I learned how long it took for the Ambien or Benadryl’s effects to wear off, and importantly the fact that more sleep aids were not permitted after a certain period of time.
Cosmic Muffin caught onto my game, and we went head to head for the duration of her extended shift.
Sense of time was lost on me, but I do know that I went almost ten nights without sleep.
It was during the morning shift changeovers, and between daytime procedures, that I would cat nap for a few hours.
One evening Cosmic Muffin came into my room, well after the time period to administer another dose of sleep aids.
In a hushed voice she told me that she was very versed in narcotics, and if I wanted her to, she would arrange for a special cocktail to give me the sleep I was purposely neglecting.
I took her words as if they were a barrage in our private battle. I grunted through the trachea mask my answer.
I continued to fight sleeping at night, until my exhausted body eventually succumbed.
This crazy mental, and physical, state I was in had to end. And the only source I had to draw from was God.
I was broken. I was on edge. I needed to move on. I prayed and prayed.
What I discovered was God wanted my undivided attention, and he smacked me good to get it.
I knew that I had absolutely no power or ability, unless He gave it to me.
Jeff, you want to be healed? Well here I am.
You want to remember your daughter? How about walking her down the aisle one day in the future? I am here.
Kristi loves you, and I brought her to you – I designed it that way.
Hey bonehead – I am here.
Sometimes after a nightmare, a person will awaken to a silent room. This period of time is when you assimilate what just happened, slow down your anxiety, and then become calm.
God was doing this to me. I was being moved into a period of time when I would be quiet and attentive to Him. Healing was about to commence, and He wanted me to know exactly that it would come from Him.
The next phase is filled with my being sensitive to God’s will. How God is taking what may be an insignificant piece, and placing it into a wondrous tapestry.
I will learn what my foundation is built upon. What a cherished blessing my wife Kristi is. And to know in detail the lines and freckles of my daughter’s face.
I will see how not only I, but friends and family, medical staff, and complete strangers are used by God to build His tapestry.
Fade to silence, exit the blackness – I am paying attention.
To be continued…
The posts on this blog are provided ‘as is’ with no warranties and confer no rights. The opinions expressed on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent those of my employer. © 2011, Jeff Brunn
