Tricia Barker - Angels in the OR: What Dying Taught Me About Healing, Survival, and Transformation

CHAPTER FIVE

FRIENDS

A real friend is one
who walks in when the rest
of the world walks out.
Walter Winchell

O ne afternoon, I finally had time alone with my mother, and I wanted very much to describe what I saw on the other side. I hoped that she might be more open to talk about my near-death experience without other family members present. I remember saying, Mom, I died. I saw the other side, you know?

She nodded and replied, Did you see Jesus?

My heart sank because I knew that she would not understand my experience or be enthusiastic about it if I told her no. I also felt groggy from the medication, tired, and in pain. I wanted to feel someone elses excitement, so I said yes. The Light certainly could have contained the wisdom and beauty of Jesus, even though I did not see a human form depicting him. My yes was a hollow yes. A yes to avoid an argument with her.

The light was lovelier than anything I had ever imagined in Sunday school, and I wanted Mom to understand that we are not judged as her religion claims. After all, I was an insecure, depressed college student; lost, deeply afraid, and experimenting with drugs, but the light had nothing but compassion for me. This amazing divine light gave me deeper, more complete love than I had ever conceived possible.

For so long I had been hungry for complete acceptance, and I found it on the other side. I thought this knowledge might help her too, but she smiled sweetly and patted my hand as if I were only a child, light years behind her in spiritual understanding.

Mom read the Bible to me several times as a child, and I thought about using one of the parables to help her better understand my experience with God. I wanted to explain to her that I was like the loved, prodigal son, and she was somewhat like the dutiful brother, angry that I was welcomed into heaven joyously. I wanted her to rejoice in the amazing reality of that love and feel that forgiveness for both of our experiences. She was wrong, and I was wrong. However, we were equally loved, and I knew this now.

Although I needed to share my experience, I quickly realized that she was not a good audience. After a few moments of talking around the subject of heaven, I asked her, Can my friends visit now?

My mother had made the decisionagainst my wishesthat my friends from the U.T. campus and work would not be allowed to see me until after I got my body cast. I overheard her telling her mother that she wanted to determine whom I could and could not see. It was a typical behavior of hers to take control of my relationships and then get angry that I did not appreciate her interference.

She stiffened and said, Call them if you want. She walked out and left me alone for the first time. Mom believed I was choosing friends over her. However, I would be staying at her house for months, possibly a year, and this might be my only opportunity to connect with them; so, in a sense, I did choose friends over time with her, and I wished she might have understood or even supported my need for connection with others.

I quickly dialed my roommate, Phil, asking him to remove my bong and take the condoms from my dresser. He said he would take care of those details, and I wondered if my parents had already seen my place. Phil always made me laugh and because he had to find a new residence immediately, I told him it was okay not to visit.

It felt great to hear his voice. Family members asked me several times if Phil was my boyfriend, and I explained each time that he was gay. They could not wrap their heads around that and the confusion, and horror on their faces made me laugh inwardly. Things that seemed normal to me seemed extraordinary to my conservative family members.

The attempted communications with my druggie friends were the most disappointing. One guy called me a downer and couldnt make sense of my accident except for how it affected him. When I explained that I was in a body cast and unable to make it to his boat party, he said, Well, thanks for being such a bummer. I wanted you to come water skiing and meet some of my friends from out of town.

I laughed, imagining myself in a body cast water skiing across Town Lake. I shook my head at how idiotic he sounded. I honestly couldnt tell if he was joking or if this was how his mind worked. Could he only be concerned with how many girls in bikinis would be hanging out on his fancy boat partying with his friends? Did my suffering mean so little to him? One thing was certainthis guy wouldnt be taking the time to visit me in the hospital. I marked him off my list of friends.

Carey, an occasional lover, promised to come, but he sounded incredibly stoned and out of it. I wondered whether he would be able to get it together in time to visit me. I left a few messages on various peoples answering machines and waited.

My neighbor, Nina, showed up first. She walked in quickly, looking back over her shoulder as if she were trying to avoid someone; apparently, my mom told her visitors were not allowed and that she needed to go back home. Fortunately, Nina refused to be told no and asked a nurse for my room number.

Something about Ninas determination to see me let me know that I could confide in her about my near-death experience. Nina seemed open and mature, and though I didnt know her well, I respected her. I whispered, I saw the other side. I saw angels, and I died.

Nina lit up with interest, and she promised to stay in touch frequently. She held my hand and said with tears in her eyes, Im spiritual. I believe in these experiences. I cant wait to hear more about it.

I knew I had a new and important friendship with her, and I felt like my angels had deliberately brought her to me first.

After Ninas visit, many sweet, lively young visitors from U.T., various jobs, and apartment complexes showed up with flowers or movies to keep me entertained. A friend who had been in the hospital herself on several occasions popped in Saturday Night Fever , and John Travoltas smooth moves transported me to happier, freer times when large groups of us went to 70s-style parties and dance clubs, not getting home until well after two in the morning.

The upbeat movie playing in the background gave me inspiration to someday saunter onto a dance floor again, celebrating being alive. The conversations were a welcomed break from the largely painful and clinical interactions with nurses, specialists, and the somber mood of family members.

The next few visitors were my friends from Jester dorma large, sprawling tower with its own zip-code. I met Cindy and Taylor at one of its infamous tornado parties, a gathering where people circled fast up every floor, stopping for shots on every floor except the so-called virgin vault, the only floor that wasnt co-ed. Cindy, a petite, extroverted firecracker of a woman known for saying whatever came to her mind, looked at me and blurted, All week, Ive been thinking about how random life is and how something this horrible could have happened to me.

Taylor, a calmer, more grounded girl, looked at Cindy in horror, slapped Cindys shoulder and said what I was thinking: Oh my God, this accident actually happened to Tricia, you idiot! Were here to visit her, not to talk about what hypothetically may or may not happen to you.

This lightened the mood as they bickered back and forth, and Cindy rationalized that wasnt exactly what she meant. For some reason, their bantering brought me peace. I smiled at my friends, overjoyed to be reminded of something other than my broken body. It also made me realize how much I had grown up in such a brief time. I knew that the appropriate thing to do wouldve been to hold my hand and reassure me that I would be okay. Cindy didnt have that maturity yet.