Empath / Sensitivity Warning. Mediums, be warned
This year shaped up to be another tough one. And due to the fact that there is an exorbitant amount of stress in our lives, our "spirit family" seem to be dialing things back. Although things still do happen.
In February of this year (the 7th to be exact) my little sister was in a 9 hour surgery to remove a brain tumour. The doctor was so worried about the size and position of it that he was adamant he needed to get in to her head and see what they were dealing with. We sat in the waiting room the entire day. Moving around when getting tired of just sitting, I constantly felt either a hand on my shoulder, which means I could feel a body behind me as well, or fingers in my hair when I was sitting down. Exactly as I am feeling right now as I type. The day she called and told me they had discovered this tumour, I was crushed. She kept telling me not to get too worried and that we don't know how bad it is yet, so I shouldn't stress. But I could hear the fear in her voice. In the 2 weeks leading up to the surgery we spent as much time with her as we could. Even if it meant just sitting together on the couch. She would be sitting with her head on my shoulder, and she would start to shake as she cried. And I cried with her. I felt her fear, especially when she looked at her 6 month old baby, and was unsure of what was going to happen. And every time we sat like that there would be arms around my shoulders. I would feel the pressure of an unseen loved one like they were seated behind me, holding on to me like I was holding on to her. I know it must be so difficult for them to not be able to break through to my sister or my mom, but I always know when they are there.
When she was out of surgery and in the ICU, the doctor told us we had to take turns, making sure we kept waking her up, asking her questions. We needed to make sure she could communicate, and that she remembered. My first turn to go in to the ICU I got to the door and for a moment didn't think I had the courage to go in. I had my hand on the handle of the door, trying to find courage, and then an unseen hand covered mine, and squeezed, and I opened the door. Seeing her like that was a shock, I fought back my tears the whole time. Every time it felt like I was going to give in I would feel the fingers in my hair. I asked her random questions and she would answer as the sedatives threatened to pull her back to unconsciousness. And I leaned in close to her ear and asked her "What is your beautiful baby's name?" she actually smiled and answered me.
Her recovery was slow and there are still problems that they are working through. The tumour was something that this neuro surgeon, and 2 other specialists in the field had never seen before. And it was so deeply imbedded they could only remove about 70% of it.
Moving past this time, I became more and more aware of the fact that gran Monta (the spirit of my mom's mom) would be constantly knocking on the fridge. At all hours. And as February wore on, the knocking increased. Tim kept asking me what was wrong and I never could figure out what had her so worked up. She didn't communicate with Tim. Charlie was constantly around me, touching my hair and making sure I knew he was there.
I had to take my son, T, to see a lung specialist on 7 March, as he had been exposed to someone with TB and due to his history I was terrified. The doctor did the exam and then told me that T was way too sick to go home. He immediately had him hospitalised. Whilst going through the exam the doctor asked me to tell him about T's history. I decided to tell him about everything that was bothering me. From the fact that his lungs were so bad, to the fact that there had to be some major problems with his digestive system, and for the latter problem I had taken him to 6 specialists, not 1 doctor could give me any reason as to why he had such a hard time with his tummy. I thought that this doctor was not going to give his stomach the full attention it needed, but I decided to just wait and see. Once the admin was done and he was in his isolation room, the doctor came and. He looked me square in the face and started asking me very specific questions about T's stomach issues. And I could answer every single question. Afterward he sighed and told me that he was sorry but he would be testing for Cystic Fibrosis. Since T had ended up in a 32 day come at the age of 15 months, I had been told about CF and the severity of the disease. But he was tested at that age and the tests had come back negative. Since CF is a genetic disease you are born with it.
The doctor ran every test he could to make sure he had an accurate diagnosis. And 2 weeks in to his hospitalization we got the final results. The sodium levels in his sweat were off the charts, and the blood panels and gene testing verified that he does, in fact, have CF.
They did a CT on his chest and the doctor said to me "This little boy has been to heaven and back at least a 100 times in his 9 years of life. From what I have seen of the damage in his lungs, he should not have the ability to breathe on his own". He takes a side plate full of pills every day, and he needs to be nebulized and get physio every day. I sit with him when he is on the neb, and he looks so tired and so small, and I get overwhelmed by fear. The fear of losing him, not knowing what the future is going to hold. I have cried a lot this year. And every time it feels like the pressure of all of this is going to knock me down, I get a nudge, or a tickle, or a knock on the fridge to remind me that I am not alone in this.
Due to all the stress I have been sick this entire winter. To the point where, 3 weeks ago I was hyperventilating and feeling like I was going to pass out from the pain in my chest. Only to be told that my blood pressure was 180/110. That night I was asleep and I was woken up by 2 things. One, I had a very clear feeling of a hand hitting me right between my shoulder blades (Charlie), hard enough that I noticed the second thing, I gasped for air, I had stopped breathing and Charlie had saved my life. Earlier this very day Tim and Elaine had been visiting and we had been sitting in the lounge when T came to me and told me that a picture had fallen off of a shelf. This shelf is nearly 6 feet high. There was no breeze coming through at all, and the picture just fell. Tim went to pick it up, it was a picture of T. Tim told me that Adam did it, as he was very aggravated and Tim was battling to understand why. I now think it had to do with what happened in my sleep.