The Lily Nurse: Rebooted/Re-birthed and Finding a New Path

By Julia Evans

Have you ever wondered what a near-death experience is like? Julia Evans can tell you.

She's heard the whispered questions and seen the quizzical looks, and now she's sharing the full story of the day that transformed Julia Evans into The Lily Nurse. See the experience through her eyes as it loops, turns, and links back together, i

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julia Evans
• Release date: Mar 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781989840061

Book preview

Prelude

For many years, my focus was western medicine. Ever since I was three years old, after my mother died, I wanted to help heal people: to make them better, to help them not suffer, not feel so much pain, not be sick—in essence, help ease their pain and suffering. I believed the only way to achieve this was to become a nurse!

I clearly recall, at that tender age, determining my purpose in life.

What I needed to be.

What I was meant to be.

I want to be a nurse when I grow up, my three-year-old self announced. She was very convincing, and very determined.

Ever since that moment in my life, I strongly believed in my heart, mind and soul that this was the ultimate path for me—my calling and my purpose. I was utterly convinced that to help heal people, I would have to do it through western medicine and become an incredibly caring, strong and knowledgeable nurse. I wholeheartedly believed that this was the only way.

Or so I thought, until the Universe had another plan for me!

And so begins the story of…

THE

LILY NURSE

Rebooted/Re-birthed and Finding a New Path

1

I Am Ready

Ihave been struggling with everything that’s happened. I’ve been consumed with trying to find my new path. I have seen so many signs that the Universe provided, yet I still feel lost, alone, and afraid.

It’s very difficult for me to let go of my past. My former self. The person I thought I was meant to be. The path I set forth on at the ripe old age of three.

Who am I?

I loved the old me. I had become the incredibly caring, strong and knowledgeable nurse. And now it’s a thing of the past. A former life. A memory. Something I feel I need to let go of. To grow from. To grieve.

I’m trying to put puzzle pieces together. And trying to figure out what I need to do, what direction I need to take.

It’s gruelling to try to look back at what happened. And to think of what is going to happen. I have to realize no one can tell me what the future will hold for me. No one can tell me the correct path I should take, or which path will lead me to the place where I am meant to be.

I am standing here with open arms, pleading for help. Here is my cry:

I ask the Universe to further guide me to the path I am destined to follow. I fully believe within my purest soul that I am ready for what is on my horizon. I ask upon the moon, sun and the stars to light my path to what is meant to be.

I am grateful for my new life! Blessed Be…

I call upon you to lead me.

I am Awake! I am Alive!

I am ready for my new journey…

2

Waking up

As I open my eyes and look around the room, I am astounded that I, Julia Evans, in fact, woke up.

I survived the night!

I am awake!

I am alive!

Thank God I’m here to live another day. I’m flooded with emotion. This was not a dream or a nightmare. This was happening…

I awake in the morning lying in a hospital bed. My hospital bed! I am so weak. I just lie there for a moment with my eyes open. I am still. Very, very still…

I take several long blinks as I try to absorb my surroundings. I’m imprisoned in a hospital bed. All the side rails are up, and I just lie there in an unnatural semi-upright position. I slowly turn my head to the right and notice my hospital room door is closed. I’m closed off from the world. I’m all alone in this room, isolated, and trying to figure out this new reality. It’s so eerie and cold, yet it has a beautiful peacefulness. It’s as though all five of my senses are waking up for the first time. As if this is the first day of a new life.

I take in a long deep inhale through my nose. I smell plastic. There’s oxygen tubing up my nose, bringing oxygen to my nostrils, to my lungs, to my exhausted, drained, depleted, decrepit body. I’m breathing. Struggling, but I’m breathing. I rest my eyes and take in another deep inhale, followed by a quick exhale.

I look down at my chest. It feels so heavy. So sore. As if someone jumped on it, repeatedly. My lungs struggle with each inhalation and exhalation. And my heart…well my heart hurts! It feels like every beat is a struggle for my heart to keep beating. Fighting to keep me alive. It’s slow. Really slow. I’m connected to all sorts of wires (leads) upon my chest. These wires extend from my chest to a monitor that watches my every heartbeat. And the monitor lays so nicely in a strategically sewn pocket in the front of my hospital gown.

I have no clothes on except for this oversized hospital gown which is draped over my frail little body. I am covered with a synthetic fleece hospital blanket. It’s scratchy and has obviously been through the wash several times, but at least I’m covered. Still, I feel very exposed and vulnerable. I’m overwhelmed by this reality.

I cannot believe this is happening! That all of this actually happened! To me!

I question myself, Is this really my world, my existence right now?!

Am I really alive?

I cannot fathom the circumstances I’ve been presented with. The emotions I am feeling are literally suffocating. Debilitating. I want to scream, cry, swear.

FUCK!

My eyes are overrun with tears and they spill down my face, over my cheeks, onto my lips. I can taste the saltiness of my tears. I feel my eyes swelling from the abundance of fluid expelling from my tear ducts. I hold my hands to my face and cover my eyes to escape for a moment. To hide from this reality. To close off at least one of my senses, just for a moment. This new world is so surreal. I can’t wrap my head around it.

The last thing I remember before falling asleep, before the medication knocked me out, was an old nursing school friend sitting beside me. She was assigned to be my nurse that evening during her night shift. I remember her going above and beyond for me. This is truly her nature; most of us nurses have this nature. But what she did for me, meant more to me than anyone could have ever imagined. She just sat beside me. Validated me. Acknowledged all of what I was feeling and went through.

I’m scared to close my eyes! I voiced my fear, looking up at her from my hospital bed. It was as if she could read my inner soul, seeing and sensing all my pain, anguish and fear.

I am watching you and monitoring your heartbeats, she said in a soft, confident, reassuring voice. It’s on my monitor at the nursing station too and I will be close by all night. You have had quite a day. Take the Lorazepam and get some sleep. I will sit beside you as you drift off to sleep.

She sat down beside my bed, in the oversized cream-colored pleather chair placed in the corner of my room, slightly above the right side of my head. There she sat, in the darkness, supporting and comforting me. We talked at first, but after a few minutes of chatter we both became silent. It had been quite a day. For all of us.

Her presence, just her being there, gave me a feeling of relief, a sense of comfort, and a stillness. It provided me with a much-needed sense of safety. This allowed me to give my mind permission to close my eyes and fall into a deep restful sleep. I started to have longer blinks as the medication took effect. And there she sat, honoring her promise.

Now, after a night of rest, a night of turning off from the real world, I am faced with the morning and this new reality. This new beginning.

I take another breath, this time really emphasizing my exhalation. I remove my hands from my face and place them on my chest, over my heart. I open my eyes and look up. I take another long deep breath. And I smile!

I Am Alive!

The door swings open and there is my friend, my nurse, finishing up her shift. Routinely doing her morning rounds.

Good morning, love. She greets me with the most beautiful angelic smile.

I woke up! I announce in awe, trying to fight back my tears. I can feel my eyes welling with tears again.

Yes, you did! she reassures me as she continues smiling, walking towards me, fighting back her own tears as well. Now let’s get you up to the bathroom. She approaches my bed and drops the side rails—what a sense of freedom!

I remove the oxygen tubing from my nose and tuck it under my pillow for later use and to keep it from falling on the floor. I try to sit up quickly but am unable to achieve this task. Something so simple, something most us can do with ease and without thought, is now methodically done with assistance. I’m slowly positioned to sit at the edge of my bed. I am dumbfounded that I am so weak. I take a moment to adjust to this new awareness of my body. I take a few more deep breaths. I gaze towards the bathroom in my room, which is only a few feet away, and I dread the thought of having to walk all the way there.

Another nurse enters my room and together they help me up and to the bathroom, one on either side, supporting me in case I can’t make it. Like two angel wings helping me to fly—or in this case, walk 10 feet to the restroom. And it will be a well-deserved rest on the toilet for a moment after the exertion of getting there. This is truly a display of dependence. Weakness. Having to depend on not one, but two people to assist you to the toilet to expel your stored bodily fluids. At this time yesterday I was running on the treadmill at the gym.

We made it. Wow, what an accomplishment! The two nurses slowly lower me onto the toilet seat. I readjust the front pocket that contains my heart monitor, so it lays more comfortably between my breasts. As I’m doing this, one nurse lowers the side rails attached to the wall and places them on either side of me. I am exhausted. I sit upon the toilet and release a loud exhale, hunch my shoulders, and lower my head, like a sad, defeated soldier.

Who would have thought that getting to and sitting on a toilet could be so draining?! I laughed out loud, breathing quite heavily at this point, as if I just completed a 10-mile run.

My friend/nurse is laughing too as I cut the tension with my giggles and disbelief of this situation. I sat there on the toilet, my throne, my trophy for my strenuous 10-foot walk. I rest there with her hovering over me like a worried mother hen watching her frail new chick.

I’m not leaving your side, she announces. You’re too weak.

Well good thing I don’t have to poop; that would be awkward, I sheepishly chuckle. And I know from experience that it could cause a vasovagal reaction and you’d probably have to pick me up off the floor. And besides, I’m too scared to take that risk. We both muse at the awkwardness and thought of that image.

After I complete my morning task of expelling my urine, one of the other nurses helps me into a pair of oversized hospital drawstring pants. Now that is a sense of empowerment, having all your bits covered and not feeling so exposed and vulnerable! We then conquer the assisted walk back to my hospital bed.

I am so drained. I place my oxygen tubing back into my nose, partake in several inhales of the oxygen, and fall back to sleep.

3

Life Couldn’t Be Sweeter

M om! Bike faster! Try to race us home.

Titus and Jayda are clearly beating me to the driveway of our house as they call to me with excitement.

Jayda is first to reach the garage, already punching in the code to raise the door. She’s panting from the exhilaration of winning the bike race around the block. Of course this competitive and energetic nine-year-old girl would be the first at the door. With her drive and motivation, she could be the CEO of a large corporation, and still have the energy to compete in a race around the world. She has a lean, athletic physique and always wants to improve her performance in everything she does. She has no interest in fitting into the mold society has for how she is meant to be, or how she should be presented. Never conforming. Never stopping. Always moving.

She’s: Just Jayda!

Titus is merely seconds behind his sister on the driveway. He’s got an old soul for a thirteen-year-old boy, so gentle and kind—a real teddy bear! He wears his heart on his sleeve, so pure and full of love. His genuine caring nature has him always checking on his loved ones, making sure that they are okay, that they feel loved and cared for. He’s chill and laid-back, but has an instinct to protect those in need, objecting wrongs and standing up for what’s right. His broad shoulders and stocky stature remind you of a strong soldier with wisdom beyond his years, but he’s still young enough to be squishy and snugly. He likes to sit back and observe, watching the world with cautious, protective and loving eyes.

He’s: The Boy!

Now they are both celebrating in the driveway, teasing and taunting me with their victory. They are both gleaming with the pure satisfaction of their triumph. Once again, they won a race against their mother. Even though I wasn’t trying. I could have beat them hands down, if I wanted to.

I gracefully glide onto the driveway without a care in the world, smiling from ear to ear. I’m taking my sweet-ass time to get up to the garage. The sound of my retro 90s dance music from a tiny speaker in my bicycle basket announces my presence. The kids laugh at my laissez-faire speed and persona.

I didn’t want to show you guys up, I banter, as they laugh hysterically at my loss. Besides, I was digging the song that was playing. I snicker at my not-so-cool portrayal of myself.

Let’s have a quick snack before baseball; we’ll leave in 15 minutes, I shout up the driveway, hoping they hear me. They’ve already put their bikes away in the garage and are racing each other to get into the house.

It’s always a race with these two, a fun competition to display who is the fastest, the strongest, the top dog. They are pushing and laughing, doing whatever they can to beat the other to the door. I laugh and shake my head at their playfulness.

I take a moment for myself before entering the garage. I just stand there with my bicycle in the middle of the driveway and take a mental picture of this beautiful moment.

My ears fill with the joyful sound of my children laughing as they enter the house. The music brings me back to my youth and my smile widens. I’m intrigued at this tiny little contraption with just enough sound to radiate in a 10-foot circumference around me. It’s the only thing in the dark brown wicker basket hanging on the oversized handlebars of my beautiful old-lady cruiser with its extremely large cushioned seat.

I love this bike. It gives me such a sense of freedom to be able to glide through my town with such ease, not putting any pressure or strain onto my body. Mobility freedom! This freedom allows me to partake in our family fun outings. Our family unit loves to have fun! We always say: Live life to the fullest. Consider every moment a blessing, and never take anything for granted. Life is just too short, and too important to be taken too seriously. So, enjoy it!

I hold that motto within my head and my heart, with the image of all of us living life the way we know how, through laughter and playfulness. I visualize all of us being in a playful moment—enjoying every second.

I feel the warmth of the sun beaming down on me. It kisses the top of my head, starting at the roots of my long, flowing, dark brown hair and trickling down the rest of my body. It’s like I’m being cradled in a giant loving hug that’s wrapped around my entire body, from head to toe, soothing me from this outside environment to my inner core. My outer and inner being are filling with warmth, love and light.

The children’s hustle, bustle and laughter have moved inside, and I can acknowledge the stillness of our neighborhood. Our quiet little community is tranquil and peaceful. It’s so warm, loving and inviting, just like the sun beaming down on me. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the caress of a soft breeze through my hair. I’m absorbing it all in, totally lost in my thoughts…

Mom! Jayda calls, interrupting my Zen moment. Titus says I have to come to the baseball practice.

---

I snap back to the present but am a bit shocked at how far I’d drifted into a reflective state of mind. Wow, that’s not like me to go so deep into my thoughts. Oh man, I was really in another space.

I shake my head to awaken myself from my meditative state and to fully come back to my awareness of the task at hand.

Yes, Jayda, you have to come to practice I say. It’s going to be fun! Make sure you grab a snack. Sounds like you are getting hangry.

I have to laugh at the fact that they are already at each other, bugging and pushing each other’s buttons. And that my little reflection had been abruptly interrupted. I figured this was good timing on Jayda’s part. I did have to get my butt in gear; I still have to get dressed in my baseball attire. Since I am helping with the team this year, I should look the part. In my son’s 13 years of sports, this is my first opportunity to assist with coaching or managing. I’m so excited and quite nervous. I really know nothing about baseball aside from the basics: Throw the ball. Hit the ball. Catch the ball. And there’s some running. Oh yeah, and the bases. So, I figure I should at least look the part!

I quickly put my bike away and run through the house to the stairs, passing the children devouring their food at the island in the kitchen, quietly enjoying their snacks. Oh, how I love that they have the knowledge and ability to be so independent and make their own food. It’s sure a time saver.

Once I reach my closet upstairs, I realize I don’t have any idea what to wear. I slightly panic at the thought of what a manager is supposed to wear for baseball practice. That’s my thing: always look the part, portray confidence, and the rest will follow. Seriously, what am I going to wear? I think to myself, feeling quite flustered. I can’t find anything in this closet that characterizes a confident, go-getter, team-spirited manager. I’m putting myself into a tizzy.

Calm down, I imagine my husband saying to me, as he has done in the past, Relax! No one really cares what you’re wearing. Just throw something on.

Then inspiration hits. Hah, knickers! I quietly say to myself with excitement. That would work! I lean over the railing and call downstairs, Titus, do you know where your old baseball knickers are?

Dad washed them, he calls back up. I don’t know where he put them.

Darn. I guess it really isn’t necessary to wear the white baseball knickers to practice. Besides, I’m just managing the team and as long as I’m involved and engaged, it will all work out. I look up at the clothes hanging in my closet and spot a royal blue Broncos baseball shirt. Perfect! I’ll have the right team name and color on.

Mom, you almost ready? Titus calls from the bottom of the stairs. I can sense his excitement to get moving and arrive at the field.

Just need to put on pants! I call back.

Shit! Pants! I frantically think. What the hell am I going to wear for pants? From the corner of my eye I see my black ringette sweats. Perfect! I slip them on over my Lululemon shorts, tuck in my blue Broncos shirt and fly down the stairs, just in time to gather both my kids back into the garage and set forth to another journey, this time to the baseball field.

Looking good, Mom, Titus says with the biggest smile on his face as he puts his arm around me, embracing me into his side, making us pause our world for a brief moment. He’s a lot like his father; he always seems to sense exactly what I need to hear and feel within this crazy world. He’s my protector, my calmer, the one who takes it upon himself to help ground me. He has always done this with me, ever since he was a wee little boy. He encourages me to breathe and free myself from the self-inflicted stress.

Thanks, handsome! I grin back at him, as my heart fills with pure joy and warmth. You’re looking great yourself.

Thanks, Mom, he says, giving me a squeeze before releasing his embrace.

Got all your stuff? I question.

Sure do, he reassures me, before going through a verbal checklist. Bat, glove, hat, water, Spitz! Got it all Mom, and I brought water for you and Jayda too.

Thank you. Okay, let’s go! I say, excited to start this season of baseball.

As we separate from our embrace, I notice Jayda sitting quietly in the backseat of the car. Her head is down and she’s pouting about having to come to practice. I recognize her need for attention and softly say to her, Jayda, are you okay?

I don’t really want to go to the baseball diamond, she mopes. All of your attention is going to be on Titus, and I’ll have nothing to do. She lowers her head further, looking at the water bottle in her lap and avoiding eye contact.

Jayda, I say, I understand that you want all of my attention, but sometimes we have to share me with your brother. Think of all the times I helped your ringette team. I was the manager a few times, and I helped with coaching. It’s Titus’ turn now. He has never had me help out with any of his teams. I’m trying to illustrate the bigger picture for her to understand.

Besides, I continue, I need you there. I know nothing about baseball. I gesture with head and hand signals to express my hidden truth and expose a tiny bit of my inner fear of not being good enough to do this task at hand. Maybe you can help me. You can be my sidekick, my assistant, or better yet, you could help the whole team by being our mascot!

She looks up at me with the biggest smile on her face. What do I have to do as the mascot? she inquires eagerly.

You would be a big part of the team, I say. Bring the team up! Cheer them on and help make this season fun! I use jazz hands to really emphasize the fun.

Jayda’s aura lightens and now her voice exudes a spark and passion to be there. Okay, that sounds good, Mom. I’ll help you! She sits straight with shoulders up and back. Her head is held high, signaling her pride and yearning to be part of the team.

Titus is clearly annoyed with the delay, but he swiftly jumps out of the car. Jayda and I look at each other with bewilderment. He rustles around in a bin at the back of the garage and pulls out a small baseball glove which he hands to Jayda. Here, so you really feel like you’re part of the team. Now let’s go, he casually says. I don’t want to be late. Then he jumps back into the front seat of the car, as if nothing happened. Jayda’s and my eyes connect in the rear-view mirror and we smile at each other, silently noting this small but grand gesture from Titus to boost his little sister’s spirit.

We back out of the garage, with music blaring, wind blowing through our hair and the anticipation of our new adventure. We set forth down the street towards the next town to our first baseball practice.

I yell out with excitement, Here we go! This is going to be fun!

4

This Is My Reality

J ulia.

I can hear someone softly saying my name. I slowly open my eyes and begin to focus on a room full of visitors, spectators who hover over me, staring down at me in bed. My confining, uncomfortable hospital bed. I try to quickly adapt to the foreign unpleasant surroundings