When Misty Walked With Jesus

She never heard them coming. Suddenly, hands ripped at her clothing and her feet were knocked from beneath her. When she fell she tried to catch herself but someone grabbed her arm as her chin bounced off of the curb and her teeth pierced her lip. Expletives showered down upon her like a spill from a steel furnace. Blood began to fill her throat; then all went black.
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“She’s conscious, let’s clear the room, Shirley, get Dr. Simmons, stat.”

The hospital intercom call system barked, “Dr. Simmons, Dr. Simmons, room 325, stat.”

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She opened her eyes and tried to focus on her surroundings. Suddenly, she realized that stiff strings were hanging from her face, and her body seemed restrained. A shape was bending over her and shining a light into her eyes. She felt no pain but had an odd sensation pulsing through her body. She closed her eyes again, but someone began shaking her. It was the shape, saying something to her, she couldn’t understand. Then the shape changed. The voice was deeper and sharp. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to register the sights around her.

“Misty, Misty, wake up.”

The words configured in her mind. Her name was being called.

“Misty, honey, it’s daddy, look at me sweetie.”

A new voice, familiar, on her left side.

“Put her glasses on her,” a female voice in the distance.

The person on her left started placing something on her face.

“They will have to rest on her nose; I can’t stretch them around the bandages. Glad we had this spare pair at the house.”

Suddenly, a rush of bile and blood entered her throat and she tried to cough but to no avail. Then all was silent.

____

“Code, get the crash cart! Let’s go people move, give me some room.” Simmons climbed onto the edge of the hospital bed and opened his patient’s mouth with his fingers. “Get me a trek kit!”

Minutes later oxygen was being pumped through a hole in her throat.

“Oxygen in bloodstream is increasing,” said a nurse at a monitoring station.

Dr. Simmons nodded, “good.” Then, he picked up a clipboard. “Let’s get her into surgery, call the floor, and tell them we’re coming. I need Dr. Allen too; he should be in the Trauma Center.”

“Yes, doctor.”

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A week passed and she couldn’t wake up. She heard sounds, but couldn’t connect them. Sometimes she felt touches, but couldn’t figure where the touch originated. Mostly though, she slept. She sat at a table with Jesus, the apostles; she walked with Moses in the desert; she visited Ruth and her new husband; she stood on a hill with Elijah and watched the masses pass; and watched as David slew the giant. Finally, Jesus took her by the hand and led her to a balcony.

“It’s time to start for home, my daughter.”

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One day a bright light interrupted her sleep. For the first time her eyes focused on a face, and she heard him speak.

“Okay, I’ve got brain activity, and eye flutter.” His voice was directed away from her.

Another voice chimed in. “I’ll call her mother.”

She could feel her body, there were pains, subdued, but pains; her mouth was dry and she tried to open it and it felt like her lips were splitting.

An excited voice shouted, “She’s active, we’ve got her back!”