On August 11, 1990, I was riding my ten-speed
bike. While I was
riding, a Bronco struck me from behind. I was thrown 30 feet
and run
over. One half of my body was on the sidewalk and the other half
was in
the street. There was a witness who stopped the drunk driver
from
leaving the scene of the accident. They both waited for the police
and
ambulance to come. I was rushed to Umass Medical Center and immediately
into surgery.
I was bleeding internally. They cut me open
to find out where all the blood was coming from, and they had
to remove part of my bowel. I
didn't see the incision until they changed the bandage. I was cut from
one end to the other. I fractured my back and left leg. They thought I
was going to die. I was told I couldn't walk. I was so black and blue I
didn't think I would ever be white again. When my brother Paul and his
wife Theresa came to visit me, they didn't recognize me. My daughter and
her boyfriend came with my three grandchildren. My other daughter came
later. I had lots of company and they prayed for me and with me. My
mother was in the hospital with me for three days.
I spent one month in the trauma ward. I couldn't
stop vomiting. They jammed a tube down my nose to prevent me
from throwing up. They
couldn't stop it. They had me on a machine that pumped medication into
me to get me stable. I was so sick and in so much pain. I cried out to
the Lord for help. Everyone heard me.
On the left side of my bed I thought I saw a spirit of death. He
wore a brown cloak. He had a face like a black shadow and long
fingernails. I said, "I am not going with you. I am going with Jesus." He
vanished. I saw my casket covered with flowers. When I woke up, I asked, "Where
are all my flowers?" There
were no flowers. Thank God I'm alive. Years later, I had problems
and couldn't eat.
I had to have two more surgeries and more prayers. This accident
changed my whole life, and all those prayers were answered.
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