"There are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to him: Haughty eyes, " Proverbs 6:16, 17
"Oh, God, no! No! Send legions of angels to protect him! God Almighty, guard him-save his life!" I screamed as I rushed to him. Playing with a handgun, my son had shot himself in the head with a small caliber hand gun. He was unconscious. 911 was called.
There were no sirens and no lights flashing as the ambulance pulled up to the house.
Don't leave my son, Jesus, I beg of you!" I stood looking about at those who had arrived. When I made eye contact with them, they turned their heads from me. "Is this really happening? God, is this really happening?"
There were no sirens and no lights flashing as the ambulance drove slowly to the hospital. I was not allowed to ride with him. I was in a separate vehicle.
There was no mask on his face. "He is alive!" I begged to go with him into ER, but was again denied.
The next thing I remembered was being somewhere in the hospital in a corner on the floor. I was sobbing and I remember being very, very cold. I was escorted into a small room and the door was shut. A man entered and introduced himself as the hospital Chaplain. Although I do not remember when it was that I had called friends and my church, I told him that my pastor was coming. I cannot explain the presence of evil that engulfed me.
I was joined by family and friends.
Shortly after having arrived at the hospital, the doctor announced, "Your son is "brain dead." There is nothing that I can do to help him. He has been "brain dead" since the accident. He cannot breathe on his own and has been put on a respirator. There is no hope for his recovery."
My husband responded as he rose to his feet, "You do everything you can to help my son!" The doctor said he would do surgery on our son just so we would know, ". . . that I have done everything I could to salvage your son. I want you to know that in my personal opinion it will be hopeless, but I will do this for you."
The doctor turned and left. "Salvage . . .salvage? Is he going to die? God, please no!"
We pleaded to see our son, but again, we were denied.
We were moved to another room (since I have referred to this as the containment room). I can remember the walk down the hall. We were escorted by a woman in a blue suit. Someone was supporting my daughter as she was trembling and wailing. I had to fight to try to focus as though I was peering through a long, narrow tube. Everyone looked far way. Their faces resembled the faces of my family, yet they did not look exactly like them. Voices were muffled. I was freezing cold and trembling uncontrollably.
We waited. We prayed. We had hope-even though none was offered at this place.
Standing in the hall, the nurse who was attending to our son walked by and we asked her how our son was doing. "Fine," she said. "Other than a problem with some fluid on his lungs, he's doing good." When she saw the look on our faces she made a speedy exit.
The woman in the blue suit kept offering us something to drink. She appeared to be nice. Someone on the hospital staff, I presumed. Her presence was constant.
The Blanket of Death
"a lying tongue" Proverbs 6: 17
Three hours had passed since our son had been admitted to ER and we had prayerfully waited for the news of his surgery. The doctor entered the room and announced that there was nothing that could be done. He told us to say "good-bye" and as he showed us to our son's room, he warned us of how he looked, "Brace yourself, it is a gruesome sight."
Upon entering the room where my son lay, nothing could have prepared my family and me for what we were about to witness. Our oldest son yelled and began to collapse and we rushed to his aid. Terror seized us. "Oh, God! What have they done to him?!"
The doctor said, "Look at this." As he pointed to a small box he explained that the pressure within our son's brain was at the highest level. "His brain is dead. There is no hope. He is dying."
Then I heard this terrifying noise. I could not recognize it. Then I realized it had come out of me, somewhere deep from within. It was an ugly noise and it would not stop. I couldn't stop this noise and it scared me. Something snapped inside me. I think I died-a part of me died. Now I am using a restroom. Now I am standing outside. I want to run! I am screaming. Suddenly my daughter is there. I look into her eyes, "This-isn't-real. This is not happening!" My daughter is holding me and saying "It is real." "No! No!" I heard screaming. Was that my voice? It was as if I could see myself standing at a distance.
My existence was surreal. The only thing I could feel was penetrating cold.
I can remember being in the containment room again. The woman in the blue suit was standing at the door. I was telling the grandparents what the doctor had said. "Is that my voice?" I remember wondering. It was as if someone else was speaking. The voice did not sound like mine. There was a foreign voice within me and it echoed when I spoke.
I am in the room with my son again. In the corner there are two nurses. They are looking at a black box. Their heads are close together and their eyes are fixed on this box. I move to my son's left side and rub his hand, kissing it. I am speaking to him. I am telling him how much I love him, "Don't die, please, don't die. I cannot live without you," I say to him. I see a bag hanging on the side of the bed. It is his urine. The bag is full. I go to his left foot and rub his foot. I speak to him. I am crying-I know because my tears drop on his foot. I walk to the end of his bed and around to his right foot and hand. I see under the bandage the rim of a hole on his head-a large hole.
This was not there before. A tube runs from this hole into a plastic cup on his pillow where blood pools. His eyes are swollen and black and blue. His head is swollen 2-3 times normal. "They have tried to kill him." I remember saying. I'm hugging my son, sobbing and I tell him, "I will see you in Heaven, I will love you forever. Jesus said that today you will be with Him in paradise." I ask that our pastor speak a blessing over him. Our pastor is there, he is saying words-I try to hear him, I try to listen, but I cannot. I lift up the plastic blanket that is draped over him and put my hand on his chest. I feel fear. Someone says I must leave; the doctor needs to run a test. I speak to my son, "If you are not here, your sunset will no longer have brilliance." I don't know why I said this, but my son loved the sunset so.
I turn and see the two nurses, their eyes wide. One whispers to the other. They are transfixed on the black box. I look down at the floor, and my eyes follow wires to my son's arm, finger, and chest. What? Is it fear I see on their faces. Yes. Fear-they seem to be excited about something they see as they stare at this box. It is turned to them, away from me. The other box has a wire that runs to the front of my son's forehead. What do they see? "You must leave now." I do not want to leave. Someone is pulling me away. I cannot see their faces. Everything is blurry now.
I am walking down the hall. We are led to the containment room. I'm gripped by fear-an incomprehensible state of anguish and terror. There are no human words to adequately describe this state of mind. Was this hell? Wailing and choking, I look into the eyes of my family. An evil is present-a spirit is amongst us-I can feel a dark presence. I am cold, like ice. Is this death? Is this what death is? "Am I going crazy-that's it! I'm just going insane!" My mind-is that what I hear?!
"hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil" Proverb 17, 18
Five and a half hours after my son had been admitted into ER, we were told to wait for the doctor to return with the test results.
The doctor comes into the room. He says that he has completed a test. He took the machine that was breathing for our son off, he explained and our son did not breathe. "He is dead." My husband and I wanted to see our son, but the doctor said it was time for us to go home. "Your son is dead." The woman in the blue suit stood beside the doctor. The doctor introduced her and said that she was an organ procurement agent and that she wanted to speak to us.
The woman began, "Even in your son's death he could help others. He liked people and enjoyed helping others, didn't he?" My family and I were out of our minds in shock and anguish! Sobbing, choking and groans could be heard. I stomped out of the room. My pastor and daughter followed me down the hall. I explained to them both that I felt the presence of evil. I asked my pastor to go back and be with my husband and son. I told him to stop that woman. Minutes later, we tried to re-enter the corridor doors in which we had exited, but they were locked. For several minutes we knocked and knocked trying to attract someone's attention. Finally a nurse let us in.
Returning to the room, only my family remained. A nurse told us it was time to go home.
My husband and son were coerced into signing. However, later, my husband said he could not tell me what it was they signed. They had been convinced, as she so eloquently spoke, "This charitable act of kindness would save the lives of others and would give meaning and purpose to such a tragic death. This is what he would have wanted-to continue to help others, now wouldn't he?"
"This is a horrible nightmare-this isn't happening!"
I do not remember leaving the hospital or the trip home.
I stayed on my knees that night in prayer as I leaned against the wall. I rose only on occasion to go from one family member to the next as they would awake from sleep crying out. I could do nothing to relieve their pain. I cried out to God, "I trusted you, Lord! I trusted you that you would not let my son die!"
The next day more family arrived. My mother's small home was crowded. My husband and father placed many calls to tell friends that our son had died. I told family members that I would rather die than be in the pain I was in.
"but when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed" 2 Corinthians 3: 16
Twenty four hours after my son's accident God spoke to me.
I was standing in the middle of the room, "My son is alive! God spoke to me! Take me to the hospital! He is alive!" My family gathered around me as my husband held me and spoke, "No, no! He isn't at the hospital. He isn't alive. He is at the funeral parlor now." I struggle to free myself from my husband's restraint. I begged him to listen to me. I told him to take me to the hospital or I would walk.
My family thought I had gone insane.
Early the next morning my mother collapsed. She had torn her nose from her face in her fall, blood covered her. This precious grandmother had suffered a stroke. At the hospital I stayed by her the entire time. The Lord of Life at our side.
I looked around the room that day at my family. I sat sobbing, my mother in her chair, her face bruised, stitches across her nose. Broken and wounded, my family literally struggled to survive. My heart was heavy and I could feel a pain that was of the depth of my soul.
My family was becoming more concerned as the days went on. My daughter, I was to learn later, feared that I would die of a broken heart. She revealed to me that my death was something she anticipated.
I caused my family additional grief as I began to share with them things that I was being made aware of. I could see my son in the hospital and saw things impossible for me to have known. I could not sleep as I could see my son in the hospital, crying and calling my name. I would awake gasping for air and my heart racing.
My husband knew that I was having these violent physical attacks. I could not eat or sleep. As the days went on, I saw visions and heard the voice of my son calling out from the hospital. The knowledge that I had left my son to die tormented me. My husband assumed I was just having nightmares. He tried to console me, yet this was not possible. He pleaded with me not to die. "I cannot bear to loose you too," he said as he held me in his arms.
When I announced to my family I had submitted the appropriate documents to retrieve our son's hospital, EMT and fire department records, you can only imagine what they thought.
"So we do not loose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. 2 Corinthians 4:16
I could not shake the evil feeling nor could I deny the words of my God. I continually questioned everyone about everything that happened. I had called trying to make arrangements to meet with the organ donation company that was involved with our son. My husband did not remember what was said, what transpired or what had been signed. My husband could not remember signing anything. I requested the records from them. This caused much pain to resurface for my family.
At this time, my mother confessed that she had tried to stop the signing of the donor papers. She was repulsed by what she had heard. Due to the obvious state of shock and pain in which my husband and son were in and not capable of comprehending, she commented to the procurement agent to stop. She asked that I be asked about this. "Don't sign anything without letting his mother see this." The agent glared at her when she suggested they speak to me first. "I felt something evil about all of this," she said.
"For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places." Ephesians 6: 12
My husband went to the X-ray department of the hospital to pick-up the documents and the X-rays of our son. The woman attending the desk slipped the X-rays from the large envelope and said, "Oh. Well at least he's OK, isn't he?" My husband was shocked and replied, "No, matter-of-fact, my son died here in this hospital!" The woman's eyes widened, she dropped the X-rays, backed away from the counter, turned and walked away. My husband had to help himself to the items she had gathered for him.
The ambulance and hospital records revealed an entirely different account of what took place that dark day.
In the ambulance our son was conscious and "used purposeful movement with his left arm." He was then given drugs that would sedate him and increase his heart rate. Records stated he had a gag reflex.
There was no mention of the drugs used in the ambulance in the hospital records. In ER he was responding to pain, breathing on his own and continued to have a gag reflex.
In laymen's terms, he had flunked the clinical criteria for "brain death."
In an effort to ventilate him he was given pain meds and repeated doses of a paralyzing drug-seven repeated doses. My son fought for his life against those that tried to overtake him. Oh! How our son was tortured.
X-rays were taken-however, their findings were not recorded in the hospital records until much later, long after he had been declared a "donor" and "brain dead" and after his surgery. The notations made here indicated no major damage to the main part of his brain. This statement was repeated more than once throughout the medical documents.
He had a head injury, no doubt, requiring intensive treatment. What he received, rather, was a death sentence as he was immediately treated as an organ donor. The ER admitting records indicate, "brain dead," "fatal head injury" and "donor."
The Swan-Ganz line, oversaturating his system with fluids and all other procedures for the pretreatment of living human dissection was done. This is standard protocol for "organ donors"-a procedure immediately implemented. Unbeknownst to all of us, conscious and fighting for his life, he was being prepared to be conveniently killed.
Pronounced dead once? Twice? Three times? Then murdered!
"See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ." Colossians 2:8
Pronounced "brain dead" in ER and a "donor," obviously alive, he is pronounced dead three more times!!
First death-a convenience death-invented to schedule and regulate the actual time of real death. We were told five hours after his having been admitted into ER that he was "dead." The hospital records confirm this time, stating "brain death" had occurred after the apnea test was performed. Obviously my son's organs had already been sold to the highest bidder-he received the death sentence and despite his fight for life, he had been condemned to death. Despite the fact that he could not respond due to being sedated, "brain death" was pronounced.
Second death: the "paper death"-the death certificate. This indicates that he died one and one half hours prior to the apnea test and having been labeled "brain dead!"
Third death-the true "physical death"-having completed their ritualistic rite, our son had been dissected alive and in doing so, killed. The medical records indicate that our son had been given anesthesia nineteen hours after he was suppose to be DEAD! Two drugs were administered-one to relieve pain and a paralyzing drug to inhibit movement-prior to this fatal dissection-half way through his torture, all pain medications was withdrawn. The length of time for his beating heart and other vital organs to be cut out was three and one half hours.
The doctors and staff at this hospital had listed a variety of different times of death. Relatives testified having called the hospital inquiring of our son's condition was told he had died-two and one half hours prior to the apnea test and one and one half hour prior to the death certificate. The hospital reported to a newspaper he died the following morning. There were so many conflicting reports that it was all too obvious to many the seriousness problems of the "brain death" declaration of death.
A Living Hell
Unbeknownst to us, alive and fighting for his life, our son was repeatedly and constantly being tormented and tortured. I have to live with this and it has been a daily struggle.
I now know that my son responded to my touch and voice. The "box" that the two nurses were viewing was that of my son's vital signs. There is no doubt in my mind that his blood pressure and heart rate increased in my presence. I also have no doubt that the reason for the "box" being turned away from me and my family was to conceal the signs of his life-heart beat, respiration, and blood pressure. I have asked Jesus a million times to forgive me of my ignorance and for delivering my son to this throne of demons.
I asked for my son's blessings. I had told him that Jesus would see him "today" in heaven-all as if he his death were imminent-and I know that he was listening. I can only imagine his horror! I left him for dead! I left him there alone and walked away. God have mercy on me!
I believe that had I not been deceived, my son would be alive today. The two doctors' reports stated this fact. I believe whole heartedly that the Lord of Life did hear my prayers. Had I not requested that he be delivered into the hands of a level one hospital where organ transplantation is facilitated in great haste, he would have been treated for his injury. I understand now the fight that I had to take him to this hospital, for those of the fire department and ambulance crew knew the lurking evil. Their silence was deadly.
There is a price paid for deception and the lack of knowledge. The consequence, of which I can attest, will affect me my entire life. Organ donation and my ignorance thereof was the vehicle, the tool necessary for the organ transplant team to carry out their sadistic plan.
I have to live with this ugliness and wait to see my son again. This pain-this incredible void-is most difficult to endure. I cannot view his pictures and enjoy the memories of this beautiful creature that God created, blessing me with his birth and life. I am haunted by the TRUTH of what I witnessed and the revealing of his torture and death. My negligence of his foolishness and playing with a gun is a burden all of its own. To allow him to be taught such a perverse doctrine is quite another, this having the ability to take his life given any number of medical scenarios that could have arisen in his lifetime. You see, he had permitted "organ donor" to be put on his drivers' license at which time the preparations for the ceremonial sacrifice commenced.
"Father forgive them for they know not what they have done."
Bernice Jones writes at Life Guardian.