Showing posts with label near death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label near death. Show all posts

Friday, October 17, 2014

Close Enough


Hi, I'm Pippa Jay, author of scifi and the supernatural with a romantic soul. I guess writing a bit of paranormal should make me familiar with death and what might happen after. Personally, I've never had a 'real' near death experience, for which I'm grateful. There are a lot of things I've researched as an author--sometimes terrible things--and there are times I've even tested things out myself like holding my breath for as long as possible (I was researching drowning). But I've had one experience that, at the time, felt as close to death as I ever want to get.

In February 2008 I was heavily pregnant with little monster number three, and suffering from a nasty cold that had kept me in bed for a week. I'd already seen my doctor about the chronic earache accompanying the cold that stopped me from sleeping, and been curtly informed that she couldn't give me anything because I was pregnant. So I'd stuck with whatever pathetic remedies I could take--paracetamol for the pain, fluids, and a few drops of an aromatherapy breathe-easy type medication dripped onto tissue. I was all blocked up, coughing, feverish, struggling to breathe and thoroughly miserable.

Then one evening it got worse. I felt I was really fighting to breathe, and every passing moment the feeling intensified. I tried shouting for my husband, but I'd lost my voice and trying to shout only made me even more breathless. It got to the point I felt I couldn't breathe at all.


I crawled out of bed and onto the landing. By now, all I could think was that I was going to die, and so would my poor baby. And rather than scared, my overriding emotion was anger. Fury, even. If the anthropomorphic representation of Death (as portrayed by Sir Terry Pratchett in the Discworld novels) had turned up at that moment, he'd have got the beating of his life...er, death. I can't remember being so angry in my life before. And that's my predominant memory of the event. I can remember hearing the panic in my husband's voice as he called an ambulance, and I remember feeling momentarily sorry for him having to deal with it (a terribly British attitude, I think). Apparently I went a lovely shade of purple.

By the time the ambulance arrived, my breathing had settled down but I was very shaky after the whole experience. The paramedics gave me oxygen and recommended I go to hospital. I wasn't going to say no (although I have to say the night spent there was almost as hellish as my near death experience, between constant checks, needles, monitors, a chronic snorer and another patient moaning and talking in his sleep). Less than 24 hours later I was sent home with antibiotics for a chest infection and a memory I'll never forget. And that's as close to a near death experience as I ever want to get... *plans on immortality*

Phoenix
Perhaps that's why death and resurrection are a common theme in my stories, even though I don't personally believe in reincarnation or any kind of after life. And yet they're often in my writing. Funny how my stories don't reflect my beliefs in those things. In my newest release, my hero has lost the love of his life, and makes a risky attempt to summon back her soul during All Hallows' Eve, when spirits are most likely to be abroad and loved ones come home. I'm glad I hadn't gone far enough to need any magic to bring me back. But how would you feel about being brought back from the dead, especially if you'd been gone a year?

Hallow's Eve, paranormal romance short

Blurb:

Twelve months ago, Hal’s world crashed and burned, taking the love of his life with it. He’s waited all year for that one special night when the souls of the departed come home, hoping his candle will summon back one in particular to heal his broken heart. But the forbidden knowledge he’s learned could call something far worse, and put more than his own soul at risk...

Monday, October 6, 2014

Oxyacetylene Saved My Life by Paty Jager

I believe it is a rare person who hasn't had a brush with death some time in their life. My incident is probably like many people who drive cars. It was an automobile accident. Luckily, I walked away, but it could have turned out quite different.

This tale took place many years ago. My oldest daughter was in second grade, my other daughter a first grader and our son wasn't in kindergarten yet. The day of my near death experience, our son had thankfully gone trucking with his dad.

At the time the school budget was suffering and anyone living within a certain distance of the school had to be dropped off and picked up. Before my husband left for the day, he loaded an empty oxyacetylene canister for his welding and cutting torch in the trunk of my car. I was to get it filled while running errands.

The girls and I loaded into my fairly new Ford Tempo and headed to school. I helped out in one of the classrooms then headed to town. After running my errands and some for my husband, I still had the tank to drop off and exchange for a new one. I looked at the time and needed to head back to the small community where I lived and pick up the girls. I decided the tank would have to wait.

It had started raining. As I drove out of town, I noticed the grill of a pickup in my rear-view mirror. There were two teenage boys in a jacked-up Ford so close, the only way I knew they were teenagers was by looking in my side-view mirror. I looked forward and noticed a car stopped in the road waiting to turn. I pushed on my brakes and pumped them to get the attention of the driver behind me.

Then I pushed harder and Wham!

The pickup behind me slammed my car into the stopped car and my Tempo popped out into the oncoming traffic. Someone was watching over me. That traffic stopped. By the time the police arrived, I'd pulled myself off the floorboards(this was before seat belts were mandatory) and was worrying about picking up the girls. I told the police I was fine, I needed to get to a phone and call for  ride to pick up my kids. The paramedics took a quick check and suggested I might want to see my doctor as I'd have some whiplash issues.

I went to the nearest business and asked to borrow their phone(this was before cell phones). Another miracle -- I knew where my mother-in-law was cleaning house that day and called her to pick me and then the girls up.

When my husband came home, we drove to town to look at my car. It was totaled. The only thing that saved me from being crushed like a beer can was the oxyacetylene tank that had jammed between the wheel wells in the trunk of the car. Otherwise the pickup would have come right on over/through the trunk. My husband nearly threw up when he realized what could have happened. In fact, every time he thought about it for months afterwards he became nauseous.

Now, whenever I hear metal screeching across metal, I get the metallic taste of fear in my mouth and my body tenses.

And I did go to my doctor and he confirmed that I was lucky to come out with only whiplash.

One thing I noticed, I'm not sure where the movies and TV shows get the character's life playing out in their mind before the danger. I didn't have time for any of that to happen. I was diving, I was hit, I popped out. I crawled out of the car and needed to get to my kids. That's it. No backflashes of my life or anything.

website: http://www.patyjager.net
Blog: Writing into the Sunset


 

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

The Near-Death After School Program

By Robin Weaver


I grew up in the middle of nowhere, and since my parents worked long hours and had a lengthy commute, my non-school time involved very little supervision. In those days (and it really wasn’t that long ago), leaving eight- and ten-year-old children alone during the time between school bus drop-off and arrival of the parents after a day at the factory didn’t constitute child-neglect. My eight-year-old brother had a more structured existence.  He was supervised by ten-year-old me. Translation: it’s amazing we survived childhood. 
What could possibly happen in those three hours each day? We had chores to keep us busy, right?

Here’s what we actually did…
*Had races. On real horses. At full gallop, through the woods.
*Had tin can fights. Did I mention we loaded the cans with rocks because the weight made the throw more accurate?
*Went swimming in the lake. Said-lake had been created from a gravel pit, and thus had a very deep drop-off.
*Went fishing in the beaver pond. Several water moccasins enjoyed the same water.
*Had contests to see who could climb the highest tree. And jump down.
*Played circus knife-thrower. You guessed it—with the kitchen butcher knife.
*Tried to create fire by rubbing stones together. Fortunately for the hundred-acre forest, we never succeeded.
*Had target practice with B-B guns. Enough said.
*Played Zorro. Sword fights involved sticks sharpened with the circus-play butcher knife.
*Tested bed sheets to determine if they could be used as parachutes. Testing involved jumping from the roof. Note: Bed sheets do not make good parachutes.
*Drove the tractor to the neighbor’s house (in first gear the entire trip). Note: The neighbor gave us a lecture but
never ratted us out. I don’t think the tractor ever ran the same.
*Made up stories. Probably the only safe thing we did. At least until we turned the stories into live-action plays.
Did my mom know about our activities? Of course not. She would have killed us.
My childhood didn’t seem like a near-death experience at the time, but a few years later, I freaked because my five-year-old daughter went roller skating without a helmet. I guess times really have changed. J
 
The Christmas Tree Wars, a contemporary romance novella, will be available this holiday season.
Styrofoam Corpse, a mystery/suspense novel, will be available in November.
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