ESP

By Curt Swarm

My phone buzzed. It was Cindy. “What’s wrong?” she wanted to know.

I was in the emergency room at Great River Medical Center in West Burlington. I had just been told I had bilateral pulmonary embolisms, i.e., blood clots in both lungs, lots of them. The physician assistant who told me let me hold his hand. It was comforting. “You’ll be on blood thinner the rest of your life,” he said.

How had Cindy known that something was wrong? Our friendship goes way back. I always knew Cindy was highly perceptive and sensitive, but not that she had special powers, like a cat.

She visited Ginnie and I in the hospital the next day. She said that an alarming urge had suddenly come over her the night before that she needed to call me. She’s glad she did. So am I. Her prayers lifted me up.

Wow! I’ve heard of extra-sensory phenomena, but never been directly involved with it. Cindy is a special person. She claims to have a direct pipeline to God. I believe her. She knew I needed prayers.

While I was in the hospital, late at night, with sounds echoing down the hallway, bed pans clanging, I dreamed that I was playing football with my old high school buddies who had died: Scott, Jimmy, Phil, John, Ernie, Dave, OP; even some I hadn’t gone to high school with: Joel Boy, Ric, Gary, Casey, Steve, Gonzo. We were having fun, dirt under our fingernails, a couple of bloody noses and jammed fingers. High school football was one of the happiest times of my life. There wasn’t anyone on the opposing team. It was just us, old friends, having a good time, yukking it up. It was a happy dream, and I woke up knowing everything was going to be okay.

I have five specialists working on me: an oncologist, pulmonologist, gastro-enterologist, cardiologist and hematologist. I dreamed about them also. They were all operating on me, surrounding the surgical table, mumbling, wearing white gowns and masks. One of them reached into my knee with his gloved fingers, and pulled out a bone chip. “Ah, ha,” they said.

I don’t have a knee problem, but I see the dream as meaningful. The key just has to be found. They’ll find it. BTW: If you’re wondering how my Medicare Advantage Plan is doing, it’s working like a champ. No problems.

When Ginnie and I went to Colorado for a week, so I could visit old friends, we had Cindy pet-sit. She checked in on Buddy and Stormy, fed and watered them, and let Buddy out to do his duty, even taking him for walks. Cindy knows that Stormy, our tomcat, likes to sit on my lap and knead. She left special instructions for Stormy on how to care for me, and to let her know if I’m having problems, telepathically. Cindy is tuned in to the feline wavelength.

Ginnie is also taking great care of me and, of course, I enjoy all the special attention. She cooks my favorite foods. In conjunction with the Prednisone and lack of exercise, I’m gaining weight. My cheeks are puffy and my belly’s sticking out.

I’m so short of breath I can’t do anything physical, like mow the lawn, spray the Japanese Beetles, or work in the garden. It’s growing up in weeds. I’m gonna mow the whole thing off. I’ve also had to swallow my pride and use a cane to walk. The doc said I should use a walker. But that would really injure my pride. Pride commeth before the fall, literally.

I’m a lucky guy. My mind is clear. I can sit in my recliner, read, write, gaze out the window, be productive and creative, watch the Nightly News and Caitlin Clark, without being short of breath. I have a bank of friends who pray for me, like making a deposit in the Hereafter. Whatever is His Will—even the suffering, for it pushes me closer to God. Acceptance is the answer to all my problems today.

Contact Curt Swarm at curtswarm@yahoo.com