Over the threshold

Through various streets, passing places I should have known, but didn't, I sat silently in the car. 

Just moments before we'd started our journey I had come face-to-face with my son, Jake, for the first time in 7 days. He'd grown so much, his little face shone upon seeing me. That image alone caused me to sob uncontrollably.

Looking at my boy he knew that 'daddy' wasn't well and he did the only thing he knew how, he smiled and hugged me.

Words cannot define that moment, but if I'd died during that embrace my life would have been worthwhile for this moment alone.

We turned into a street, this was to be our journey's end, not that I knew it at the time. Laura stepped out the car, I hesitated, glaring out the window desperately trying to identify my 'home', something that I could assign recognition to. 

It didn't come, instead I stepped out of the car and stood in the street looking lost and helpless, a stranger in a place I should have known.

Laura removed Jake from the car and headed towards number 61 Gordon Street. The door to the house was blood red, I stared at it trying to force my mind to remember, but only succeeded in hurting my eyes.

Holding Jake, Laura turned the key in the lock. The door swung open straight into the front room. Well it looked like a dining room.

Laura boldly stepped inside, me, I entered tentatively, nervously as if the house wasn't my own. I crossed over the threshold and the instant that I did so, a voice spoke to me in my head. "You're a guest here only."

The room was relatively small, but was nicely decorated with a feature fire place and a wall lined with striped wallpaper. The other walls were neutrally painted and clean.

On the walls were pictures of Jake, Laura and a face I recognised, mine. A huge family photo hung on the wall to the right of me. I was in the picture.

There's no denying it now I thought, this is my wife, my son, my home.

Walking around the rest of the house I recognised nothing, but I knew that this house was where all this had transpired. I hated it, I wanted to run out and leave.

How could I be a husband to a wife I didn't know, a father to a growing boy, a man of a house I despised? 

I could think of nothing more than fear. Every move I made in the house for the rest of the day was done with caution. 

The truth is, I felt like a little fish in an ocean. I was now out of my depth, this is my reality, I am a husband, a father and head of a household. I've got to make this work. I will have to re-build my life from here.

Was I up to the challenge? Only time would tell.

Home on the Horizon

61 Gordon Street, where it all began...

I'd lost track of the days, the only thing that filled my head was the words of the hospital Chaplain.

She had been gone a couple of hours now and during that time a number of patients had gone home. However, the empty bays were soon occupied again with new patients.

Yet, there was something new about the occupants. I noticed they were all younger men, much younger than the previous demographic that had surrounded me.
I remember thinking that it was strange. But, why? Young people get ill too, I'm an example of just that.

I struck up conversations with many of the younger men. Many of them opened up about their circumstances. They told me of their addictions to drink, drugs and gambling.

Another young man explained how he was recovering from being stabbed by a gang rival just 9 days ago.

Jayden, I remember most distinctly. He told me how he'd been involved in a car accident, which resulted in him seriously injuring a pedestrian.

He explained how he'd been speeding, 'egged' on by his mates. He remembered the accident vividly and was filled with remorse.

I don't know what prompted me, but I prayed for him and the other young men around me. The words of the Chaplain had touched my heart.

I had no concept of God, nor did I believe in him, so I didn't know if my prayers had any impact. What I do know is that me and those men around me all found one thing in common out of it all 'Hope'.

Later that afternoon my 'wife' came to visit. During our time together the consultant overseeing my healthcare came to see me. He delivered the news that tomorrow [Friday] I could go home for weekend leave.

I learned that the wards were not really manned over the weekend and none of the consultants worked.

Laura looked at me and smiled reassuringly, knowing that this was going to be especially hard for both of us.

For me personally my initial reaction was of terror, although I did not convey that on the outside.

I'd get to see my son for the first time in days, but I was also aware I'd be returning to the scene of where it all happened, but I wouldn't recognise it.

Would it really be home anymore? I'd grown so familiar with the hospital the very idea that I lived in a house escaped me.

For the critics

In the writing of this blog a number of people have questioned whether any of it is real. A valid question and I had a choice to make.

I could either completely lose it and say what a stupid question, but I instead have chosen to adopt this response. It was real to me, it was real for my family and it was real for my friends, enough said.

Decide for yourself, I am not going to start justifying the story.The pain of it is too much to bear and to have my integrity questioned hurts. Yes I'm not perfect, but who is? 

The spiritual encounters well that's open to interpretation as I appreciate that not everyone has seen the supernatural. You don't have to take my word for it. However, I can only describe what I saw and the fact that I saw it in such detail makes it real to me.

You can take it or leave it, believe it or not, my only reason for writing this is to inspire and encourage, not to create debate. 

What happened to me happened, it happened publicly. I fell from a great height, through natural eyes I lost a lot. Leader of the worship team, close relationship with the pastor, everyone WOWING your worship. A life of 'success', from a natural perspective, gone.

I've had to sever ties with some 'friends' who were glad this happened to me. When I asked them why? Their response was: 'We envied you, it has knocked you off your perch'. 

I didn't realise I was on a perch, but hey, this is people, this is life and I'm learning to live with the notion that it probably says more about them than me.

Do I still make mistakes after this experience? Yes. Does it hurt to have something taken away that I was building when I didn't expect it? Yes.

However, and here is where I want the doubters to take stock, is it ABOUT ME? No!

The experience happened to me, but it's not about me, it's about the glory of a God I believe in and trust completely. 

It saddens me that people have questioned my experience. There's nothing more real than losing everything you've known in your own head, spending endless nights in hospital wondering what's going to happen next, will I live or die? Will I ever know my family and friends again?

The rest is just stuff. My life is not defined by me being a worship leader, being on a core team, being behind a microphone, it's defined by who I am in God and who I am as a son.

I'm also not defined by this blog and responses to this blog. However, for the time being I've taken the decision to temporarily stop writing the blog in order to gather some perspective and re-focus the blog on God and not in answering 'critics' who would begrudge a person writing about a terrible experience in order to inspire.

I do not wish to cause offence and raise feelings of envy.

Until further notice...

For those who have read the blog and offered your unwavering support, thank you. 

The blog will return in due course.

Spirit Break Out

Hours after the visit of 'Claire', my wife turned up. During visiting hours, I underwent another test, this time with quite a suave sounding doctor. Dr Matthews was here to measure my 'brain activity'. Interesting I thought to myself.

He fitted some wacky contraption to my head and proceeded to tell me that this would measure my brain waves and look for signs of any abnormal activity.

Brilliant I thought, maybe I would get some answers to what had happened to me. It was playing on my mind that I'd had all these tests and yet, not one had uncovered any results as to why I had collapsed and lost my memory.

Whilst the test was going on I tried to recall some memories. It was like the game Jenga, I would start building the tower, but before long I could visualise the blocks being pulled out and the tower would topple.

I could remember very little and whilst playing this game Dr Matthews would be asking me a series of questions. I couldn't answer any of them. "Who's the Prime Minister?", "What's the Queen's name?"

On it went and I couldn't answer anything. My thoughts returned to Claire. Was that God? I asked myself.

Having met Tony, having been told about my 'past' life, in that moment a warm breeze passed over me. I felt it, like an invisible breath. Someone was here that I couldn't see, yet the very presence was captivating, tangible and very heavy in the room.

I raised a smile, I closed my eyes and saw beyond the realm of this world, above the clouds, above the earth and beyond the universe.

I remember being in a chamber, I could see two thrones. One was exceptionally large, whilst the one to the right (my left as I looked) was drenched in blood, but written in the blood was the word 'Love'.

This was very real, it was happening here and now. As I scanned the throne room, I came across the Gold Figure from a few days earlier. He was much clearer to me now.

He smiled and held his arms wide. He was crying and surrounded by 1000s of other figures I couldn't make out. The figures were singing, the whole place was filled with joy.

I ran and ran and ran towards him and leapt into his arms. He held me and kissed my head. He said nothing, he didn't need to. I knew who he was, he just held me. It's all I needed. I could smell him, touch him and hear his heartbeat as I buried my head into his chest.

I opened my eyes. Dr Matthews and my wife stared back at me. "Nice dream?" asked the doctor. "It was no dream", I said. "It was an amazing experience, a reminder of something I need to figure out."

The doctor said he would have the results back from the test within 24 hours. I didn't care to be honest, I just smiled. He left. It was just me and Laura, we talked. Well, she talked and tried to help me with my memories.

However, I was still in awe of what had just happened. It was about to change the whole dynamic of my life, but I didn't know it at the time.

The picture was perfect, a son with the perfect Father. I understood the battle between good and evil now. There was a real fight for my life, both naturally and supernaturally. But, the word LOVE written in the blood on that throne engraved itself on my heart. I believed in something, I believed in a love stronger than my circumstances.

I looked at Laura. I said "I'm sorry I don't remember you, but I believe in your love." I took her by the hand and we hugged, she cried, I cried, but for the first time I had come across God.
I gripped him. We're going to get through this I thought. I trust you, I know it's you and only you who can bring me, my family and my church family through this.

Laura left. Visiting hours were over. Shortly afterwards the hospital chaplain came onto the ward. She brought me a Bible. I told her about my situation, she was astounded and said she recognised me from a healing conference I'd led worship at when a man by the name of Dave Carr had ministered.

She asked if she could pray for me. I was a little apprehensive, but I agreed. She prayed for a restoration of my memory and higher heights with God beyond this trial. It was all very inspiring and I began to realise that none of these experiences could be deemed 'coincidence', this was God turning a tragedy into a testimony.

I didn't realise it at the time, but I know now that the Spirit of God was breaking out over my life.

The best was yet to come, the power of God consumed me. I felt him. I knew that all this was not made up. I was convinced. I could smile, something I had not done in many days.

Invigorated, inspired and encouraged. My conversation with the chaplain revealed more about my relationship with God. She remembered that my worship was passionate, different, taking the church somewhere new. "It was groundbreaking," she said. "Your voice was incredible and you carried such authority and displayed such an intimate relationship with God that those that you were leading in worship were healed by your worship.

I was embarrassed now. I couldn't imagine it, that I had impacted so many lives. I truly believed now that God was in this somewhere.

Request...

For those of you that remember events where I've led worship or any impact that I've had on your life, please get in touch by commenting on this blog or via Facebook. You may be helping me to fill in the blanks. Much love and may the love of God grip you all in ways you never thought possible!!!

Night and Day

The days in hospital were far easier than the nights. This night, following the meeting with family and friends, was the most despairing of all.
I didn't sleep and dream of a life before all this that would have been too good to be true.

Instead I sat bolt upright and alert. 
It must have been about midnight by now. I had my bay light on and the rest of the ward was silent and dimly lit.
A few of the patients had gone and a few new ones turned up. In fact, one gentleman, Bryan, turned up whilst I was awake. He was wheeled into the bay looking seriously ill. 
I stared incessantly, I don't know why. It's almost as if I was drawn to him. I spoke to him once the porters had gone and asked him what had happened.
"Problem with my heart," he said. "I collapsed, next thing I know I'm here."

"Do you remember anything?" I asked.
"Not a thing," he said. 
Suddenly I realised why my attention was drawn to him. We shared something in common.

I spent much of the evening pacing up and down the ward, possessed by a need to remain awake. I was so tired, but scared to sleep.

I got to know the night nurses quite well. Calvin and Simon were always up for a laugh and in a sense they became my family. They were the first people I'd really connected with, other than Bryan. 
We enjoyed some friendly banter, they playfully mocked me for my inability to remember anything and equally I mocked their manliness for being male 'nurses'. It was all in good humour.

Having completed our exchanges and having paced up and down, for what seemed like hours, I lay on my bed.
I glanced over to the clock, 3am; I believe I was now suffering from insomnia. 
However, I unwittingly fell asleep, what followed still haunts me now.

Behind my closed eyes I saw fire. Bodies burning, people screaming, chased by shadows. Beyond this scene a city lay in ruin. I recognised the surroundings, but didn't know why.
Burning bodies stood and advanced towards me, arms outstretched, heavily disfigured and scarred, but no longer screaming, it's as though they had been possessed. 
The body was dead, but the soul was being tortured. Every ounce of humanity had left them. It was in their eyes, as black as night, secreting 'death'.
An army of these 'lifeless' beings amassed upon me. I turned to run. It's then that I realised that I was chained to a stake.

With nowhere to go, I didn't resist, what was about to happen was inevitable. As they approached I heard the chant "join us". 
With that I woke up, another terrible nightmare, an invasion I couldn't prevent. My night clothes were sopping with sweat. 

I couldn't even begin to understand what was happening to me. 
I turned on my side towards Bryan's bay. His curtain was drawn. I just needed someone to talk to about these dreams, at that moment I didn't care who it was, after all everyone was a stranger to me.

However, I was greeted by silence and loneliness. My body was in pain, the morphine was wearing off again. 
I arose from my bed again. 
This is where it gets personal. I haven't ever told anyone this, not even Laura.

I knew what I intended to do as soon as I got up from the bed. I stripped the bed of its top sheet and I tossed one end over my bay curtain rail and tied a knot. I pulled the curtain half way round, to keep me out of sight of the nurses’ station.

I then simply tied a noose, pulled it over my head and around my neck and I pulled the knot, tight. I write this like it was that easy, the truth is it was. I just did not care. 
As the height was not sufficient enough for me to hang myself, I checked that the rail could take my weight by pulling on it, hard.

I then simply turned around and as if about to commit to a bungee jump, I leant forward. I closed my eyes, the noose tightened around my neck.

I stopped myself from breathing, relaxed and the strain around my throat increased. I had reached the point of passing out, then I remember falling. 
That's it.

I awoke, night had turned to day and a nurse was sat at my bed side. I looked up at her, tears in my eyes, she stared back in sorrow. "I didn't die did I?" I said to the nurse. "No", she said. "The sheet tore as a result of the strain, we found you lying on the floor at 6am."

"Why did you do it?" She asked. "I can't cope with this, " I said. 
For the first time I really opened up about the dreams, nightmares and visions.

I explained to the nurse that the hardest thing about it all is that I feel like all the things I am seeing, I'm making up. I just want to put myself out of this misery I told her.

No-one will believe me I exclaimed. How do I explain any of it? Who in their right mind would understand this, even in a bid to reassure me kind of way?

Then the nurse said something to me that astounded me. "I believe you", she said. 
Her tone was genuine and not patronising.

"Why?" I asked. She said "I witness mental illness on a daily basis. Usually any talk of visions is usually ramblings and incoherency." 

"You Daniel, do not appear to be rambling, what you're seeing you've explained rationally and coherently."

"However, whatever demons you're facing, putting yourself out of misery is not the answer. I know you don't remember your friends and family at the moment, but imagine the misery and devastation you would leave behind. I see in you something so much stronger that can overcome this. Don't give up on what you have, work with what you've got. You can beat this." 
Never had I felt such mixed emotions, part of me wanted to leap for joy, the other wanted to cry in shame for what I'd tried to do.

That nurse, Claire, helped me to turn a corner, she gave me hope. I will never forget what she did that day.

Claire left. I sat and thought about what she'd said. She was right. About an hour later I wanted to talk to her again. 
I called the duty nurse over and asked to speak to nurse Claire Handley.

She looked at me confused. "Never had a Claire working on this ward."

The look of panic must have been evident on my face. "I'm sure you're mistaken. I was talking to her about an hour ago." 
The duty nurse, Stephanie, checked with her colleagues. 
She came back. "No Daniel. No one by that name works here."

"You're winding me up aren't you?" I laughed nervously.

I looked deep into Stephanie's eyes looking for that tell-tale sign that would give away her joke.

It didn't come. "Are you OK Daniel?" Stephanie asked.

"No I'm bloody not!" I said.

One more sign of hope had been shredded. Whilst I was thankful for the conversation with Claire, my ramblings to Stephanie were now proving to be of an insane nature. 
Having experienced hope just one hour ago I was now reduced to questioning my own sanity. Am I making this up? 

I remember looking up at Stephanie and I quote. 'Nurse there is some freaky shit going on here, what the hell is wrong with me?' 
After thoughts...
Needless to say I never 'saw' Nurse Claire again. To this day I still can't explain the events and the mysterious appearance, and disappearance, of Claire. I could only liken the experience to a similar sort of scenario featured in a book called 'The Shack'.
If you've not read it, I urge you to buy it or borrow it. It makes for much better reading than my blog.

'Guess Who'

This is where it gets difficult. Following the MRI scan I was visited by family and my church leader, Tony Wastall.

On reflection, I recognise that this was heartbreaking for all involved. At the time I can't say I felt heartbroken, I didn't recognise any of the people that this instalment will refer to, so any connection or sense of sentiment had been nullified.

All I was told was that a worldwide community were praying for me. That didn't register at the time. My life had intertwined with so many lives and I'd impacted so many people, but I couldn't recall any of it.

Little did I know it at the time, but these 'meetings' were the beginning of something beautiful, a journey into the depths of the Father's heart.

The 'old people' stared at me in amazement; my 'HELP ME' plea had caught them all off guard. I'm not actually sure what I was asking for help for.

Every conceivable emotion had risen within me and the only logical way that I could express that emotion was to scream and shout.I didn't understand I couldn't fathom anything; everything I tried to think about drew a blank. Nothing, I tore at my hospital robe and my hair, my mental state was deteriorating, I could 'feel' it.

A group of nurses came bounding into the ward. I must have looked a sight. The two female nurses had brought back up in the form of two male nurses.

They managed to calm me down and order was restored. Moments later I was in a wheelchair, assisted by a friendly hospital porter named Graham. Delightful chap he was, middle aged, thinning hair with glasses, talked about Wolves all the way to the MRI room. I didn't know it at the time, but he was talking about a football team.

The route to the MRI room seemed to take hours, with Graham and I navigating the maze of hospital corridors. They were still cold, still dull and somewhat lifeless, absent of colour or inspiration. However, Graham brought a sense of warmth and colour to my surroundings in a different way. He was a very genuine and likeable fellow.

We rolled up at the MRI ward. Graham left me sat at the reception desk whilst he had a conversation with the desk clerk. Even though the surroundings were not too dissimilar to the ward I was on, at least it was somewhere different; I was out of bed and felt like I was doing something at least.

The scanner operator soon appeared at the reception desk. She was dressed in traditional hospital scrubs and looked very young. She was not what I was expecting, but then again, I didn't know what to expect.

Graham wheeled me into the MRI room, where I was greeted by the sight of this gargantuan machine. The scanner operator introduced herself as Julie and her two assistants, Michelle and Malcolm, were also introduced to me.

Michelle and Malcolm helped me to stand and they then asked me to lie on a sliding platform connected to the MRI scanner. Before I knew it my head had been strapped into the restraint at the top of the platform (closest to the entrance of the machine).

Julie then came and stood over me and explained what was about to happen. I didn't catch much of what she said, I was so tired and I felt myself drifting in and out of sleep.

As I lay on the platform, I closed my eyes and tried to 'disconnect' from the world. In this room I felt a real sense of peace and tranquillity. A stillness bewitched me, all went silent.

Suddenly the platform began to move. I passed through the opening of this gargantuan machine. The platform came to a standstill, then a series of loud clicks indicated that the machine was about to do its thing. It was then that I had realised I had been fitted with headphones, quietly playing Take That's 'You can Rule the World', ironic given my condition.

However, even the wailing of Gary Barlow couldn't stifle the noise of this machine.
The whirring was loud. I can only liken the sound to a drill being held next to my ear and the trigger being held down.

Weirdly though, the constant whirring sent me to sleep. As I slept, the dream of three trees returned, only this time all the trees were on fire. The sapling, the tree of life and even the dead tree were ablaze. But amid the fury of the fire, a voice offered comfort. So vivid was the dream, I felt like my physical being was in it. The voice seemed so close, a mere whisper yet very audible. "Do not fear the fire, for you are being refined. Up from the embers you will rise, equipped, and transformed to lead a people to paradise."

In the dream I watched the trees burn; I exhaled and smiled, confident that what the voice spoke was the truth. As I stood transfixed by the blaze, the parting words of the voice said "patience".

I awoke, the whirring of the machine had stopped, the platform had emerged from the machine. I opened my eyes to the sight of Julie shaking me desperately trying to wake me up.

"You had us worried for a moment", she said. "Where am I?" I asked. A look of concern spread across Julie's face and her two support staff wore the same expression.
My memory of the rest of the day was hazy. I remember coming back to the ward and getting back into my bed. I fell into a deep sleep. I was at rest, no drama.

Hours passed, I awoke to the sound of many voices. I glanced up at the clock 2.15pm. As everything came into focus, a sea of faces stood at the end of my bed. I didn't recognise any of them apart from the woman and the man who'd been there the night before.

They were whispering between themselves and all looked sombre. Startled by the number of people, I found myself on 'high alert'. "Who are you people?" I asked. "Where's my son?" "Where's Jake?" "I want him, give him back to me."

A look of sadness told its own story. The man 'claiming' to be my dad spoke: "Hi son, how are you today? Don't you recognise any of these people?" I turned towards the woman (my wife), "That's the nurse from last night", I said. "You're the man from the ambulance, the rest of the people, I don't know who they are", I said in bewilderment.

They whispered among themselves: "He's out of it, he's not himself", they said. Then a phrase emerged that would be a feature of this entire trial: "It's in his eyes, there's nothing there, no recognition at all."

It was literally a live version of 'Guess Who'. I was peppered with questions, which I couldn't answer. I was at the point of exhaustion again. I surveyed the room. There were lots of people sat at bed sides. I determined that it must have been visiting hours.

I wasn't prepared for this! I felt a deep sense of sorrow as I gazed into the eyes of those surrounding me. A sense of despair gripped the group, little was said and the silence was more telling than anything else.

At that point I must have succumbed to exhaustion or the fresh dose of morphine that had been administered into my veins. I simply kept drifting in and out of consciousness, no recollection of time or events. I remember the gentle touch of many lips on my cheeks and my forehead. I didn't awake again until 7pm that night.

When I awoke the light of the ward hurt my eyes. I squinted until I managed to regain my focus. A woman trundled into the ward with a trolley and left some food on my table. I didn't eat it, I didn't have the appetite.

I lay, gazing upwards at the ceiling, muttering to myself, trying to recall my life. Hours passed, another slot of visiting hours came and went, nobody came to see me. That was until after visiting hours were over.

It was around 9pm, when a solitary man strolled onto the ward dressed in a check shirt and jeans. I assumed he was a doctor doing his night rounds. However, he glanced in my direction, he smiled. I looked at him and just dropped my head into my chest, I didn't even acknowledge him. I didn't know him.

I had earlier been told that a Tony Wastall would be visiting during visiting hours, but when he didn't show at the allotted time I assumed he wasn't coming or that he was coming on another day.

Imagine my surprise then when I saw him heading in my direction. He came round to the right hand side of my bed (my left) and he presented a hand. "Hello Dan, I'm Tony", he said. I looked at his hand nervously, before grasping it and shaking it.

"Hi", I said. "Do I know you?" I asked. His eyes filled with sadness, it's as though he’d heard everything that had happened to me but couldn't quite believe it was real until he saw me.

"Yes you know me, we've been friends for many years now", he said. "Are you the church guy?" I asked. This is pretty much how the conversation went for the next 40 minutes or so. I will never forget it. 

Tony told me about the church, my role as a worship leader and the time we had been to India together where I'd led worship in front of hundreds of people. It all seemed so surreal; I didn't know if it hurt Tony to see me like this, but me, I felt so emotional.

I couldn't recall any of it; I had no clue as to my identity. A deep sense of sadness hit me as he described all the people that loved me. In particular he referred to people from the worship team.

I recall making notes the whole time he was talking. This is what I noted down.
LifeSpring Church Worship team leader. Some of the members of the team:

Steve McGregor
Andy Herbert (also my best friend)
Trish Keady
Tamie Forrester
Dawn Pinches
Brenda, Hughie, Dan and Ashlee Ricketts
Frances Heather

Tony said there were many more, but he couldn't remember them all.

He described how I had encouraged, led and built this wonderful team, how I'd led the people of God into intimate times of worship and how I'd encouraged the youth of the church to get involved in the worship team.

I couldn't believe this was my life, had I done all that?

My time with Tony elapsed quickly. He said his goodbyes, not before praying for me, and he left.

The ward was once again quiet. I sat reading my notes, recollecting what had just transpired. It was all so bizarre, unreal even.

As I pondered my discussion with Tony, I spoke, in a dull whisper, and I said "God, if you are here, why can't I feel you anymore?"

The realisation of everything that had happened suddenly began to sink in now more than ever. I felt a massive sense of loss, friends, family and my life had all disappeared. What I was was a shell, a body devoid of spirit. It's almost as if the spirit of Daniel Waldron had left. What remained was a complex combination of confusion and fear.

As I sat on my hospital bed I recalled all the names Tony had mentioned. I tried to picture faces and for hours I played 'Guess Who' in my head. My efforts yielded no results. I slipped under the covers of my bed, curled up in 'comfort mode' and for the first time I wept like I knew what I was weeping for. For the first time I felt the emotional pain of my situation and for the second night in a row I cried myself to sleep and dreamed of a life before all this.

Help Me

Looking back, I recall the next day, after the incident, being one of the most difficult. The day was filled with challenges, moments of embarrassment and was one of the 'lowest' days that I experienced throughout this trial.

I awoke at 7am to the sound of a floor buffer polishing the hospital floor, operated by a small, middle-aged blonde woman.

She had a smile painted on her face and met my gaze. The smile remained. My face however, was not smiling.

I had been asleep for just 1 hour, I was exhausted, but I was appeased somewhat by the light that flooded into the hospital ward.

To be free of the darkness was a welcome comfort and even though I had had very little sleep, it had been a time of rest, without shadows, golden figures, dreams, nightmares and visions.

With the arrival of a new day I was able to take in my surroundings much more clearly.

There were 8 bays, all occupied by older gentleman, 4 bays on one side of the room and 4 on the other. I had a panoramic view of the whole ward.

Outside the two main doors was the nurses' station, hustling and bustling as staff began the 'changeover' process.

However, except for the presence of the cleaner, the ward itself remained pretty silent. All the patients were sleeping soundly, which filled me with a sense of envy.

I actually felt quite offended that I was here, housed with the old and decrepit.

Lost in my thoughts, I'd failed to notice the rather ample lady that had entered the room, wheeling some kind of trolley.

She made her way along my side of the ward pouring liquids into cups and leaving plates filled with all kinds of stuff.

You're asking yourself now, why is he saying 'liquids' and 'stuff?' As daft as it sounds I had no memory of food or drink. I couldn't even tell you what water was if you'd asked me to describe it.

I got nervous as the woman approached my bed. She's going to ask me questions, I thought to myself. Shall I pretend to be asleep?

'Don't be so childish,' I said to myself. The woman trundled towards me, then stopped at the bottom of the bed.

"How are we today Daniel?" I replied with a smart answer. "Well you look fine. Me, I'm all fu£&@# up that's how we are."

She laughed. "Great sense of humour you've got there", she said. I smiled casually.

"What would you like to drink?" she asked. "What do you recommend?" I replied.

"Coffee, do you like coffee?" she asked. "I don't know." I think she could see the desperation in my face. At the time I didn't know what coffee was, let alone whether I liked it.

She proceeded to pour some for me anyway and left it on the side table. She didn't speak again, she simply left two triangular shaped objects on a plate and some kind of mush in a bowel and then went on her way.

I felt like a freak. The woman had looked at me with such pity when she'd left my bedside. I don't think it was intentional, but it still hurt my feelings.

I took one mouthful of 'mush' and that was that. I also took one bite of the 'food' on the plate. It was cold and solid and I probably could of eaten a brick quicker. I didn't even attempt to drink the coffee.

A couple of hours passed, nothing happened, a few of the other patients woke up, but they looked as dazed and confused as I felt.

9am came. Finally some human interaction. Two nurses approached my bed. One was a trainee from the University of Wolverhampton, the other the matron of the ward.

Both looked primed ready for action. Noticeably, the junior nurse stood desperately close to my bed whilst the matron quickly did a round of the other patients.

I felt like a VIP to be honest I think myself and the junior nurse shared the commonality of youth, she had no intention of seeing to the more senior members of the ward.

Somewhat flattered I waited for one of them to speak. The matron by this time had returned to my bedside. They both introduced themselves and suddenly the junior nurse asked if I needed to go to the toilet and afterwards would I like to take a shower.

I said "yes", to both. I arose from the bed, feeling, and no doubt looking rough. I attempted to stand, but I was incredibly unsteady on my feet.

I can't tell you how much those of us that can walk take it for granted. The nurses had to support my weight and escort me to the toilet/wet room.

The matron whispered something to the junior nurse and left us to it. The junior nurse took me into the room and stayed with me, locking the door behind us.

I was puzzled as to why she had stayed in the room with me. Surely she can't be expecting me to go to the toilet and take a shower with her standing there, can she?

She did!!! She explained why she was staying, however, at the time I was not happy about it. Any sense of dignity and self-respect that I had left, I was to lose in the next 20 minutes.

Shame, embarrassment and a deep sense of humiliation consumed me. This was it, the lowest point, I don't know whether you can 'feel' depression setting in, but at this moment I certainly felt completely exposed, my life had reached an all time low.

After going to the toilet, I undressed. The nurse respectfully turned her back. However, the feeling of humiliation crept over me, silently, as if I could feel its clammy touch everywhere.

Looking back, I appreciate that the nurse remained totally professional and did her best to preserve my dignity and I honour her for that.

Anyway, I showered, completely starkers, under the watchful eye of the nurse. I was then taken back to my bed on the ward and told that I would be taken for an MRI scan in 30 minutes.

The nurse left. I sat upright on my bed, I tipped my head back glaring up at the ceiling and I wept, never had I felt so humiliated, or maybe I had, I just couldn't remember.

As I wept, gazing upwards, I suddenly felt myself saying, without explanation. "God, if you are there, just so you know, I hate you, how could this happen? Why didn't you stop it? What did I do to deserve this?"

As I anticipated, I got no response, well not one I could hear or see.

This was it, this was 'The Fall' of Daniel Waldron. Stripped of joy, hope and faith. Humiliated, alone and afraid. There was no miracle to be had here.

HELP ME!!! The people on the ward began to stare as my outburst echoed through the ward.

'Misery'

2am I arrived on the ward, 6am I finally fell asleep. What happened in between was simply tormenting.

I looked around the room, 8 bays, mine included, filled the room, all of which were occupied. Even in the dimly lit room my assessment of the ward led me to the conclusion that I was clearly the youngest man on this ward.

Cynical I know, but my first thought was 'I can't believe I'm here, sharing a ward with men who truly look like they're ready to bow out of the world.'

This reality did little to help my mood. Misery gripped me. I held a pillow over my face and for a few moments I contemplated smothering myself.

Beneath the pillow, thoughts raced through my mind. I was actually quite in fear of what was to come. I still couldn't remember anything and being alone with my thoughts only made the situation worse.

I lifted the pillow from my face. I couldn't move, paralysed by fear. My heart sank as I lay in the eerily silent ward. Such was the silence, that I felt I had been sealed in a crypt never to be unearthed, left with only the sound of my own breathing, buried alive among the dead.

Why do these dark thoughts possess my mind? These thoughts, dreams, visions and figures were so vivid, but I couldn't make sense of any of them.

I closed my eyes briefly trying to dislodge these dark thoughts of death and self destruction.

The silence of the ward was broken by the man in the bay directly opposite to me. He was obviously 'sleep talking'. "Bless you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit", he babbled. 

No God here, I thought and with that a sudden cold chill raced over my body.

I closed my eyes instinctively, flinching at the sudden cold that had swept into the ward. I heard bay curtains fluttering and I opened my eyes trying to identify an open window. 

Nothing, all the windows were sealed, shut tightly, so where had the gust come from?

My gaze focused upward and there it was a large shadowy figure, its eyes were dead, its entire form was black. Was I dreaming again or was this real? I simply couldn't tell. 

The figure opened its mouth, insects oozed from it, scurrying out as if attracted by the scent of death. It was like watching a 3D horror movie. I lay there in disbelief, utterly mortified. I tried to scream, but my throat closed up. It was all too vivid, it was also too much to handle. Why? Why? Why? I kept thinking. I managed to speak. "What do you want with me?" I asked. Without moving his lips the figure said, "Everything". 

Suddenly I felt like my body was being invaded as if something was being drained out of me. Some sort of mist appeared just above my body. The mist dissipated, absorbed by the figure. It was almost like it had consumed my soul.

The insects were now crawling all over the figure, essentially clothing it like some sort of robe. It spoke. "You're mine now, He won't get you back." "Who won't get me back?" I whispered. "I don't understand, why are you doing this to me?" 

It suddenly occurred to me, I was trying to reason with a shadow. The figure once again spoke. "Your Father won't get you back". I didn't understand. Suddenly I was able to move. I sat bolt upright, a cold breeze once again filled the room. I gazed upward again, the shadow had left.

It was horrible, but part of me was quite disappointed it had left. Why? Well it had made connection with me; it took away the feeling of loneliness. Now, I was alone in the dark again, the sound of silence all around until, an overwhelming sense of emotion overcame me. I didn't cry, I didn't weep, I sobbed silently. My knees up to my face, arms wrapped tightly around my legs and face buried into my knees, I felt the warmth of my tears run down my face, then down my legs. 

I sobbed for an hour at least. All that had just transpired had exhausted me. I had nothing left. Friends, family and all my life's memories had gone I was so alone. 

I lifted my head. The clock read 5.50am, I lay down on top of the covers, curled up as if back in the womb. I cried myself to sleep. What do I do now? No-one to trust, nowhere to turn. I was boxed in, I couldn't run. I was isolated, scared, angry and suicidal. I could feel my stomach tighten as I lay, I shivered, but I didn't care about the cold. I had nothing, so it was nice to 'feel' something.

I can honestly say readers that I was ready to implode, to hit the self destruct button. I cannot contextualise just how 'maddening' this experience was. My inability to differentiate between what was real and what was in my mind was utterly perplexing.

The range of emotions I experienced was also unbearable. The ward offered little comfort. The only sense of hope I encountered at this point was the rising of the sun, which came into view outside my ward window. 

Comforted by the sun's arrival, I drifted off to sleep, undecided whether I was on the brink of despair or encouraged by the dawn of a new day. Only time would tell...

Spiral

I appreciate the above video has done the rounds, but this next instalment covers some pretty dark material, some of which is too difficult to express in words. Whilst at the time of going through this particular part of 'the journey' I did not understand many things, looking back I believe this video captures the very essence of what was happening beyond the veil of what we can see, so please watch it. You'll understand what I mean as you read. 

This video brings me to tears every time I watch it and I need you to know that this has been really hard to share. I don't say that in order to gain sympathy, or for you to feel sorry for me, I say it because it's you that has brought me to the place where I feel able to share. This blog is for everyone that has walked the journey with me. I give all honour to you, because without your support I would not have had the strength to do this. 

Dedicated to my friends, family and the strangers that prayed for me despite never meeting me, I say to you all, believers in Christ, non-believers and those of you in the middle, this video depicts my God, whether you believe or not, he fights for you, he believes in you, you are worthy in his sight. You're not an accident, you're a person of purpose & of destiny. 

You can debate with me the existence of my heavenly Father, but you can't debate my journey. This is what happened, this is my God, this is your God and if you get anything from this blog, get this, no matter what people tell you, no matter how bad the outlook, no matter how much you feel that the world doesn't notice you, there is a Father who loves you and he alone has you in his sights and in his grasp. 

For me, despite everything, this experience has left me in no doubt that there is a higher being that has saved me, because no man or woman could have brought me back from the brink of the pit I was about to descend into. I value you, for all you have done to help me on the road to recovery. I'll never forget.

Alone in a side room, in a hospital, all dignity lost, with any notions that I was getting out of here that night scuppered, I lay there watching the gentle trickle of blood flow down my hand.
Upon reaching the finger tips it would stop for a moment, as if bracing itself for the fall. Then gracefully it would descend before splattering onto the floor.

I was quite in awe of it really. Transfixed, watching my life blood drain from me. I remember thinking, is this it snuffed out at the grand age of...? It hit me, how old am I?
I turned my head away from my bloody work of art. Frustration crept in again. I lifted my hands to my face. Bad move, the blood from my hand dropped onto my face. I didn't care.
I attempted to sit up. Every inch of my body screamed, what are you doing? My body was a dead weight, I had to drag myself up as best as I could.

Yet, my efforts completely sapped all my energy. I was so angry I wanted to beat the hospital walls with my fists, but I couldn't muster the strength.

I lay motionless recalling the woman's words "you can fight this". Can I? I began to question whether I could do anything. I tried to find a rational explanation as to why this had happened. However, my mind grew tired and as the morphine began to reach the peak of its effectiveness I was overcome by the need to sleep. I closed my eyes and in all honesty there was a part of me that hoped I would not wake again.

As I slept, a vivid dream materialised. I was in a meadow and I was walking through thick, tall grass, but I distinctively remember someone being alongside me. I couldn't see who it was, but I felt a warmth upon my skin. There was a light breeze also and I remember advancing with ease, a gentle flow, subconsciously I felt I was being led.There was a very particular path that I was following that I could not stray from. I was clothed in a garment that appeared to be a robe and the ground was now littered with rose petals.

Suddenly, the grass cleared, I gasped, as there shining in all of its brilliance was the sun on the horizon of a clear water ocean. A beach lay before me, white sands and an ocean breeze captivated my attention. I stepped into the sand. My bare feet tingled due to the heat.

I could feel the spray of the ocean brush against my face. I advanced further down the beach. It was as if heaven was in my grasp, perhaps my desire had been granted. I'd died.

As I approached the ocean's edge I glanced down. There before me, perfectly crafted into the sand the word WELCOME greeted me. I smiled, I stood and I absorbed. I'm home.

The beauty of the dream was soon shattered as I was abruptly awoken by a nurse clattering down my bed rails. I looked at her in disgust, she looked back at me equally irritated. "We need to take you for an X-ray Mr Waldron." I looked at her blankly. "You'll then be transferred to a ward afterwards," she said. I glanced upwards and noticed the clock. It was 1.00am. Thank heaven for small mercies I thought, at least I can remember how to tell the time.
I had no idea what to expect with an X-ray I could have had one before, I may have not. I couldn't tell you.

As my bed was wheeled along, what seemed like an endless maze, of dull, cold and uninspiring corridors, a voice in my head was simply laughing at me.

Having no concept of what was normal and what was strange I couldn't determine whether hearing voices was considered sane or insane. Not that it mattered in the slightest. This was my reality. Quite simply the voice depressed me, it was a stark contrast to the dream that I'd been enjoying just minutes earlier.

We arrived at the X-ray theatre. I was wheeled into the dimly lit room. I was greeted by the X-ray machine operator. After a brief telling me what would happen my bed was wheeled alongside a static bed and I was asked to slide over. The two nurses and the X-ray machine operator left the room.

Alone again, but this time I was practically in the dark. The whole atmosphere suddenly turned menacing. I could hear hissing and scowling, but also joyous celebration and rapture at the same time. The conflict was intense, but it was the howling that gripped me, after all what did I have to celebrate? It felt like hours before anything happened.

The hissing and howling and joyous rapture subsided, replaced by a whirring sound. I realised that it was the X-ray machine, which had been positioned over my chest. Man it was loud and as I lay there, numb, trying to make sense of my surroundings, the machine clicked. It did so a further five times.

Moments after the fifth click my entourage of 3 re-appeared. Then from nowhere a deafening scream. My eyes darted, searching for the source. There, in the corner a shadow, much bigger than the previous shadows, stood there, tall, lifeless. As I regained my focus, the figure became clear, it was me. I looked lifeless, soulless, devoid of joy, all sense of peace had gone from me. I looked tortured and in turmoil, lost, withdrawn and disconnected.

As I was wheeled from the room on my trolley, I turned my head back, the shadow remained, its lips parted and a shrill scream escaped its mouth. If I could describe what a glimpse of hell looks like this would be it. To see oneself in torment, absent from the body, lurking in the shadows the experience unnerved me and filled me with a deep sense of dread. I felt that I was on a spiral into madness, some seriously strange stuff was happening to me and I didn't know or understand why.

Never had I dreamed so vividly, or seen or heard things I couldn't explain. In the amount of time it had taken me to process all of these weird happenings we arrived on the ward. It was now 2.00am. I was wheeled into a bay and the brakes were applied on my bed. My escorts duly departed. I was left alone. The thought of being alone scared me. I closed my eyes. Tiredness had once again seduced me. The night ahead was going to be long...

      

Needles, Neurology and Nurses

New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton, was to become my home for the next 9 days.

Those of you who know me well understand that I'm a 'say it like it is' kind of guy. Or to put it in a Yorkshire translation, I like to call 'a spade, a spade'. To emphasise my point I've got news for the people of Yorkshire, everyone else calls 'a spade, a spade too!'

Anyway I digress. By now I had been moved from the 'corridor of shadows' to a side room in the A&E department of the hospital.The room was tiny and compact and I simply recall sitting up in the bed and constantly looking over my right shoulder.


I can't tell you what I was looking at, but I just remember doing it. The 'man', claiming to be my dad, was in the room with me. I can recollect asking him who he was, but moreover, I remember constantly asking where Jake, my son, was.


Jake was the only thing I could remember. I remember his cot and kissing him goodnight (woah, welling up here) and then nothing.


It's sad I know, but I then tried to remember my bank card PIN numbers (no I shall not be disclosing them), but this offered no breakthrough.


I was quickly becoming erratic, I wanted out of this bed, out of this place, but above all I wanted to 'escape myself' if that makes sense.Referring back to my earlier comment, regarding 'a spade being a spade', at that moment a nurse walked in.


You know when you get one of those stupid questions that people often ask because they think it's the right thing to say, well this was one of those moments. "How are you feeling?", the nurse asked. I processed the answer in my head, my head was saying, 'just tell her you're fine'.


Unfortunately for her, the proverbial 'spade' hit me. "What a stupid question", I retorted. "Let's look at this logically", I snapped. In the most sarcastic way possible, I said: "I'm in a hospital, how the @£&! do you think I feel? I'm not here because I'm a picture of health."


Speechless, that's how I left that poor nurse. For the next 20 minutes, as she carried out an initial assessment, silence filled the room and only the hustle and bustle of the A&E department broke that silence.


The truth is I wasn't angry at her, I was angry at the situation. My frustration and anger had simply boiled over. 

The man in the room, 'my dad', remained silent as the nurse left, until such time that I asked him, for what must have been the 20th time, "where's my son?" The man replied, "he's fine son, relax."


Relax, I thought, easy for you to say. Around 30 minutes of an uncomfortable silence passed until a doctor walked in. He'd obviously been briefed on my present mood by the nurse as he entered the room with one of those uncomfortable smiles trying to pass himself off as friendly.


However, at least he was straight to the point. "Any pain", he asked? "Yes, everywhere", I answered. "I'm going to give you some morphine", he said. No clue what he meant, but it was fine by me.


I was whisked off to another room within the A&E department itself. A more, let's say, junior doctor, entered wearing scrubs, white gloves and brandishing a needle, a catheter and a bile filled with morphine.


Firstly, he injected me with the morphine. The needle pierced the back of my left hand, I didn't even flinch. A weird sensation followed. I could feel the coldness of the drug coursing through my veins and my skin began to tingle.


The doctor then proceeded to insert the catheter into the back of my other hand.Unfortunately, he botched it. Whilst he had inserted the catheter properly, his fingers fumbled with the cap and he couldn't close it. What resulted was a pool of my blood rapidly amassing on the floor.
I soon began to feel faint, and my head was spinning. For a moment I actually thought don't bother capping it, I'd rather bleed out, I'd rather die.


Why? I was tired of being ill. This event was just the tip of the iceberg. For three years I had battled illness and this wasn't the first time I'd suffered these symptoms. Just 18 months earlier I had been in a similar situation, same hospital and a lengthy spell in a hospital bed.


This was a scenario that was becoming all too familiar and now that I couldn't remember anything, who'd miss me? Dying seemed like a suitable solution to all of life's problems. Ironic really, thinking that the solution to life is death.

However, that's how I felt. You have to understand that at that time I didn't know anyone, I couldn't remember much, I was simply afraid, I can only liken the fear to perhaps being buried alive. I've never been buried alive, but the thought of being buried in a tight space, in darkness, alone with your thoughts with no-one to hear you scream pretty much summed up my situation in terms of my mental state at that time.

My mind was in darkness, confined in a tight space, alone with, let's face it, sadistic thoughts. 

As I began to embrace the prospect of death, the doctor eventually got the cap on the catheter. Was I relieved? No! In fact I was quite disappointed. The doctor apologised profusely, but I told him not to worry.

The doctor began to clean up the blood from the floor with a number of white paper towels. As the towels absorbed the blood, turning them to a deep red, I wished that I could re-absorb my memories just as quickly. However, my wish went unanswered and I passed out.

I awoke some time later, back in the small side room, faced by a woman, not a nurse or a doctor, but a woman whose smile could light up a dark night with minimum effort. Her gaze fixed upon my eyes as if she was penetrating the very depths of my soul looking for some sort of recognition.

I stared back blankly, vacant, her expression conveyed a 'light's on, but no one is home' look. "Hi", I said. "Who are you?" The smile quickly left her face. She glanced over to the man in the room. They exchanged expressions of concern.

I simply remember her taking my hand, however, I didn't pull away. She hadn't answered my question, she simply remained silent and the smile returned to her face. She didn't seem fazed and by holding her hand I felt a warmth flow through me, as weird as it sounds a piece of heaven was touching me at that moment, as if I was holding the hand of an angel.

"Do you know where my son Jake is? Can you bring him to me?" I asked. "Yes I do", she replied. "He's OK, he is safe, don't worry. You need to concentrate on getting well because we need you." 

Quite simply what do I say to that? I didn't say anything, I sobbed. What did she mean, we need you? I didn't know her. I was crying out of confusion, can I trust these people? I asked myself. Is this all an elaborate plot? What the hell has happened to me? Who am I, what am I? All these people think I'm so special, but look at me I can barely remember my own name, I look weak and pathetic, and I'm a mess.

Suddenly a booming voice resonated in my thoughts. That's right you are weak and pathetic, you're nothing anymore. No longer Father's golden boy. %$"! did you hear that? I gestured towards the woman and the man, I was greeted with blank expressions and a genuine look of concern from each of them. The woman held her hands to her face in disbelief, it was like she knew me, but this was not the man she expected to find.

My thoughts tuned back in with the voice I'd just heard. I didn't have a clue what the voice was referring to 'Father's golden boy?' Who was I? What had provoked such hostility from this voice? I didn't know, the only thing I could bring myself to ask in my head was, what have I done to deserve this? It must have been something pretty serious.

The woman spoke, distracting my train of thought. I turned my attention towards her. She said "I love you, Daniel. You can fight this."

OK I thought, I don't know what it is I'm fighting. But how can you love me? You don't know me, no-one does. I was a stranger to myself, so this woman struck me as entirely odd.

I wasn't sure how much time had elapsed. But, the doctor, the first doctor, not the one that tried to drain the blood from me, re-entered the room. He spoke to the man and the woman in a whispered tone, excluding me from whatever conversation they were having. I simply resorted back to constantly glancing over my right shoulder and towards the floor.

I now knew what I was looking for; I was looking out for the shadows. They had really struck fear into me and I was afraid that if I shut my eyes something devastating would happen. I was simply trying to keep myself alert.

However, this morphine stuff was making me considerably drowsy. I was basically fighting my thoughts, my body and an overwhelming sense of tiredness, but it was a battle I was losing. So much for fighting I thought.

Anyway the three way conversation had now been concluded. The doctor said to me "we're going to have to keep you in Daniel." Alluding back to my earlier thoughts, as you can imagine, this statement was not greeted with an overwhelming sense of pleasure.

Yet, quite calmly, I replied. "I'd rather go home thanks". Come to think of it, where do I live? Oh for "&*! sake, I thought, you've got to be kidding me. I couldn't remember.

Upon hearing the doctor's statement the man and woman in the room gathered their belongings. They said their goodbyes and I simply stared at them dazed and even more confused. Whether this was morphine induced or not, I can't tell you.

They both said they would return tomorrow. They remained until the doctor had finished speaking to me. "We'd like to carry out a series of tests on you tomorrow Daniel", he began. "We'd like to start with a neurological assessment when you've had a chance to sleep, to assess what's going on with your brain," he added.

I couldn't decide if I felt complimented or offended, but then I realised I hadn't got a clue what he was talking about anyway. Suddenly a pain shot through my hand, I'd caught my catheter on the bed rail. I winced in pain, but it quickly subsided as I felt an overwhelming sense of tiredness overcome me.

I remained awake enough to hear the doctor say "we'll be taking you down to neurology first thing in the morning for an MRI scan. We'll be assessing your brain for trauma." 

I barely took the words in. With that everyone left the room. They could obviously see how tired I was.

All of a sudden I was alone, in every sense of the word. I shivered, panic gripped me, but then a gentle voice of reassurance whispered "you'll recover from this, I'll restore you, stronger than you were before."

Hearing all these voices was freaking me out. But, I found myself responding to this one. "Cheers" I said. "Any chance you can get to work on that now."

I was greeted by silence. Typical I thought. I guess I must be hearing things.

At this moment nothing but the sound of the A&E ward occupied by attention. I listened intently, lying alone, vulnerable, confused, angry, seething, full of rage. The blood from my hand trickled to the floor as my arm hung over the bed rail. The droplets captivated me, I watched as they hit the floor and splattered. It was almost as if I was creating a work of art.

My head was simply screaming WHY ME, WHY NOW???