I believe I was brought back to life by God working through a medical care team and prayer from a community spanning all of America.

This experience of dying is both overwhelming and impossible for me to fully describe. I haven’t fully processed it despite today marking seven weeks since it happened and having had discussions with a chaplain, two rabbis, and a therapist.

The first thing that I want to remember is death is nothing to fear. Death is like being home if home is love. Death was not exactly the end, but it was different from the embodied human experience on Earth. For example, while there’s no cake when you’re dead, you don’t desire cake when you’re dead. So it’s actually just fine that there’s no cake. You’re completely at peace with the lack of cake.

When my heart stopped, I experienced what I can only describe as a void. I was completely enveloped in soundless darkness and profound absence of physical feelings. I felt an all-encompassing peace, love, and calm such as I have never experienced before. 

I felt complete. Like I always was and always would be complete, peaceful and swaddled in love. 

It was quiet. Or I didn’t perceive sounds. 

I was at such peace that I could have stayed longer. Time, or my perception of it, was different too. I didn’t feel like I was there for very long, but long enough to fully feel the immense peace.

I next remembered “seeing” a glow. And then it was gone. 

It was only when the glow was gone that I took in the full feeling of the void (love, peace, and calm). This “glow” isn’t completely unfamiliar to me. During guided meditations where I am asked to visualize my true essence, the shiniest sparkling opal appears, similar to the glow I experienced in the void. 

When I “saw” the glow the second time, I felt that maybe I should be curious, but then I came back. 

My first memory of being “back” was feeling the oxygen mask on my face. I remember throwing up twice, breathing, and wondering how I was able to breathe so deeply after throwing up. And also wondering where the vomit went as it seemed to magically disappear. Was there some cool medical device similar to the dentist’s spit sucker (aka saliva vacuum) that targeted and removed vomit? The answer to that is no. Vomit goes where you think it goes when it has nowhere else to go…back from whence to came. Thankfully, enough about vomit!

In addition to the chest compressions, epinephrine shot, and the medical professionals who brought me back, there were three important prayers said during my death event that I would like to remember.

The First Prayer. My mind was like an observer of my physical experience. I noticed what was happening, that I was throwing up, breathing, throwing up again and then breathing again, but I wasn’t panicked. I remained a curious observer. After years of meditation, it took a near-death experience (NDE) to become the observer. At one point, I realized that people were working to help me and I wanted to help too. So I did the only thing I could. I said the Shema. (Shema, Hebrew for “listen” or “hear,” is the most sacred and central prayer in Judaism, affirming monotheism.)

The Second Prayer. After fully regaining consciousness, getting the breathing tube and wrist restraints removed (I assume this is customary since being intubated is anxiety-inducing), Liz, my SICU nurse, asked me if I wanted to speak with my sister, D. A tearful reunion ensued with me telling her, “I died; isn’t that crazy?” She shared that she had woken up in the middle of the night after having a nightmare that I was sitting on a bench with our mom, who passed away last year. She was so distraught by that vision that she woke up, praying to Allah, asking for me to be okay. As soon as the sun rose, she started calling around to Denver hospitals to get an update on my status. Every hospital. Mental note: give your sister ALL of the information pertaining to your “routine” surgery, especially the hospital name. (The Shahadah is the Muslim prayer that begins with a foundational declaration of monotheism.)

The Third Prayer. Fast forward a few days to the Sunday after my NDE. After telling one of my closest sister-friends what I had experienced, she told me that Wednesday morning (the day I coded) she woke up from a dream where I had died. In her dream she had flown to Denver to assist my family. She woke up angry and prayed to Jesus, asking him to protect me.

I’m not surprised that in this most helpless and vulnerable moment we each prayed in the languages and words that were part of our spiritual traditions. I feel really grateful to have a spiritual practice that I instinctively draw upon, especially in times of crisis. 

I am overwhelmed thinking about how my sisters must have felt that night and I am so grateful for their prayers. I believe they made a difference. The thought of leaving my family is the most overwhelming part of this NDE. I’m the youngest of five. The women in my family typically live to ages 80 and 90. My paternal grandmother was 102 when she passed away. I hadn’t seriously considered death as a potential outcome for this “routine” surgery that more than 400,000 women experience annually, as I am only 45. 

I cannot adequately express how grateful I am to have been brought back by my medical team. The additional time I have with the ones I love is the greatest gift.