An Excerpt from my Book Strength of the Spirit:

All I have to offer anyone is my own experience of the truth.

—Anonymous, Courage to Change

Let us first understand the facts,

And then we may seek the cause.   —Aristotle

Many people seem to live more than one lifetime within this life, and that is what has happened in my life.  The experience with the semi definitely shaped and molded me and helped prepare me for what was to follow. 

A few years later, after that angelic intervention, I was running wild and free in Dallas.  It was December of 1982, and I was 23 years old.  I was living life in the fast lane of drugs, sex, and rock-n-roll.  If I was up before the sun went down, it was because I had not gone to sleep.  Sometimes I didn't sleep for many days.  The majority of my friends were rebels or outlaws.  I had to stay on the edge; otherwise, my life was boring.  However, I was consistent with getting my annual pap smear and vaginal exam so I could get refills on my birth control pills.   This year was no exception.   I had chosen a new doctor, who required more extensive testing.  Other doctors I had in the past would just do the exam and give me my prescription.  This one ordered a blood test.  

The blood test results showed some abnormalities.  The doctor wanted me to come in for further testing, but I didn't have the money.  Besides, it was the holiday season, and I was young and immortal.  I believed that bad things happened only to other people. 

Right after New Year's I began thinking about going in for further testing.  After having spent an afternoon with me, a girlfriend, Becky, noticed that the left side of my neck was swollen.  I looked in the mirror and, yep, there was a huge swelling under my chin on the left side.   I watched it for a few days to see if the swelling would go down, but it didn't.  I decided to lay off the drugs.  Something was crying for my attention here, but I was trying to stay cool about the whole thing. 

Over the next few weeks I felt myself moving in a whirlwind; life became fuzzy.  Through my daze I obtained a clinic card as a charity patient at Parkland Hospital, a county hospital and trauma center in Dallas. 

Dealing with Parkland was a trauma within itself.  People entered in a steady stream with anything you could imagine — gunshot wounds, stabbings, beatings, car wrecks and, of course, the unknowns.  The staff was often buried in blood, guts, and paperwork.  It would take the best of people on the best of days to stay cheerful through this; mostly their staff were tired and cranky.  I'm not even sure how I kept going; it was as if someone else was in control, and I was just putting one foot in front of the other.  It was becoming apparent something was terribly wrong.