The Medical World and the Psychological Impacts on the Survivor Through Cardiac Arrest

The paramedic, a lovely lady called Rebecca, said to me, "You need to breathe, Raymond." She turned her back on me and I knew this was my moment to go. I rested my chin on my right shoulder, and the next moment I was on the other side of life. I was now a small golden soul waiting to be seen. The grass under my feet was of the softest fur, and I was a naked, sexless soul as I stood a small distance from two men and three women. They all wore white robes, and the women were just beautiful. As I waited, the wind came to greet me, and it passed through me with the answer to the powers that be that I was Raymond's soul. I was resuscitated in the back of the ambulance again. At this moment, I was aware that I had been on the other side and expressed an apology to Rebecca, "Sorry about that I was on the other side there." Rebecca replied, "Do you go on the other side a lot Raymond?" My reply was, "Yes—if you park, I'll make you a cup of tea and tell you about it." It was at this moment she confirmed that I had died.

We got to the ER room and the whole affair started again, but this time, it was not a pleasant experience. The fear of knowing you are going to die was nothing like I had felt in the back of the ambulance—it was a very scary experience to see death next to me, and I was helpless. I knew what was coming at me, the sense of being alone was a prominent emotion, and I felt I was on a springboard and was set to dive into the blackness of the universe. I was resuscitated nine times, each time with a bizarre return, scaring the crash team—so I was told. What I soon became aware of was the impact my NDE had on the staff. The next day the paramedics came to see me in the ICU and explained to me how lucky I was to still be alive, how in their own work shift, events had conspired for them to attend to my call for help. Even the cardiac surgeon, while I was having a stent fitted, commented on how I had scared his staff that night. I never spoke too much to the staff, as they were more aware of what had happened. What I did notice was how I was being treated almost with a sense of reverence, which I found uncomfortable—many of the staff asked how I survived, and it became very obvious that "life scripts" of the staff came into play. Some were practicing Christians, Hindus, or Sikhs, and all of these persons wanted to know more about the other side.

Months later, I became more and more troubled with how the medical world had been treating me. Some of the psychiatrists I had seen along with "High-intensity Therapists" did not know how to help me, and it was this being passed around to other mental health professionals that I feel had a negative impact on my inner "self." Some therapists would cry and "thank God" that I was still alive—it would seem their own life script was now entering the therapy room. I found this hugely troubling.

One psychiatrist openly expressed to me that I was out of his scope of knowledge. I was diagnosed with complex post-traumatic stress, and this was helpful to me as I could now start looking for more information to do with Complex Post Traumatic Stress (CPTS) within the military. I made a good connection with a neuroscientist, who gave me an insight into how the brain responds to severe trauma. This information was a massive help in part of my healing and explained why I would shut down when being psychologically debriefed about my NDE. But nobody had given me a heads up in the narrative of the spiritually transformative experience...