Another medic came running, she was carrying a bag. She knelt beside me, or rather my body, not me because I was floating around up here in the air. Not sure how. My own version of the lyrics to The Snowman began to play in my mind. I’m floating in the air … I’m floating in the hospital sky, I’m also down below, oh bollocks am I go-ing to die? I wasn’t bothered if I was. Being out of my body didn’t feel uncomfortable; in fact, the pain in my chest had gone. I felt light, weightless. Oh! Am I actually dead? I asked myself. Have I died? I watched the medics work on me; loosen clothing, the woman calling someone on her phone. ‘Urgent.’
I wanted to tell them, it’s OK. I’m up here, perfectly fine, really. The woman was injecting something into my arm. I didn’t feel anything from my place as spectator. I wasn’t sure what to do, though. Did it matter? Didn’t seem to. But what next?
Suddenly I felt a jolt, a pull upwards, away from the hospital café, away from the area, and I found myself hurtling through a dark tunnel, top speed, a sort of shunting sensation. It wasn’t unpleasant, just unusual. I was travelling very fast then I was out, like a ball out of a cannon, flying, expanding into a sea of light, white light and oh … what a beautiful feeling. Calm. Pure. Love. Warmth. Joy. I know this place, I thought as I felt myself dissolving, like salt in water. So so peaceful. I know the feel of this place. I belong here. This is my true home.
Somewhere, a long way away, I could hear someone calling my name. I knew the voice. It was Jane’s. When did she arrive at the café? It was peculiar. I was aware of the sea of light but also the scene in the café. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been up wherever it was. I didn’t want to reply to Jane or go back down there. I liked where I was, floating, warm, so very very comfortable. But … oh no, I felt a pull in my solar plexus, I was going back, something was calling me back, back, back.
Then I realized what was happening. I probably wasn’t dead. I was having one of those out-of-body, near-death experiences. I had seen a documentary about it and thought it was a load of tosh, but hallelujah, now it was happening to me. How cool. Not tosh after all, I thought as I watched my body being put on a stretcher then hoiked up onto a bed, one of those with wheels. The female medic had a long plait and the man had a tattoo of a dove just behind his left ear. Bet that hurt, I thought. I wasn’t in the slightest bit afraid which was odd considering the circumstances. God, I felt good. I am soooooo chilled, I thought as I watched my body being wheeled away. Mr Richard was right, though: I am fat. It’s not often you see yourself from all sides, three dimensionally.
I heard a voice beside me. ‘Do you want to go back?’
I turned. Who was that? I sensed a presence, though couldn’t see anything or anyone. It was more like the sensation of a being, an energy, but whoever it was, they felt like my very best friend ever, full of love, warmth and humour. I got the feeling that this being shared my sense of the absurdity of it all. I was glad it was there. I couldn’t tell whether it was male or female, but I knew somehow that it had my best interests at heart. The presence seemed kind. ‘Do you want to go back?’ it asked again.
‘Well I don’t think I do,’ I somehow communicated telepathically. ‘I like it here, weightless, timeless.’
‘Have you finished with your life?’
As I pondered the big question, my life or parts of my life began to stream in front of me, like a film. I saw myself as a toddler, learning to walk, a child growing up in Manchester, walking to school in the rain, digging in the back garden, fast-forwarding to being a teen at school with Ally, Mitch and Sara, in chapel, our shoulders shaking in silent laughter before getting detention, me as a young woman studying, a stream of friends. Doug, the kids, happy times, sad times, me rushing about a lot. Did I ever sit still? Always working. Getting married, having children, cooking, gardening, driving, cleaning, working, caring for my parents, caring for the neighbourhood. Busy, busy, busy. I’d been a human doing, not a human being. I felt the presence next to me, not judging, though a few memories left me embarrassed, like the time I was pissed and managed to pull the fridge-freezer on top of me, then had to lie on the floor with a frozen chicken and pack of garden peas in my hair until someone rescued me soon after.
‘Does whoever’s editing this film that is my life have to show that?’ I asked.
‘All part of the whole,’ said my new astral pal. ‘You learnt from the good and the bad and that was what it was all about.’
And then I saw more recent times. My grandkids. Oliver, Holly, Jason, Annie. My children, Kirsty and Graham, and their partners, Will and Saskia. My dear ones. All struggling with jobs, trying to get by, not able to buy their own properties. The lovely sensation I had been experiencing changed. I felt in the middle of a tug-of-war: my family on one side, the pull of the
