I awoke the morning of Friday, October 23, 2015, and gathered clothing to take a shower. I remember being short of breath and making my way to my husband’s side of our bed to pick up the landline and call my husband. As I sat on the edge of the bed, I felt myself begin to slide off the bed. I became unconscious before my body hit the floor. My dog began barking and alerting my mother who was visiting from Tennessee. If she had not been there, I wouldn’t be here. I was in and out of consciousness and had no sense of my breathing, my body or any pain. I managed to give my mother my husband’s cell phone number. Another time that I was conscious, my mother told me she had called 911 and help was on the way. I thought to ask her to unlock the front door so the emergency medical technicians (EMTs) wouldn’t have to break it down. The next thing I remember was the EMT asking where I wanted to be taken. I was able to answer him. After that, I lost five entire days. My next memory would be waking in ICU, intubated, and with my nose packed and my hands tied to my hospital bed. The day my breathing tube was removed, I was able to tell my son and husband what I remembered.
I was in complete darkness. There was a man dressed in white standing next to me on my right side. At the end of the darkness was a circle of light. In the light were people milling around. They seemed to being going on about their lives as if nothing was wrong. It reminded me of when my mother would leave the hallway light on at night so my sisters and I wouldn’t be afraid to go to sleep. This light was much brighter and intense.
As I tried to focus on the man standing over me, his face began to become clearer. I had a strange feeling of not so much fear, as despair. As his face began to come into focus, I believed I had been kidnapped by a Klingon (Star Trek character), I was on a spaceship, and they were taking me far away from my family. I remember my heart being so heavy with sadness as if I had lost someone close and dear to me. The thought of never seeing my husband, children and grandchildren was almost too much for me to bear.
As my despair grew, the man placed his hand on my right arm. His face began to become even clearer. He had long, stringy brown hair and the blackest eyes I have ever seen. I could feel the calm. He spoke to me but I don’t remember his mouth moving. I could hear him say ‘You have to fight, Deanne. We’ll take care of you.’
On December 19, 2015, I made my way out of bed to the kitchen table to eat the lunch my husband had prepared. On the television was a documentary titled ‘Jesus, The Lost Forty Days’. The image of Jesus was a 3-D reproduction taken from the marks on the Shroud of Turin. It turned out that Jesus Christ was the person I perceived as my Klingon.