Health

This Is What Synchronicity Looks Like – Nancy Nelson – Medium

This Is What Synchronicity Looks Like

Synchronicity is defined as a meaningful coincidence — a sign from the Universe that you are on the right path. My first meeting with Lisa Reber was one of synchronicity. When I retired and moved to a small Wisconsin town (for several good reasons), I had trouble finding my community. After a year passed with no luck I became frustrated. I knew about a regional chapter group of the Monroe Institute (TMI), but it was an hour’s drive away and I wanted friends much closer.

One afternoon, while sitting in the audience watching my daughter perform at the conclusion of a theatre workshop, I became overwhelmed with feelings of isolation and decided that I would finally try out the TMI chapter group. TMI’s website listed Lisa Reber as the chapter group leader so the next day I reached out to her by email — she invited me to their next meditation. Being curious, I looked Lisa up on Facebook.

The first thing I saw on her Facebook page was a photo of MY daughter, standing next to hers.

Our two daughters had attended the same theatre workshop (in an unrelated third town) and at the very instant I was making the decision to contact TMI, Lisa Reber was there — from the angle of the photograph it was clear we were sitting only a row or two apart.

Synchronicities indeed.

The following is Lisa’s story of synchronicities; synchronicities that both saved her life and changed her path. Synchronicities have something to tell us — if we are willing to listen.

Lisa’s Story

Twenty years ago I was suffering from Crohn’s related joint pain. I also had had several spontaneous miscarriages, heavy flows during menses accompanied by dark spots in my eyes (an ophthalmologist told me they were tiny blood clots), and a heart murmur. Although I had been seeing a rheumatologist, he had recently moved out of the area.

I was working part-time in a gift shop, and a customer — not a regular — came in, dressed in medical scrubs. I immediately blurted out, “What clinic do you work at?” The customer gave me the name of the clinic and I opened my mouth again — “Do you have a rheumatologist on your staff?” Inwardly I was cringing — why was I asking her these things?

Her clinic did have a rheumatologist on staff — he had just recently come on board — so I made an appointment for six weeks later. When I gave the doctor my health history, he got very excited — he had just finished a project with the Mayo Clinic to develop a diagnostic test for a specific blood disorder, and he was one of the leading researchers in the world on this. He suspected I had this disorder (in addition to the Crohn’s disease diagnosed by my previous rheumatologist) so he ordered the test and a month later we had the results — I did indeed have Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome (also known as “sticky blood”) — accompanied by lupus.

Since sticky blood had only first been identified 15 years prior, it was a miracle (or maybe a synchronicity) that I found one of the only rheumatologists in the country who could identify my disorder, could actually get a diagnostic test for it, and then provide me with the correct treatment.

Several months later I noticed my chest was feeling tight and went to see my family doctor. I was diagnosed with pneumonia and prescribed antibiotics. I followed up with an appointment the next week when I failed to improve; it was determined I was having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics and prescribed different drugs. But it got worse and I was having an increasingly difficult time breathing, so three days later I went back to the doctor. When I walked in the door, the nurse took one look at me — my lips and fingers were blue — dropped whatever she was carrying and shoved me into a wheelchair. The doctor listened to my heart and told me I needed to get to the hospital right away — I was in full-blown heart failure. A year earlier I had been told that the leaky aortic valve that was causing my heart murmur would be reliable for another 15 years. Instead, it had disintegrated and the entire valve was gone.

The cardiologist told me that I needed immediate surgery to replace my valve or I would die. But… alarm bells were ringing. Why didn’t I want him to do the surgery? (I realized later this was my intuition talking). Instead, I wanted to have the surgery at the University of Wisconsin’s hospital in Madison where my rheumatologist had his main office. Luckily my husband both believed and supported me. When the cardiologist argued against — and then made a rude remark about — my feeling that I should have the operation done in Madison, my husband told him that he could not lay a hand on me and that we would be going to Madison. Once stable, I checked out of the hospital (very much against medical advice).

My rheumatologist presented my case to the cardiac unit at Madison, a cardiac surgeon agreed to take me on, and surgery was scheduled for four weeks later — I had to rest a lot because my heart was so enlarged. During this time I received more unsettling news. The hematologist informed me that there had been some “anomalies” in the pre-op blood work. It didn’t matter, however, because if I didn’t want to die, I needed to go through with the operation.

At 11:00 pm the night before surgery, the team of surgeons unexpectedly came to my room to talk to me and my husband about my chances of survival. Because of the previously-identified anomalies, they had called in a second hematologist who had just analyzed my test results — he determined that my blood was missing some clotting factors. This meant that there was a good chance I might bleed out on during the surgery or, alternatively, my blood might clot the bypass machine, plunging me into heart failure. My chances of survival had just gone from “good” to “extremely slim” — there was a greater than 90% chance I would die on the operating table. The doctors estimated that I would be in surgery for between 7 and 12 hours.

At 7:00 a.m. the next morning I was wheeled into the operating room. My husband and parents settled down in the waiting room.

Four hours later one of the surgeons came out to talk to them. My husband gasped out, “Oh no!” The rest of my family was too afraid to say a word. They all knew the surgeon was going to give them the news that I had died.

But I hadn’t. On the day of my surgery — and that day only — my blood had all the clotting factors. During the operation, my surgeons were surprised to see that I wasn’t using the amount of blood they had anticipated so they ran another clotting test (there was a remote lab set up outside my operating room to run tests as they went) and my blood tested positive for all the clotting factors! A couple of days after my surgery, assuming that the original results had somehow been wrong, the hematologist ran the tests again — my blood no longer had all the clotting factors. The doctors said they couldn’t explain it — that that shouldn’t have happened and I shouldn’t be alive.

But the thing is, I didn’t want to come back; I didn’t want to live. During surgery I was …somewhere with beautiful, loving beings surrounding me and I wanted to stay with them. I didn’t want to return to my body because I knew that my recovery was going to be long and very painful — I’m allergic to morphine, so all I would have to manage the pain was Tylenol with codeine. But the beings kept gently insisting I needed to return, that I still had important work to do. Then I could hear the nurses back in the recovery room calling me back.

I was a week longer in the hospital, and a friend of a friend came every day to help with pain management by giving me Healing Touch. I was fascinated by the idea of energy medicine — by the idea that there was something beyond conventional allopathic medicine that could help heal the body. Months later, back working in the shop, a customer came in and asked me out of the blue if I was familiar with reiki. She was a reiki teacher; I began lessons with her but it didn’t work out. I told myself that if if was meant to be another teacher would show up.

A few months later a woman entered the shop. I opened my mouth and a question jumped out, “Do you know reiki?” What? Why did I ask that? But the customer was the one who was shocked — she was a master reiki teacher, and my husband and I began studying with her.

And my path changed.

It wasn’t just that I became a reiki master, it was the new ideas and modalities that entered my life — reincarnation, the Seth materials, past life regression, manifestation, everything written by Michael Dooley, mystical and psychic experiences, learning how to expand my consciousness with the Monroe Institute, and co-founding a TMI chapter group in my city.

I think this change of path is what the beings were referring to when they told me I still had important things to do. I believe my role is to help people understand that we are more than our physical body. I truly believe that we get what we focus on, and I want other people to live in that magic.

I’m still in pain, I still take drugs to stay alive, but nothing that I’ve gone through is bad. I still consider it magical how divinely guided my life has been. Synchronicity is going on all the time. If we let go and trust, it will all work in a beautiful, synchronistic way.


Source link
Show More

Leave a Reply

Back to top button
Skip to toolbar