The Undiscovered Country
Created | Updated Nov 16, 2005
The morning started like any other, eating breakfast while reading the paper, the train to work and the purchase of a bacon sandwich at the station buffet. The indulgence of the sandwich would not please his wife. Eating such an unhealthy snack wouldn’t do his heart condition any good at all. He enjoyed his sandwich though; that really was his only pleasure in life other then a glass of wine at the weekend.
His weekends were structured now his children had abandoned the family home. Shopping on a Saturday, church on a Sunday. The shopping he didn’t enjoy, but that was when he chose his bottle of wine, the highlight of the trip. The pilgrimage to the church was, well, not meant to be enjoyed, but still, he and his wife would attend every Sunday. The two children didn’t accompany them anymore. They had long since strayed from the road of religious instruction. It was not totally unexpected. He himself had rebelled in his late teenage years. The excesses of the late ’60s consumed him. Jimi Hendrix, Cream, free love and pot had enticed him during his years at university and he would look back on that time with disgust publicly. In his private thoughts though he remembered them with great regard.
It wasn’t until his late twenties that he had fallen back under the reassuring umbrella of the church. He married one of the congregation and they now both attended every Sunday.
Now, sitting at his desk in the accountants office where he was employed he stared at his computer screen unable to concentrate, distraction all around him. The young twenty-something girls that would walk past with their short skirts and open blouses were a constant distraction. On more then one occasion he would throw more then a glance at them as they wiggled past. After all he was only human.
The young girls would look upon this fifty-year-old as a father figure and yes, he could still be deemed attractive for a man of his age, not Sean Connery or John Thaw, but still the best of a bad bunch of older men in the office. He enjoyed their company and it did his ego the world of good to be seen by the other members of the department conversing with them.
Later that very afternoon the sun shone through the south-facing windows of the office. He felt hot and had started to sweat. Frantically he undid the top button of his shirt and yanked down his tie. Then, he wasn’t aware of the sweat running down his body, a pain had taken his attention, a shooting pain that ran up his right arm into his chest.
Violently, he lurched forward knocking his terminal off his desk. Everyone within a twelve-foot radius looked up from their work to find out where the uncommon noise had emanated.
The top half of his torso lay flat on his desk then sprang backwards against his chair. The feeling of panic and helplessness overcame him. He knew all to well that it was a heart attack. Getting to his feet he took one last look around, searching for help, before collapsing on the floor. He dropped like a sack of coal and hit the floor with a heavy thud. He knew what had happened, his vision was gone, but he was still partly conscious. He heard someone say, “Quick, get an ambulance.” After that the voices merged into one great echo. The light his eyes could see was fading now, was this death?
He’d lived a good life all in all. His work for charity had raised thousands of pounds. The time and effort volunteered to good causes was incalculable. He was happy with what he had done in life.
Darkness fell.
Wait; voices, movement. He was in an ambulance, there was still hope for him. The rocking motion of the vehicle was sending him back off. No, he had to fight it, stay awake.
“Don’t worry,” said a voice. “You’ll be at the hospital in a few minutes, they’ll take good care of you.” It was a paramedic who was speaking to him. He was alive. Now with this piece of good news he allowed himself to slip back into his sleep.
Once again the darkness slipped away. This time he was in an operating theatre. The doctors had inserted tubes up his nose and in his mouth, cables were sticking to his chest and temples. At least a dozen people must have been in the room from what he could see.
He could see a large light above him and at least two cabinets containing all manner of equipment. Then it struck him, how could he see so much?
The view of the events was not one from the perspective of him lying on the operating table, but of watching the proceedings from a position up on the ceiling. He was looking down at himself on the table.
Three of the nurses caught his eye, they were like angels. The men who seemed to be in charge took two paddles off a machine. He didn’t have a clue what it was, but he did know what its purpose was. The machine was for shocking the heart back into a rhythm.
Again he asked the question: Was he dead?
A cold wind blew from behind him, he turned to see where it came from. What he saw answered his question. That was it, he must be dead.
A tunnel of light stretched out before him, twisting and turning with a bright light source at the other end. He looked back towards the operating theatre and saw his body convulsing on the table with each passing shock.
“Let it go”, he said to himself. As he thought the words he felt himself being projected along the tunnel. The light source became brighter, the living world smaller as he passed through to the other side.
He had never had such a feeling of calm. He was floating. Where was he? All that could be seen around him was light. Did it reach to infinity or was it a mist that shrouded something else. Holding out a hand in front of his face to judge distance, it was perfectly visible. Turning back, the tunnel had gone. He didn’t feel any fear, the opposite in fact, unrealisable joy.
In front of him, a figure appeared, floating in mid-air. It was a man…, was it? Yes, it was a man. Strangely he couldn’t put any other descriptive form to the figure. It was a man dressed in white. What colour hair he had, he could not tell, what his nose was like or eye colour, all were a mystery to him.
“Welcome,” said the figure. “You have been expected,” he said with a quiet calming voice. “You have many questions?”
“Who are you?” he asked the visitation.
“I am who you think I am.”
He said nothing, but he did hope to himself.
“They are all here.”
“Who?”
“Your family. Mother, Carol, Father, Paul and your little Uncle.”
“Uncle?”
“Billy.”
How did he know of that?
“You were the only one who called him Billy were you not, he is here.”
This must be paradise, he thought. No one knew he called his Uncle William ‘Little Billy’ not even him.
Joy overwhelmed him. Then he felt a stab in his chest, “What was…”
“…That?” said the figure finishing the sentence off for him. “Your time has not yet come to join us. You’re going back to spread the word.”
Did he want to go back?
“Is there anything you want to ask me, quickly while you have a chance.”
“When am I coming back?”
“Soon, soon.”
The vision slowly faded from view. The light all around him also began to wane. The pains in his chest were becoming unbearable now, ripping through him wave after wave.
He sat bolt upright on the operating table as the paddles were lifted off from his chest for the last time. He was breathing heavily, the doctors had to restrain him and force his body back down onto the table.
He felt as happy as he ever had. It took the assembled personnel of the operating theatre from stopping him jumping off the table and dancing around the room.
His mood abated somewhat as he lay in a hospital bed, ward eleven. It was two days after the wondrous events he had experienced. Though told to rest, he occupied his time writing up his experiences so he would never forget them. Forget, how could he ever do that?
The rest of the ward wished he would. As any new arrival came into the ward he would tell them the story in a more than excessively loud voice.
Several visitors called on him during his stay. His wife, children, friends, colleagues and the Reverend Collins from his local church. Each heard the story.
At the end of the second day’s recuperation, the doctor who had brought him back from the dead paid him a visit. The conversation had only lasted a few minutes when he lurched into the story of his journey back from the other side.
The doctor listened with interest as he told his tale; he had heard such stories in his time at this and others hospitals. “Tell me,” asked the medical man, “did you see anything on top of the two cabinets when you were floating in the room?”
“You don’t believe me do you?” he said with a calm forgiving voice. “I know what happened to me, I saw the face of…”
“I ask,” interrupted the doctor, “because we are trying to prove that cases such as yours are valid and not just one part of the brain telling another part that the body is on the threshold of death. That is what you’re supposed to experience on passing to the other side, next life, heaven etc.”
“I can assure you it was real enough.” He was not to be moved on the point.
“What convinced you that what happened was a real experience?”
“He knew that I called my Uncle William, Billy. No one knew that, not even him.”
“From what I hear you were given the chance to ask this vision a question?”
“That is correct.”
“And did you?” the doctor asked full of hope.
“No, I didn’t think there was any need to. He had proved himself in as far as he knew what I called my uncle.”
“But, that information was already contained in your brain, he told you nothing you didn’t already know. That cannot be proof of anything. Why didn’t you ask one of the big questions like, ‘What is the meaning of life?’ or ‘How did he create the universe?”
“That was unnecessary in my opinion and completely disrespectful, after all, he had shown me so much.”
“You had the chance to ask God why we were here, but you didn’t. Oh well, no doubt we will all find out one day.”
“Doctor Hanson, what on earth do you think you’re doing disturbing my patient?” a large-framed West Indian nurse was stampeding down the ward. The doctor in dread of his life stood up to leave.
“My question, did you see anything on top of the cabinet? A picture perhaps?”
“I do believe there was a picture, yes.”
“Of?” asked the young doctor quickly.
“A landscape I think. Yes, a landscape with a lot of colour. A country scene I think, it was a bit blurred.”
“Thank you,” he said leaving before the large nurse could get within reach of him. “You look after yourself.”
The Sunday morning after his release from hospital he proudly stood in the pulpit of his church and told the assembled congregation of his experience.
They listened in awe at the things he had to say. Not all believed him when he said that he had met God, but most did. How he had come to the conclusion that it was the Almighty he had conversed with didn’t matter to him, it added to the story. ‘I met someone in Heaven’ sounded much more grand as ‘I met God.’
He was enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame his story had brought him, a book was even talked about. Three weeks later while walking down the stairs one morning he felt the familiar pains in his chest.
His wife found him at the bottom of the stairs and immediately phoned for an ambulance. He could feel the bumping of the trolley as it clattered through the hospital corridors. He was at peace with himself. If he died Heaven was waiting, if not, he still had work to do.
His body lay once more on the operating table. In his eyes darkness had faded, this was as it had happened only weeks before, his vision returned. As before he was looking down at his own dying body on the operating table. He watched as his body convulsed with the electricity causing through it.
The voice of the same doctor who had treated him before spoke to his staff. “Once more.”
The bolt of electric current discharged, the line on the heart monitor remained flat. From his vantage point high in the ceiling he saw the demise of his body. That was it this time, so he waited patiently for the cool breeze to signal the arrival of the tunnel of light to appear once more. This time he would find out what the meaning of the universe was.
As he waited, he saw the picture that the doctor had asked him about.
It was a black and white picture of Mickey Mouse…
FINI
His weekends were structured now his children had abandoned the family home. Shopping on a Saturday, church on a Sunday. The shopping he didn’t enjoy, but that was when he chose his bottle of wine, the highlight of the trip. The pilgrimage to the church was, well, not meant to be enjoyed, but still, he and his wife would attend every Sunday. The two children didn’t accompany them anymore. They had long since strayed from the road of religious instruction. It was not totally unexpected. He himself had rebelled in his late teenage years. The excesses of the late ’60s consumed him. Jimi Hendrix, Cream, free love and pot had enticed him during his years at university and he would look back on that time with disgust publicly. In his private thoughts though he remembered them with great regard.
It wasn’t until his late twenties that he had fallen back under the reassuring umbrella of the church. He married one of the congregation and they now both attended every Sunday.
Now, sitting at his desk in the accountants office where he was employed he stared at his computer screen unable to concentrate, distraction all around him. The young twenty-something girls that would walk past with their short skirts and open blouses were a constant distraction. On more then one occasion he would throw more then a glance at them as they wiggled past. After all he was only human.
The young girls would look upon this fifty-year-old as a father figure and yes, he could still be deemed attractive for a man of his age, not Sean Connery or John Thaw, but still the best of a bad bunch of older men in the office. He enjoyed their company and it did his ego the world of good to be seen by the other members of the department conversing with them.
Later that very afternoon the sun shone through the south-facing windows of the office. He felt hot and had started to sweat. Frantically he undid the top button of his shirt and yanked down his tie. Then, he wasn’t aware of the sweat running down his body, a pain had taken his attention, a shooting pain that ran up his right arm into his chest.
Violently, he lurched forward knocking his terminal off his desk. Everyone within a twelve-foot radius looked up from their work to find out where the uncommon noise had emanated.
The top half of his torso lay flat on his desk then sprang backwards against his chair. The feeling of panic and helplessness overcame him. He knew all to well that it was a heart attack. Getting to his feet he took one last look around, searching for help, before collapsing on the floor. He dropped like a sack of coal and hit the floor with a heavy thud. He knew what had happened, his vision was gone, but he was still partly conscious. He heard someone say, “Quick, get an ambulance.” After that the voices merged into one great echo. The light his eyes could see was fading now, was this death?
He’d lived a good life all in all. His work for charity had raised thousands of pounds. The time and effort volunteered to good causes was incalculable. He was happy with what he had done in life.
Darkness fell.
Wait; voices, movement. He was in an ambulance, there was still hope for him. The rocking motion of the vehicle was sending him back off. No, he had to fight it, stay awake.
“Don’t worry,” said a voice. “You’ll be at the hospital in a few minutes, they’ll take good care of you.” It was a paramedic who was speaking to him. He was alive. Now with this piece of good news he allowed himself to slip back into his sleep.
Once again the darkness slipped away. This time he was in an operating theatre. The doctors had inserted tubes up his nose and in his mouth, cables were sticking to his chest and temples. At least a dozen people must have been in the room from what he could see.
He could see a large light above him and at least two cabinets containing all manner of equipment. Then it struck him, how could he see so much?
The view of the events was not one from the perspective of him lying on the operating table, but of watching the proceedings from a position up on the ceiling. He was looking down at himself on the table.
Three of the nurses caught his eye, they were like angels. The men who seemed to be in charge took two paddles off a machine. He didn’t have a clue what it was, but he did know what its purpose was. The machine was for shocking the heart back into a rhythm.
Again he asked the question: Was he dead?
A cold wind blew from behind him, he turned to see where it came from. What he saw answered his question. That was it, he must be dead.
A tunnel of light stretched out before him, twisting and turning with a bright light source at the other end. He looked back towards the operating theatre and saw his body convulsing on the table with each passing shock.
“Let it go”, he said to himself. As he thought the words he felt himself being projected along the tunnel. The light source became brighter, the living world smaller as he passed through to the other side.
He had never had such a feeling of calm. He was floating. Where was he? All that could be seen around him was light. Did it reach to infinity or was it a mist that shrouded something else. Holding out a hand in front of his face to judge distance, it was perfectly visible. Turning back, the tunnel had gone. He didn’t feel any fear, the opposite in fact, unrealisable joy.
In front of him, a figure appeared, floating in mid-air. It was a man…, was it? Yes, it was a man. Strangely he couldn’t put any other descriptive form to the figure. It was a man dressed in white. What colour hair he had, he could not tell, what his nose was like or eye colour, all were a mystery to him.
“Welcome,” said the figure. “You have been expected,” he said with a quiet calming voice. “You have many questions?”
“Who are you?” he asked the visitation.
“I am who you think I am.”
He said nothing, but he did hope to himself.
“They are all here.”
“Who?”
“Your family. Mother, Carol, Father, Paul and your little Uncle.”
“Uncle?”
“Billy.”
How did he know of that?
“You were the only one who called him Billy were you not, he is here.”
This must be paradise, he thought. No one knew he called his Uncle William ‘Little Billy’ not even him.
Joy overwhelmed him. Then he felt a stab in his chest, “What was…”
“…That?” said the figure finishing the sentence off for him. “Your time has not yet come to join us. You’re going back to spread the word.”
Did he want to go back?
“Is there anything you want to ask me, quickly while you have a chance.”
“When am I coming back?”
“Soon, soon.”
The vision slowly faded from view. The light all around him also began to wane. The pains in his chest were becoming unbearable now, ripping through him wave after wave.
He sat bolt upright on the operating table as the paddles were lifted off from his chest for the last time. He was breathing heavily, the doctors had to restrain him and force his body back down onto the table.
He felt as happy as he ever had. It took the assembled personnel of the operating theatre from stopping him jumping off the table and dancing around the room.
His mood abated somewhat as he lay in a hospital bed, ward eleven. It was two days after the wondrous events he had experienced. Though told to rest, he occupied his time writing up his experiences so he would never forget them. Forget, how could he ever do that?
The rest of the ward wished he would. As any new arrival came into the ward he would tell them the story in a more than excessively loud voice.
Several visitors called on him during his stay. His wife, children, friends, colleagues and the Reverend Collins from his local church. Each heard the story.
At the end of the second day’s recuperation, the doctor who had brought him back from the dead paid him a visit. The conversation had only lasted a few minutes when he lurched into the story of his journey back from the other side.
The doctor listened with interest as he told his tale; he had heard such stories in his time at this and others hospitals. “Tell me,” asked the medical man, “did you see anything on top of the two cabinets when you were floating in the room?”
“You don’t believe me do you?” he said with a calm forgiving voice. “I know what happened to me, I saw the face of…”
“I ask,” interrupted the doctor, “because we are trying to prove that cases such as yours are valid and not just one part of the brain telling another part that the body is on the threshold of death. That is what you’re supposed to experience on passing to the other side, next life, heaven etc.”
“I can assure you it was real enough.” He was not to be moved on the point.
“What convinced you that what happened was a real experience?”
“He knew that I called my Uncle William, Billy. No one knew that, not even him.”
“From what I hear you were given the chance to ask this vision a question?”
“That is correct.”
“And did you?” the doctor asked full of hope.
“No, I didn’t think there was any need to. He had proved himself in as far as he knew what I called my uncle.”
“But, that information was already contained in your brain, he told you nothing you didn’t already know. That cannot be proof of anything. Why didn’t you ask one of the big questions like, ‘What is the meaning of life?’ or ‘How did he create the universe?”
“That was unnecessary in my opinion and completely disrespectful, after all, he had shown me so much.”
“You had the chance to ask God why we were here, but you didn’t. Oh well, no doubt we will all find out one day.”
“Doctor Hanson, what on earth do you think you’re doing disturbing my patient?” a large-framed West Indian nurse was stampeding down the ward. The doctor in dread of his life stood up to leave.
“My question, did you see anything on top of the cabinet? A picture perhaps?”
“I do believe there was a picture, yes.”
“Of?” asked the young doctor quickly.
“A landscape I think. Yes, a landscape with a lot of colour. A country scene I think, it was a bit blurred.”
“Thank you,” he said leaving before the large nurse could get within reach of him. “You look after yourself.”
The Sunday morning after his release from hospital he proudly stood in the pulpit of his church and told the assembled congregation of his experience.
They listened in awe at the things he had to say. Not all believed him when he said that he had met God, but most did. How he had come to the conclusion that it was the Almighty he had conversed with didn’t matter to him, it added to the story. ‘I met someone in Heaven’ sounded much more grand as ‘I met God.’
He was enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame his story had brought him, a book was even talked about. Three weeks later while walking down the stairs one morning he felt the familiar pains in his chest.
His wife found him at the bottom of the stairs and immediately phoned for an ambulance. He could feel the bumping of the trolley as it clattered through the hospital corridors. He was at peace with himself. If he died Heaven was waiting, if not, he still had work to do.
His body lay once more on the operating table. In his eyes darkness had faded, this was as it had happened only weeks before, his vision returned. As before he was looking down at his own dying body on the operating table. He watched as his body convulsed with the electricity causing through it.
The voice of the same doctor who had treated him before spoke to his staff. “Once more.”
The bolt of electric current discharged, the line on the heart monitor remained flat. From his vantage point high in the ceiling he saw the demise of his body. That was it this time, so he waited patiently for the cool breeze to signal the arrival of the tunnel of light to appear once more. This time he would find out what the meaning of the universe was.
As he waited, he saw the picture that the doctor had asked him about.
It was a black and white picture of Mickey Mouse…
FINI
