I shouldn't be Alive

Lately, I've been watching this show called I shouldn't be alive, which tells harrowing, edge-on-your-seat real life stories of people surviving the most unlikely situations. The ones that stand out in my mind are: an athlete  who is training for a marathon falls off the ridge of a trail about 30 feet down, breaks her pelvis, survives 4 days in a remote park which most people don't visit with only her dog, and a small puddle of water. To survive the cold nights which dip to freezing, she does crunches every 5 minutes to keep from getting hypothermia--she does this despite her broken pelvis. On top of this, she drags herself miles down the road to look for help.

Or another one, where a man is the only survivor of a plane crash--he lands in the ocean and stays afloat--on his back--for 3 days, going through valleys of jelly fish.

Or the young couple that get lost in the valley of mountains for 4 days; during their adventure they discover the body of another hiker who never made it out alive. Despite the fact that he was armed with camping gear, along with a compass and a map, doesn't give them much hope that they're going to get out alive either.

Or the teenager who is on a hunting trip with his father, gets separated and attacked by a grizzly bear, kills him with one shot (nearly impossible to do) and survives the night by crawling for help despite his artery in his leg literally hanging out from the huge bear gash.

And yet, they all live to tell about it.

I can only watch one episode a day. Watching these shows always leaves me with so much emotion; sometimes I feel my stomach turning as they go through all this turmoil, and watching them retell these stories while breaking into tears usually has me crying too.

So you're probably wondering why I watch this then, if it seems to bother me so much? I have wondered this too, because these episodes do bother me. The episodes are always the same: there's the trauma, the shock that they survived the trauma, then the hope and determination to be saved, and then the realization of the likelihood that they won't live, and then finally, the resignation of defeat and acceptance of death. By this time, the victim during the interview is usually crying, and I, along with them. But I finally realized what it is that draws me to this show so much: I "get it" what they went through, and if they knew what I went through, they would "get me" too.

Happily, my own heart attack trauma was not a drawn out episode that lasted 3 days. I am thankful that it was only a harrowing 6 minutes. Yet, it was harrowing, it was scary. And it started off the same as these others; the strong will and desire to survive, ending with the realization that you probably won't live, and the acceptance that you will die. You don't want to die, but it's inevitable. You are not strong enough to overcome death.

It's a terrible feeling.

Having to say goodbye without having the words to say them, leaving so much undone, not even knowing how to spend these last minutes of your life, and just using them to beg God for more time. It is the same as drowning, dying of an illness, burning in a house, starving in the wilderness or freezing in a blizzard. All these people (including myself) go through the same denial, the same protests, even though each of their situations are different--every one of them clings for more time.

No joking intended, this is why I can't even flush a spider down the toilet. I can't stand to see them struggle to live, even for those few seconds.

But then, when all seems lost and done, when darkness has won over and you finally have waved your flag of defeat, God steps in. He did this for me, and each one of these survivors.

Not all of the survivors seem to know or admit that it was God who saved them--a lot of them say "by chance, this happened" or "just out of luck, that happened", but it was God, who saved them. It is so obvious. I wonder why they don't see it, or if they just don't want to acknowledge it.

The athlete that crawled on her belly for 4 days wouldn't have made it out if it wasn't for her dog, who led people to find her. They say that when the dog finally returned to her side, he began to drink out of her puddle--her only lifesource--for the first time. She was a little upset with the dog at first, since he had his own puddle and wondered why he would drink out of her own puddle. But it was his way of telling her that everything was okay now, and minutes later, the help arrived.

Or the man that survived by floating on his back for 3 days--even while sleeping? Pretty much impossible! On the 2nd night alone in the ocean, fighting off hypothermia and getting hundreds of jelly fish stings and unable to float any longer, what happens to come floating to him for the first time? A log! A log, out in the vast ocean. He uses this log to stay afloat during the night so he can sleep, and later gets rescued by a fishing boat.

And the young couple that got stranded out in the valley of mountains? The girlfriend had been quietly praying to St.Christopher, patron of travelers, for his help when they later found the dead hiker the next day. In his wallet, they found a prayer card of St.Christopher. Along with this, a box of matches, which had miraculously stayed dry all that time, despite the fact that the hiker had been dead for a year. They use the matches to light a huge fire, and they eventually get found by a search and rescue plane. They credit this hiker for saving their lives; by his notes and his supplies, they had a chance to live, and at the same time, his family finally were able to lay him to rest.

And the teenager who is dying from shock and his artery nearly being severed--he is found (amid a terrible storm) by a doctor who just happened to be camping nearby, and the doctor specializes in shock trauma. He pulls the teenager through the night while they wait for help the next morning. These things don't "just happen". It's all God!

And of course, we know that God miraculously intervened that day for me to live. I shouldn't have lived because Dennis shouldn't have been home that day--he should have been off doing his usual errands that he did every night. And I shouldn't have lived except the cop just happened to pull up the moment I lost consciousness and my heart stopped. I shouldn't have lived, except I had a cop who did CPR right away, and I'm told, 3 burly firemen who took turns doing CPR for 40 minutes. I shouldn't have lived, except one of the firemen was praying Hail Mary's the entire time (according to the notes in my Caring Bridge.)
 "I shouldn't be alive" still hits me every day. Though it's practically been 3 years now, time continues to be precious. I try hard not to waste it. At the same time, once you face death, once you experience it, time has a new meaning. It means that it's ending; not continuing. It means that the hour is almost up, not beginning. It means every second counts, every minute counts. You learn to live like you're dying.

It's not quite my 3rd year anniversary yet, but it doesn't matter, because every day counts. I've said it once and I'll continue to say it until the day I die (again): Time is precious! Don't waste it!

Every time I watch this show, I see how good God is. Even though not all of these people seem to know it, God steps in to save these people; He doesn't allow them to die with no hope. And all of these people who get to live to tell of how they almost died, whether they are spiritual or not, are living examples of the miracles of God.


Here is a psalm that I found fitting: "In their distress they cried to the Lord, who saved them in their peril, Led them forth from darkness and gloom and broke their chains assunder. Let them thank the Lord for such kindness, such wondrous deeds for mere mortals. For He broke down the gates of bronze and snapped the bars of iron." Psalms, 107; 13-16