OtherSidePsychic, When The Dead Speak.

After four days of driving down muddy roads, flying in an un-pressurerized plane from Roatan to Le Ceiba Honduras, we finally arrived at the only clinic at the time that had a MRI machine. Four days prior, my ex husband comes out onto the deck of the yacht, holding his head in pain, screaming, “Call the Doctor, call the doctor.” It was around 11 pm at night, in a strange port, and we didn’t know anyone. I had no idea of really where we were at the time. I just knew, Honduras.

I have never ever seen him in such pain before. He was yelling it hurt so bad. This was a man whose pain threshold was so high that even a professional fighter would look like a kindergartener.  I was outside smoking a cigarette at the time, (when I smoked) and this was one month after my twin sister Amy had passed. We had just gotten into port. We were next to Johnny Carson’s yacht, The Serengeti and did not have yacht cell phone service. The only cell phone that was working was that of our Ships agent given to us earlier that day and one number only we knew. His.

“Call the doctor” and with that Richard stumbled back inside the yacht. I was frightened beyond belief and asked out loud, “Amy, what is wrong with Richard?” I was crying and shaking.

I knew Amy was around, had been with me since she died. She never left my side because I was at the jumping off point and there was a reason she had stayed with me.

Then I heard her clear as day, loud as an ambulance siren.

“Beth, Richard has had a brain hemorrage. Call the doctor. He will be okay but you need to call the doctor.”

I called the ships agent with my trembling hand. I explained we needed an ambulance, a doctor immediately.

“What is wrong with the Captain so I can tell the doctor? he asked.

“He has had a brain hemorrage. Please tell him to hurry.”

Within a few minutes, Dr. Noel Brito from Roatan arrives and gives Richard an injection to bring his blood pressure down.

It was the rainy season. We couldn’t get a medivac jet in because the runways were closed down. We were stuck. So the three of us made the journey to the mainland to the hospital there to seek treatment. Time was of the essence and Richard’s life hung in the balance.

Four days later, Dr. Brito, Richard and the Neurologist and Neurosurgeon confirmed that the MRI did ndeed show that Richard had had a sub-arrachnoid brain hemorrhage.

The big question they all wanted to know was, ” How did you know what had happened to Richard?” “How did you know what to tell Dr. Brito?”

Very simply, I said, Amy told me.

Thank you Amy for being there for Richard, for myself, even when you were dead.

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