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A HAPPY LITTLE NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE
NonFiction
 Created on 9-4-07
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 Story Rating G
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October 16, 1982. Sitting around the holding area, waiting for my platoon’s turn to hit the obstacle course, my consciousness decided that it had been hanging around far too long and suddenly took the morning off. Being conscious is sort of important when preparing for a U.S. Army Basic Training, Live Fire exercise. I guess that’s why my Drill Sergeants kind of took offense to the little act of involuntary rebellion on my part. Life what was this young private supposed to do, snap to Parade Rest and bellow out: Me: DRILL SERGEANT, PRIVATE BINGHAM’S CONSCIOUSNESS REQUESTS PERMISSION TO SPEAK! Drill Sgt: SPEAK!Me: DRILL SERGEANT, PRIVATE BINGHAM’S CONSCIOUSNESS REQUESTS PERMISSION TO ABANDON HIM!Drill Sgt: ARE YOU CRAZY PRIVATE? PERMISION DENIED, GET BACK IN PRIVATE BINGHAM AND SHUT UP!
Ok, so when consciousness decides to abandon you, it usually doesn’t choose the most convenient time to do it. It also doesn’t seem to care what you would rather be doing at the time. Not only does it fail to ask permission from Drill Sergeants, bosses, patients, teachers, passengers in your car, bus or airliner… it almost always fails to get permission from YOU. Now, this is terribly annoying and downright insubordinate. After all, it is YOUR consciousness, is it not?
I guess I should have been used to it by then. It’s not like that was the first time I lost my consciousness (and as you well know, wouldn’t be the last). There had been a few times in my short Basic Training career that it had abandoned me. In fact, it’s really not all that rare an occurrences in any Basic Training cycle. It is so common that if that were all there was to this amusing anecdote, it wouldn’t be worth writing about… or even reading. Lazing around under the bleachers, I didn’t figure I had a whole lot to do for awhile. I mean, what does one do while lying unconscious in the Oklahoma dust? I failed miserably at mustering up the energy to find a way to be gainfully employed, but the trainees who had (just a few short seconds ago) been sitting next to me weren’t so lazy. My failing to remain amongst them was sufficient motivation to send them yelling, pointing and otherwise carry on as if something significant just happened. Something significant was going on; at least it was significant enough to get the attention of the Drill Sergeants. They tried yelling, threatening and even intimidating, but my consciousness (being the stubborn sort) refused to return to duty. This in turn, prevented me from doing the same. One Drill Sergeant must have come to the conclusion that my consciousness was neither “Faking it”, sitting in the corner in a tantrum, nor even just being “mentally insecure and trying to attract attention” because he bent down to see if my breathing and pulse had abandoned me too. It apparently had… at the risk of getting into medical technical jargon, clinically, I had kicked the bucket (and without orders!). Have you ever noticed that you just didn’t feel “yourself”? While feeling suspiciously unlike yourself, have you ever looked down and noticed the ground was an uncomfortable distance below you? While feeling painfully distant from good ol’ Terra Firma, did you notice that you were looking down at yourself? Now, I don’t mean “down at yourself in a psychological, self-esteem, “living in a van down by the river” motivational speaker kind of way… I mean, I was literally hovering around 15 feet off the ground, seeing all the events I just parodied above. I’m kind of glad I wasn’t there at the time though, I mean, to hang out in the air, watching a Drill Sergeant do CPR on you is one thing, but the idea of actually being there? His mustachioed and repeated lip lock on me? Feeling the precordial thump apparently got things moving in my chest? I mean… Eeew! I’ve often thought about that fateful October day at Ft Sill, Oklahoma. That day when my first helicopter ride was kind of ruined by my tears, freaking out over what I had just experienced and asking the medics questions that made them wonder if they should fly me to the ER or the Psych Ward. I’ve often thought of that day, when it was me puffing and a-sweating over a dead patient, working as if their life depended on it. I’ve thought about it as I held the defibrillator paddles to a bared chest, hoping this next set of shocks will do the trick. I’ve often thought about it when I’ve heard skeptics and naysayers call other who tell stories of Near Death “delusional”, “psycho” or just plain liars. I guess seeing is believing, at least it is for me.
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