I had major surgeries on my eyes when I was seven or eight years old.

Usually, after the surgery, my eyes would bandaged and taped over so that they remained shut. I had to go for weeks with my eyes closed, so I was blind. I am going back 45+ years, so surgical techniques were very primitive compared to today.

Being blind is an incredible experience because it pushes you to the edge of your fear and sanity. I had to rely a lot on my senses and be guided by them to be able to function. Fate intended for me to go through that experience to develop my sensitivity.

In total, I had four such surgeries, each one more painful than its predecessor. On the last one, I had a remarkable experience that I could not explain. I found myself standing and looking down at an angle at a female nurse who was busy taking notes and working with some electronic equipment stacked on a wall opposite her. I did not think much of it at first; I was intrigued to find out what she was doing, and then I wondered where I was. I looked around and saw that it was a small room; we were the only persons in it. I said something to get the nurse’s attention, but she did not respond. I tried again, louder, but she did not even look in my direction. Then I wondered why I was at a height and looking down at her. To top it all, I realised that I could not move from that spot I was in. I felt trapped somehow and started to panic.

Instantly, I felt myself being wheeled on the hospital gurney, and I could hear my parents’ voices. My mother was caressing my face and my forehead. I could not see them because my eyes were taped shut, but I could hear her crying. I tried to say something, but there was a lot of commotion. I still managed to say, “I saw the nurse mummy, I saw her… how could I see her?”

My mother responded, ‘It’s okay, ‘ and tried to reassure me that all would be fine.”

Back in my hospital room, I struggled to recover for the first few days, and all that I could think of was my experience in the recovery room. How could I see the nurse when my eyes were taped shut, and I knew that I was not dreaming; it was real? I shared my experience with my mum and dad, and although I could not see them due to my eyes at the time, I felt their struggle for an answer.

It was, in a sense, a relief to hear my father say, “I don’t know”, as opposed to passing it off as a dream as they had previously done with my other paranormal experiences. As I type this 45+ years later, I can vividly recall everything about the nurse and the recovery room I was in – it was real.

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