BUT WAIT! THAT’S NOT THE END OF MY STORY
After I recovered enough to return to work, I still needed one final surgery. The surgeon wanted to wait until my body was strong enough to handle it. By 2011, the procedure was finally scheduled.
Because I had lost part of my pancreas during my 2008 illness, I no longer had the duct that carries digestive enzymes and insulin into the small intestine. In its place, nature had formed a pseudocyst—a protective sac collecting the acidic fluids so they wouldn’t damage my organs. The plan was to lift my small intestine, drain the pseudocyst, and attach the empty sac to the intestine so my pancreas could function again. It was a serious surgery with a high risk of infection, and I was told to expect two weeks in the hospital and six weeks of recovery.
Being a former science teacher, I researched everything so I could prepare myself mentally and emotionally. Then I prayed and turned it over to God. I refused to worry.
A few weeks before the surgery, I felt drawn to a “light language” class—something spiritual involving geometry, color, and energy. I contacted a woman in the Carolinas, explaining that I felt strongly pulled to her class but couldn’t travel because my surgery was so close. I asked if she had anything planned near Nashville.
She wrote back almost immediately: a friend in Clarksville had been urging her to come teach there, and my email convinced her it was time. Within weeks, she arrived.
We met on a Friday night. During class, she suddenly turned to me and said, “I want you on the table.” I didn’t know what she meant until she pulled out a massage table and asked me to lie down. While the others took a break, she gently touched my abdomen and asked what was wrong. I explained the upcoming surgery. She worked quietly, poking around my abdomen for a few moments, then said, “Your surgery will be fine. You have nothing to worry about.”
Then something strange happened. Her hands began to glow. Her hair looked white and radiant. I couldn’t focus. Finally, I told her what I was seeing. She smiled and said, “My head is glowing because I’m an angel. I was sent here to help you.”
A few weeks later, my son drove me to Vanderbilt for the surgery. When I woke from anesthesia, his first words were, “Mom, why didn’t you tell me the pseudocyst was gone?” I was confused. He explained that when Dr. Diaz opened me up, the cyst had already drained and had attached itself to my small intestines. The surgery I had been preparing for wasn’t needed.
Later, the surgeon himself came in and explained: my small intestine had already shifted upward, the pseudocyst had dropped down and drained into it, and the sac had attached itself perfectly—exactly the way he had planned to do surgically. He checked to see if he could improve the connection, but he couldn’t. It was already done.
He repaired a small hernia he found, but otherwise said, “Everything I was going to do had already been done.”
He then told me he was moving to Boston. I asked what I should do if a problem should occur. He shrugged and said, “I don’t know.”
“Ahh…”, I said. “I should just pray for another miracle!” He nodded, smiled and said, “Goodbye.”
To see how it all began, Read My Story Part 1.
Sharon’s Healing Space 
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