EMS workers must witness the most bizarre of circumstances when they are called in their ambulances to rescue those in dire need. The face of death must stare at them every day on their nine-to-fives. Heart attacks, strokes, bullet wounds and a host of other life threatening events are merely stacks of paper in an in-box to the men in women who work behind not a desk, but stretchers that roll on wheels and expand and collapse like umbrellas.They handled my crisis quite professionally, even though they had to call for back up from the police department.
“Calling 911 was the right thing to do,” Martinez, a paramedic standing just five feet, six inches tall said to me as we waited here in the livingroom for help to arrive. Shawn was back there in the bedroom– the door to the right. At least he stopped shouting. He was in no mood to deal with paramedics. I felt bad. He screamed at the top of his lungs at them –
‘No! No! No! I do not want to go,’ he kept shouting. His eyes were a sticky yellow and glossed over.
“What’s wrong with him?” “It could be lots of things,” the short EMS dude calmly explained. Hadn’t he just seen what I witnessed– that look in Shawn’s eyes? Shawn was possessed. As I look back now, there is no doubt about it. There are no medical terms to explain it. There was something ungodly inside of him.
Medical professionals overlook the signs of religious experiences so blindly. Shawn started screaming again. It sounded like there were lots of men back there in the bedroom wrestling or something. The walls are very thin in here so you can imagine how loud the banging was. It sounded like he was being tossed from wall to wall back there.
The EMS guys were sitting over there on that sofa you are on waiting for the police when we heard the Linda Blair shouting again. I was convinced there was something in there torturing him or something.
I ran back to that door, the one on the right, even though they gave me a look advising me to stay away until the cops got here.
I wasn’t going to just sit in here and wait just because Shawn was a tall, muscular black man who could easily break a few bones in anyone he touched.
“Shawn, are you alright,” I said while peeking in the bedroom.
He calmed down quite a bit and was on the bed again. “Hey, it’s me. Hang in there, alright? I’m going to take you to the emergency room. You’re going to be okay.”
I put my hands on his legs. He was hot, almost on fire and burning inside it seemed.
“No, mamma no. I can’t see the light.”
I grew nervous. The light. Was it that serious? Was he going to die? Almost everyone who witnesses a passages understands what is about to happen when talk of light emerges…
The police arrived. Before they rang the doorbell, Shawn started to scream again as if he sensed the arrival of priestly cops. The EMS workers were standing outside of the bedroom when I was in there with him, rubbing his legs, comforting him just as the bell buzzed.
“Get out! Get out! He kept shouting. He jumped off the bed and charged out the door. The EMS guys didn’t even try to stop him.
“Calm down, buddy. Calm down.” the cops said to Shawn. I touched his shoulder. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright,” I said. I took him back to the bedroom and rubbed his back. Calmness returned to him. He would calm down some when I touched him. I took him back there until more help arrived. Shawn wasn’t going out without a fight it seemed.
Four other police officers arrived– all black.
“What’s going on here.”
“It’s another code red 9-11 case.”
I had no idea what they were talking about– medical terminology I assumed.
It took all of them to get him out of the house and into an ambulance, strapped to a fold-up stretcher.
We were all afraid of the demons he had in him. There were demons– that’s for sure. Sometimes in medicine and police work, those rare 911 calls are something more than mere medical emergencies. This was the real thing– a posession.
I didn’t ride to the hospital in the ambulance with him. I was too afraid. I decided to take a taxi instead. Martinez came back into the house and gave me details of where Brooklyn Hospital was.
“Hey, listen,” he said. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Take care of yourself, alright?”
I had no idea what he was talking about at the time, months later I would learn for myself what posession truly is– the pscyiatric ward– my own ‘visions’ — the hell of it all…the aftermath of September 11th on the residents of New York who breathed the air after those buildings came down.It affected us all, but some, as in the case of Shawn and I, more intensly.
Maybe there are demon possessions but they just don’t call such 911 calls by their true nature: Legions.