A Funnything Happened on way to Morgue

Death… or a Funnything Happened on the Way to
the Morgue

By: Jack Bybee.

John Bybee © 2011

Let no one tell you otherwise, death, as 99.9 percent of the Earth-
plane population view it, is a rather serious business…, unless, of
course, it isn’t.


Let me explain why I had to do some rather fast talking amongst hospital
staff, lowly porters and senior members, like the medical super, as to
why I, one, truly did not belong in the morgue, and two, why, amongst
other minor issues, I actually needed to be fed.

Grant me a moment to stretch your imagination. In May, 1972 I flat-
lined. Dead. Expired. Kaput. Cause? Some rather nasty medical stuff
plus double-pneumonia. I was exhausted. I gave up. Up the Tunnel and
on to The Other Side (of consciousness) also referred to as Heaven,
Nirvana, etc. by the more religious amongst us, my spirit went. It was
here that I learnt a number of lessons, amongst them: don’t argue with
the Being of Light (what near-death experiencers, like myself, call God).
I debated heartily, that I had no intention of leaving the Perfection of the
Realm where I was, that I had every reason not to return to the Earth-
plane, and in short, I was not going to return… I was staying on the
Other Side because it was so lovely, I was surrounded by Perfect Love,
and… I was staying – so there.

Of course, death is a great learning experience, and the one lesson I had
not (then) learnt was – don’t argue with the Being of Light – ever. With
the final words still echoing: “Your race has not yet run, your time has
not yet come, you must return…” and I returned to the Earth-plane – so
there.

There, of course, begins my tale. Exiting the Other Side, on my way to
becoming a near-death experiencer, I travel down the Tunnel, very
quickly this time, and suddenly, there I am, back in my physical body,
flat on my back, moving along, seeing balls of yellowish light moving
over me; behind me I hear a voice, and from in front of me a voice
replies – in Afrikaans – heavens! (pardon the pun) I must be back
in apartheidSouth Africa. But what is this hazy white thing over my
face… and why am I moving while lying on my back? Slowly, quite
painfully, I move my right arm up, and slowly sweep the white sheet off
my face.

Sitting up, slowly, painfully, I see I am in a long passageway, green
along the sides, sloping down towards double doors in the distance. I am
weak, can barely hold myself up, and am extremely tired. Half
whispering, half gasping, I croak: “Where is the Light, where are my
friends?”

The Afrikaner hospital porter at the foot of the trolley (gurney) that I am
on, whirls around, believe it or not, with a cigarette butt drooping from
the corner of his mouth, his mouth drops further, then with a plaintiff

screech: “Oooh my God!” he whirls, swirls… whatever, and disappears
down the passageway.

My next conscious recollection is of the swing doors at the bottom of the
passageway swinging wildly, doing their very best to remain attached to
their hinges. The porter who was leading the trolley … is no where to be
seen – but the doors manic gyration say it all. I do believe the poor
fellow is still running. Thank goodness the porter behind me held on to
the trolley.

What the brave and remaining porter had going for him, was his job. Or
so I understood him to say, in his cursing of me. “Sister is never going to
believe me... I must call the ward immediately….”
“Yes, yes…, Ward Nursing Sister please. Tell her… tell her… tell Sister
I was on the way to the morgue, with a body from J7, when… when….
Look, nurse, just ask Sister to come down here soon. I’m in the passage
on the way to the morgue. Tell her to hurry. YES, it is an emergency.
Life…? Death? No! I mean… yes… I mean… agh man! Hurry!”

Of course, there I was, half sitting, half lying on the trolley. Weak,
exhausted, my limbs aching from what can only be presumed to have
been the onset of rigomortis. I am back, where I do not want to be,
where I still do not want to be, and I realize I will have some explaining
to do. How much explaining I do not quite realize – for a very simple
reason – I have absolutely no idea of what has transpired, so how can I
explain it – except that I want to go back – and that does not look like it
is going to happen any time soon; at least, not with dear friend porter

cursing me, as an Engelsman (an English speaker) and under his breath,
the Ward Sister, who still has not arrived.



“No… I am not moving until Sister comes. Why not? Because I do not
know what to do with the body…. The morgue? No… that is not now an
option. Just get Sister here – please!”

“Ooh, I say…! Oooh… I say! Porter, do you have the paper work for the
morgue, the Final Discharge paperwork?”

“Yes, Sister… right here, Sister…. Sister, I need a drink. I am going off
duty.”

“Absolutely not, porter, not before you and I have tried to explain this to
Admissions. The patient received Final Discharge. No vital
signs. Signed by the attending neurologist. Which means… which means
he was….”

“But Sister… he is not… … not any long...”

“Sister… Sister Campbell…” I croak “…I am very tired, I am hungry
and thirsty… Sister, where have I been? Where is the lovely Light?
When can I go back?”

“The patient speaks very weakly….”

“Yes, porter, I am aware of it… and my patient comes first. Very well,
just as a temporary measure, to F9 ward for observation… just in case…
then, if there are beds available, back to J7.”

“No, Sister, it is Kitchen regulations… the patient has been discharged –
permanently. Kitchen services are not available to persons having been
discharged permanently. Dead people do not need nourishment. They
feed worms, not the other way around.”

“This is Sister in J7… let me speak to your supervisor…; This is Sister
in J7…; This is Sister Campbell in J7… let me speak to, aah, at
last….”

“Sister… get the ward’s Senior Medical Officer to approach the Medical
Super’s office… get the paperwork approved, and we will consider
meals for the patient….”

“The Medical Super’s office…?”

“Sister, I’m thirsty… Sister, when can I return to The Light?”

“We are having some trouble with the kitchen, young man, but I asked
them for an extra helping for myself. I don’t like jelly pudding, but there
is some good custard with it as well…. Here we go, nibble away. Here,
let me feed you. You’re too weak to hold the spoon. By the way, young

man, you do not know this, but you are the talk of the entire hospital,
you are. This type of thing does not happen every day, you know.”


“Yes, Sister. Sister…? Sister, when can I go back to The Light?”

“Sister!”



“Yes, nurse?”



“It’s someone from the Medical Super’s office. She says the Assistant
Medical Superintendent is on his way here… to check on the validity
of… the patient.”



“At last. Thank you, nurse.”

“You heard that, young man? I never thought I’d see this happen, but
you said that the food was improving. Well, the professor of psychiatry,
her office is next to mine, she has been going home at lunch time, to
bring food she made the night before especially for you.
You’re that special. All because Kitchen Department says they can not
feed you. Because… because… ooh, never mind. Here… eat. Now…
it’s time for you to get better, and maybe they will believe you and me,
and kitchen will start sending you meals – because you are alive!”

“Yes, Sister. Sister… if I eat all my meals, can I go back to The Light?”
+++++++

And so…? Things are as they are, they will end as they must.

What did I learn (if anything)?:
• Be aware of the consequences of your actions
• “Ask… and it shall be manifested unto you.”
• “Do you now perceive how meaningless is the pursuit of the

material?”
• Don’t even try to argue with the Being of Light – you won’t win.

So there!