Chapter 1: A Life-Changing Moment

The possibility of having experienced a near-death incident has lingered in my mind, especially since it occurred during the birth of my son, Alex.

Only a select few family members and close friends have been privy to this story until now, and even they seemed puzzled when I shared it with them. I can understand their confusion. Despite having gone through it myself, I often dismissed it as merely a vivid dream. However, after recently reading a scientific article focused on what is typically referred to as a “near-death experience,” I found myself engrossed, hoping to clarify my uncertainties. After all, who hasn’t pondered the mysteries of life after death? As a child, I frequently asked my grandfather to return and share his experiences in the afterlife after he passed away. Now, two decades later, I still await his visit.

Before diving into the science, let me narrate my experience.

It was a stormy night on December 1, 1998. I awoke at 3:00 a.m., just like most expectant mothers, feeling the urgent need to visit the restroom once more. However, something unusual occurred as I made my way from the bedroom to what had become my trusty companion for the last nine months: the toilet. Panic set in. “Did I just wet the floor?” I wondered, embarrassed. I was living with my in-laws at the time, and my husband was away for work, so the circumstances were far from ideal.

In that moment, I found myself standing in the hallway, only to hear my mother-in-law scream, “Oh my God, her waters broke!” She flicked on all the lights and began banging on the ceiling to rouse my husband’s cousin, who had agreed to take me to the hospital if necessary.

While I sat on the toilet, my mother-in-law kept interrupting, asking if I was okay, if I was in pain, and if I might need to lie down. It was quite the spectacle, as the bathroom door was wide open and soon the entire family gathered around. Ah, the joys of an Italian family! I hastily stuffed towels into my underwear, and off we went to the hospital.

To my surprise, there were no contractions. After enduring a 12-hour wait and an unsuccessful labor induction attempt, my gynecologist finally spoke to us. At 3:34 p.m., Alessandro arrived into the world via cesarean section.

As I emerged from the operating room, exhaustion washed over me, but joy filled my heart. My husband stood in the hallway, cradling our newborn son. After a while, I encouraged him to go home for a rest, assuring him I could manage until he returned. I was left alone in my room, with little Alex peacefully sleeping in a crib beside me. The atmosphere was serene, and I soon dozed off.

Suddenly, I was jolted awake by the sound of Alex crying. My instinct was to get out of bed and comfort him, but an invisible force held me back. I couldn’t call for help either, which filled me with despair. Why wasn’t anyone coming to check on us? I could see Alex’s face clearly, but I felt as though I was suffocating, like a panic attack was overtaking me: “Come on, Christina, wake up! You must wake up!”

At that moment, I felt myself being lifted through the air. I found myself observing the scene from above, positioned near the ceiling. I witnessed a nurse rushing in, calling for assistance, and others quickly followed. They pulled back the blankets and I saw blood—my own—spreading from the back of my head to my feet.

I could see everything through the eyes of a nurse as she looked under the bed, discovering a pool of blood. I watched two individuals enter the room carrying bags of blood, wires surrounding me, and I heard medical commands being given. In the midst of this chaos, I searched for Alex, only to see the empty cradle.

Desperation flooded my thoughts, “I need to return. I must go back. My baby needs me.” Even as I recount this, the emotion is overwhelming. The sheer terror stemmed not from the idea of dying, but from the fear of leaving my loved ones behind.

But then I returned, “Come on Christina, open your eyes. Your baby is here. He’s hungry, he needs