Died Twice Came Back to Life

Jasy Albanese

Monday, October 21, started like any other day at my care job, but it would turn out to be anything but ordinary. For a week, I had been battling breathlessness and a heavy weight on my chest. Ignoring the discomfort, I pushed on—until it became clear that something serious was happening.

In my distress, I prayed a strange prayer for someone only 48 years old: “Lord, I don’t know how long I have left to live, but I pray that You be glorified through me.”

That evening, my chest pains worsened, accompanied by profuse sweating and severe difficulty breathing. After work I took the bus home to Folkestone, Kent, but I knew I needed help. I struggled to walk the rest of the way to the Royal Victoria Hospital walk-in centre, stopping repeatedly to clutch my chest. Deep down, I knew I was dying.

At the walk-in centre, they quickly realised the severity of my condition and rushed me to the William Harvey Hospital in Ashford with a suspected heart attack. Surrounded by medics, I couldn’t grasp the urgency of their actions until a doctor calmly explained: “You’re having a heart attack.”

I was shocked. Later I called my aunt, exclaiming, “I’m not ready to die. I haven’t done what God has told me to do!”

By 3:30am, I underwent an emergency procedure to have a stent fitted. One of the main arteries to my heart had been completely blocked by a blood clot. As the stent was placed, I felt a sudden relief. Three days later I was discharged, feeling grateful but still weak.

Too unwell to stay alone, I went to a friend’s house to recover. But my ordeal was far from over.

On October 25, just after midnight, something felt terribly wrong again. I couldn’t breathe. Panicked, I called 111. Despite my urgency, it took persistence before an ambulance was dispatched to take me back to the William Harvey Hospital.

That night, I was placed in Accident & Emergency for monitoring. By 9pm the following evening, my breathing deteriorated further. I pressed the call button for the nurse, gasping for air. The nurse assured me my oxygen levels were normal and initially refused to give me oxygen. I insisted until she relented and brought me some air.

Then, at 9:45pm, the unthinkable happened.

I stood by my hospital bed, about to climb in, when I suddenly felt as though my head was tumbling forward, over and over, then spiralling downward. My body remained still, but I felt myself slipping away. Was my spirit leaving my body? I didn’t know. Then, everything faded to black.

My heart had stopped. I wasn’t breathing. My face went deathly blue. Clinically, I was dead.

When my heart arrested, I bit my tongue so severely that it began to swell rapidly. The swelling soon obstructed my airway, leaving me unable to breathe or speak.

Doctors rushed to my bedside, using defibrillator paddles to shock my heart back to life. After an audible zap, my body jolted, and suddenly, the darkness gave way to light. I opened my eyes to see chaos around me—doctors and nurses frantically working to save my life.

Though alive, I felt strangely disconnected from reality. I called out to an old colleague, “Becky, is that you?”—but she wasn’t there. My mind was caught in a surreal haze. A doctor leaned in to tell me, “You’ve just been resuscitated.”

Still struggling to breathe, I felt a mix of exhaustion and elation. “Well,” I said to the doctor, “you must believe in God now!” To my surprise, a few nodded in agreement.

Death Comes Again

As I lay recovering, my friend Jack arrived to be by my side. Then, at 11:35pm, it happened again. Just like before, my head seemed to tumble forward, spiralling into an endless void. Again, everything dimmed to black.

This time, Jack witnessed it all. He later told me he held my hand and prayed desperately as doctors worked to revive me. The scene was eerily familiar to Jack, who had seen something similar happen to his father before he passed away.

Once more, the resuscitation paddles slammed against my chest. My body convulsed with the first shock but remained lifeless. They told Jack, if a second attempt failed, they would not try a third time. But against all the odds, a second jolt brought me back. When I regained consciousness, I saw the sadness etched on a doctor’s face.

She had clearly seen some tragic outcomes and was unsure where this would end.

It was now a race against time to stabilise me. Doctors inserted a catheter into my neck to deliver life-saving medication directly to my heart. Jack called my aunt Orsola, who had been keeping vigil over the phone with my uncle Jason. Jack passed the phone to my ear. She urged me to hold on:

“I’m coming to see you—wait for me!”

A Miraculous Recovery

By 3:30am, my heart had stabilised, and I fell into a deep sleep. Hours later I awoke, relieved and grateful my life had been spared. It was then I received my first visitor—JT, a church minister and friend, who anointed my head with oil for healing—a Biblical custom. Soon after, my aunt arrived from her six-hour journey, wondering if this might be a goodbye. Walking into the cardiac intensive care unit, she was stunned. Just hours earlier, I had been at death’s door. Now, I was sitting up in bed, smiling, with colour returned to my face.

Orsola later told me how she and Jason had cried out to God through the night, praying for my survival. Many others had joined in prayer for me. The doctors had warned that only 4-6% of patients survive such an ordeal, and many suffer brain damage due to oxygen deprivation. But by God’s grace, I was alive and fully conscious.

My recovery seemed long. I couldn’t walk. Exhausted at the slightest exertion I slept in successive intervals, but the nurses reminded my aunty how blessed I was:

“He’s lucky he can talk so soon—many can’t speak for months.”

I knew it was a miracle. God had spared me.

A Second Chance at Life

I died twice and was brought back to life twice. It’s an experience I can never forget. God gave me a second chance, and I am now determined to live for Him all my days.

Reflecting on this, I ask myself: If I had died that night, where would I have gone? I can’t say for certain, but I know my life wasn’t right with God. Although I had been a professing Christian for 35 years, I was living in sin. The thought of being lost in darkness forever without God haunts me.

By His mercy, God brought me back so I could get right with Him. Not everyone has this chance. I had a friend who died of cardiac arrest alone in his flat. Others die suddenly in accidents without a moment to repent.

My aunt asked me, “Where do you think you would have gone if you’d remained dead?”

I answered honestly: “I would have gone to hell.”

That truth shook me to my core. But it also drove me to surrender my life to God fully.

A Message for You

Friend, don’t wait for a near-death experience to make things right with God. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

If my story has challenged you, take a moment now to speak to God. Ask God to forgive your sins and help you follow Jesus Christ. Once you’ve made this decision, get a Bible and begin by reading the gospel of John, tell family and friends what you have done, and find a community of Christian believers who will support you in your faith.

God gave me a second chance—and He offers the same grace to you. Will you take it?