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Thread: SCI premonition?

  1. #1
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    SCI premonition?

    Did you or anyone in your family have a premonition about the sci that has affected your family?

    Scott's mother did just a few days before his. She was afraid he was going to be hurt in a football game he was playing in. After the game that Friday, she was relieved and figured it had been her imagination. The following Wednesday afternoon, she got a phone call ...

  2. #2
    Senior Member jack9166's Avatar
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    About a week or two before my sci I was putting a satellite dish at a bar and I seen and talked to a guy playing pool that was in a wheelchair. I remember leaving there having the strangest feeling and I could not get it out of my mind. I just had a feeling that something like that was going to happen to me or somebody I knew

  3. #3
    I used to dream, as a young tyke, that I died in a car wreck. Guess it was kinda realistic.

    -Steven

  4. #4
    Senior Member PB72181's Avatar
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    I get weird feelings like that all the time...maybe that's my sharpened sense...my 6th one. Haha.

    Anyway. I didn't have an exact "premonition" about SCI (though I sometimes do about other things), but I had a weird feeling I couldn't explain or shake all day. Like I knew something was up...but couldn't put my finger on it. The nagging voice in the back of my head kept telling me to just stay home, instead of continuing putting off other things I knew I needed to do. But I didn't. Oh well.

    I've since started listening to those feelings...or at least trying to. But it still really bothers me when I get an uneasy feeling that I just can't shake or figure out.

    Don't piss me off or I'll run over your toes.

  5. #5
    Karen didn't tell me about this until quite a while after her accident. She said that she always knew that something "really bad" was going to happen to her and she wondered if she would be able to handle it.

    Well, it did and she has.

    I think of it that she was in a 'high risk sport/career'. The only thing is - it happened in an ordinary training session and not galloping over monstrous cross-country jumps at a high speed in a top level competition. Go figure!

    Darlene

  6. #6
    The answer is yes. I took a look at what I put into words/sentences in July of 2000 and it is five pages long. Let me know if you want the long story or the short one.

    PN

    [This message was edited by PN on 02-05-04 at 07:17 PM.]

  7. #7
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    PN, I'm not busy ... I'll read the long version .

  8. #8
    Hi Martha,

    Check your Private Topics.

    PN

  9. #9
    In the mid-1980s I had a strange event that would happen just before I would set out on a five to eight mile run. I would be in my running shorts and it usually was in the mid to late afternoon. I was standing in front of my parents' home, and I was always looking west. All of a sudden I would have this intense pain in the left side of my neck that would just about knock me off my feet. I have experienced a lot of physical pain in my life, but this was the most excruciating trauma that ever occurred. I would turn my head and look to the left expecting to see someone with some sort of weapon who had inflicted this damage to me. There was never any noise and there was never any person. I couldn't believe that no-one was there. It was like someone had a high-powered sling shot with a steel ball-bearing hitting me in the neck. I remember that my neck in that area would go into a temporary spasm. It usually took me about five seconds to recover and then I would be off on my run.

    Between l984 and l987 I spent the little free time that I had with my friend Jeff. We would sometimes go out on an eight to ten mile run; most of the time while running, we would have many discussions, e.g. life and death, love and marriage, family and religion, graduate school and work, interpersonal relationships, nuclear annihilation, politics, and even a detailed talk about life in a wheelchair, while moving through space at a sub-seven minute mile clip. After our run, we would sometimes head off to the gym for a one hour work-out with weights. In 1985 to 1987, I worked part-time at a psychiatric hospital while attending graduate school at USC full-time. In those two years, Jeff moved up to Northern California and started an MBA program at Stanford.

    July l8, l987, started off as any typical or ordinary day in my life. I was looking forward to visiting my good friend Jeff, and participating in a bar-b-que at his house. I don't recall everything that occurred before I left to visit Jeff and his wife in Newport Beach on the day I went to see them. When I started driving on the freeway, I was feeling normal, content, strong, in control, and I was glad that graduate school was over. I think my sister was out of town and she had asked me if I could water her plants on my way down to see Jeff.

    If I did water her plants, nothing unusual at that point in time had occurred. I had started my journey on the ll0 (Harbor Freeway) heading North and then I got off on the 405 (San Diego Freeway) heading South. I remember that I was in the left lane (which is the fast lane) and I started to feel out of sorts. While I was driving, I felt like I was out of my body and not in control of the car. I had this foreboding feeling or presence that was telling me that I was going to be shot. I am not a very religious person, or spiritual, and I never felt anything that was a powerful as this. Probably any sane person would have pulled over and have gotten off the freeway. The only reason, I think, that I kept driving was because of my life experiences. Every marathon I have ever run, I have finished. I also completed graduate school at USC. I had programmed myself to finish any event or goal no matter how big or how small. It was just not in me to quit or pull over and stop.

    Eventually, this ordeal that seemed to last for at least fifteen minutes began to diminish. I had to exit the 405 freeway and connect with another freeway heading South. I was not familiar with this freeway and this was the first time I had traveled to Jeff's new home. I remember looking at the directions and recalling that the traffic was heavy and bumper-to-bumper. I couldn't believe the amount of traffic as I tried to merge from one freeway to another. I was moving very slowly, perhaps two to three miles per hour. (about five to six months later I met with the assistant D.A. and he asked me in my hospital room how fast did I think I was traveling? I told him that I thought my speed was about forty-five miles per hour. He looked at me and didn't say anything. I then asked him how fast was I driving? He answered "Two to three miles an hour.") I remember looking at my directions and thinking that perhaps I was near the end of the freeway and I would be making a right hand turn shortly. About two seconds had gone by and I decided that I would pull off to the shoulder of the freeway and put the car in "park." Before I was able to carry out this plan, I had been shot. All I remember is slowly losing control of the car while mentally I am thinking "Don't lose control; don't black out." I remember hitting at least one car with a girl passenger in it. She was probably about eleven years old, and she looked scared and, if I could read her lips, she probably was saying, "What are you doing?" and she also probably thought that I was "out of my mind," which to a certain degree, was correct. The next thing I recall is looking down at my body which had fallen over to the passenger seat. I was motionless. Shortly after a civilian came over to my car and asked me if I was all right. While I was watching him, he started to put me back up in my seat. I was trying to tell him, while I was watching all of this, not to move me. He did anyway. When I was shot, I never heard the sound of a gun, and I never saw the gun man or the vehicle he was driving.


    The Wheels of Justice

    Several months earlier, on August 20, 1987, while Paul was still in the Fountain Valley hospital, Marine Cpl., Rick Armstrong, clean cut and convincing, was the star witness at the trial’s preliminary hearing, repeating his eyewitness account of the tragedy. When asked by Judge Selim S. Franklin to identify the shooter, he pointed directly at Morgan who quickly hid his face behind a magazine to avoid being photographed. It is a measure of his shame that he continued his aversion to cameras throughout the trial. Armstrong testified that when he reached Nussbaum’s car, police officers arrived almost immediately, and Armstrong told them of the shooting. Minutes later when police were arresting Morgan and his wife at the fairgrounds, they found the empty gun jammed into the crease of the truck’s seat and six unspent .22 caliber rounds in Albert Carroll Morgan’s pocket.

    After hearing Armstrong’s firm, focused testimony, the judge ordered Morgan to stand trial on charges of attempted murder,assault with a deadly weapon, and firing at an inhabited vehicle. Judge Franklin evidenced a clear grasp of Morgan’s calamitous behavior:

    Morgan’s gun must be cocked before it can be fired. A jury may interpret that to mean that Morgan exhibited premeditation and deliberation, rather than acting in the heat of emotion. It seems to me impossible for him not to have seen the victim when he pulled the trigger. Morgan was looking at the victim when he pulled the trigger. I think that will be enough for the jury to find that he acted with premeditation and deliberation.

    The actual trial took place in nearby Santa Ana. It began onthe last day of January, 1988, a little over six months after the shooting and five months after the preliminary hearing in a different courthouse with a different judge.

    The prosecuting attorney argued to the jury that Morgan was guilty of attempted murder. Reinforcing the preliminary hearing judge’s convincing comments, the prosecutor pointed out that Morgan’s wife had tried to stay his hand with her emotional outburst over the gun, but he shot Paul Nussbaum anyway. Morgan’s defense attorney, did not dispute that Morgan fired the shot.

    He carefully built his case that attempted murder was the wrong charge for the circumstances. He characterized Morgan’s actions as, “Thoughtless and stupid… he did an idiotic thing, tragic really… but it was not attempted murder. No amount of emotion can change the facts of this case.”10 The attorney claimed his client meant only to fire a warning shot at Nussbaum to scare him. He argued that the pistol was a “small, inaccurate weapon, fired in the heat of anger, not with the intention to kill.”

    Incredibly, the jury bought the defense’s story. After a day and a half’s deliberation they returned the verdict that Morgan was innocent of attempted murder, which could carry a sentence of up to life in prison. Instead, in a grotesque twist of logic, they found him guilty of attempted voluntary manslaughter, with a maximum sentence of ten years.

    Paul, his family and many observers in both the public and the press, felt the sentence was totally inadequate. At the time of the sentence, Paul predicted the 10 year sentence for attempted voluntary manslaughter could, with time off for good behavior, be reduced to five years.

    Paul seethed with anger at the unjust verdict. Prior to Morgan’s sentencing, Paul’s mother, Gloria, wrote a passionate plea for justice to the judge. Here, in part, is her compelling argument:

    Paul had worked hard and long to train his body for strength and endurance; he trained his mind for a professional career in the social services to help others. Now he often says that he wishes the bullet that has made him totally dependent on others had killed him… It should be a moral and legal imperative that Albert Morgan contribute every day of his life to the expenses that he alone, consciously and willfully caused⎯with no excuse for alcohol because imbibing is a volitional act and responsibilities exist here too.

    If Morgan’s spinal cord could be transplanted in Paul so he could use his legs, arms and hands, and elimination, to care for his own body, that would be close to justice.

    If Paul’s past pain, excruciating present and probable future pain and the painful post traumatic memories could be erased from his mind and given to Morgan, that would approach justice. In the absence of this reality, what else would be fair and just but to require penance be shown through a life‐long court ordered restitution to be paid directly to Paul Nussbaum. I pray that the court will impose upon Albert Morgan the maximum sentence allowed by law for the crime of which he has been convicted.
    Respectfully,
    Gloria Nussbaum
    In spite of her impeccable logic, Gloria’s plea for justice fell on deaf ears. Our criminal justice system failed the Nussbaum family. What defies understanding is that Paul’s prediction of a five year sentence came true.

    Albert Carroll Morgan spent only five of his tenyear sentence in jail, the other five excused for good behavior. At age thirty‐eight he walked out of prison a free man. Paul will live with the results of Morgan’s unthinkable act for the rest of his life. That is a far cry from justice. In my opinion, the judge, the jury and the parole board should hang their heads in shame.

    Last edited by PN; 04-15-2010 at 09:10 PM.

  10. #10
    Wow PN, that is so eerie. Had you ever experienced this feeling (of knowing what was going to happen) before? How could that happen? How could you have known? I wonder if you had pulled over, or changed your route, if you would have been shot anyway.?? That is very scary. Did you talk to anyone about it, like Doctors, or psychics (spelling?) or anyone? What did they say, or did they just not think it was important?

    All these questions I have, but I'm sure you are full of questions yourself. Very scary stuff!

    Darlene

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