I had a telephone at the head of my bed, and called my doctor's answering service. This was in the days when doctors still took turns in off hours, and as it happened, (my first piece of luck) my doctor was the one on call. She told me to go to the emergency room, but I didn't really want to do that. Instead of putting me off - she knew me, and if I was calling her at that time of the day for help, it was very serious, and she wasn't going to mess about - she told me to go to her office immediately, and she would meet me there.
When I arrived, she ushered me in, poked and prodded, and realized it was a critical situation she had on her hands. She thought most likely ruptured appendix, it was on the right side and in that area, so she sent me over to the hospital. She wouldn't allow me to drive myself, so while we waited for my husband to come and pick me up, she started with blood work and other tests, trying to get them done as quickly as possible for the hospital to be ahead of the game. (My second piece of luck, because, as it happened, time was of the essence.)
When I got to the hospital, they didn't even take the time to make me go through admitting. They rushed me in to do an ultrasound, and decided that my appendix had definitely ruptured, so infection was imminent and the need to operate was pressing. They kept telling me that it shouldn't be that painful, because the rupture had occurred, which should relieve the pressure, but I kept telling them it was getting worse. Note to medical people everywhere - if the patient is telling you it's getting worse, don't try to tell them how they feel. Just believe them. You have no idea the frustration of not being heard in that moment.
They took my temperature repeatedly, looking at that number as a quick measurement of my level of infection, and it never budged. Totally normal for me, about 96 degrees. They thought that was a good sign, and assured me that I would soon be in surgery, but all would be well. While they got everything prepped, I had time to see my children, who had been rushed to the hospital from school, and even talk to the surgeon (who seriously looked to be about 15, but was actually in his 30's.) As I waited, it seemed like forever, but afterward, I realized I was in surgery within less than an hour of arriving at the hospital.
When I finally came to my senses a day or so later, it was immediately clear to me, fuzzy and high on pain killers though I was, that things had not gone according to plan. They had told me the pain would be relieved by the surgery (it wasn't.) They had warned me as soon as I was conscious, they would try to get me up (on the contrary, they wouldn't allow me to even sit up, much less get out of bed.) I was confused by the air tube down my throat, by the monitors and IV's and equipment surrounding me, the drains coming out of the still open wounds in my abdomen, and by the serious look of concern on the face of everyone who entered my room.
Eventually I was made to understand that it was not my appendix at all, it was something far more serious, and I was in tough condition. They were monitoring infection level constantly in the aftermath, and I was not yet out of the woods. (Interestingly, my temperature never went up, despite raging peritonitis. I like to be... unique.) It is a sobering thing to awaken to the news that, despite all the best efforts of a major hospital, you might not see your children make it to their next birthdays.
It was a tense couple of days before they were confident that I would survive, although it was days before I could even sit on the side of the bed (a painful exercise, let me tell you,) a week before they would allow me to even take a sip of anything, and another week after that before they allowed me to go home under the constant care of my mother, still not able to keep food down, but absolutely fed up with being in the hospital. It was months before I was back to myself again. I wouldn't wish that experience on anyone.
So ultimately, I did cheat the Grim Reaper, and I have now borrowed 18 years I might never have had. Each year, as this date comes around, I can't help but think of what I would have missed out on if I hadn't had everything go right that day. (The surgeon told me later it was the worst day of his professional career. Trust me. Those are not comforting words!) And I also can't help but think of my dad, who died too young, and was buried on January 30 the year I was 12. It is impossible not to compare and be grateful for everything I have had that he missed.
In these 18 years, I have seen my children grow up. I have been present for confirmations, graduations, weddings and grandchildren. I have had pets, I have bought and sold houses, I have moved halfway across the country, back to my hometown. I have been through life's ups and downs, and experienced all the highs and lows that go with it. I have been divorced and married again, and experienced joy I hadn't felt previously. I have started a business that is interesting and fun, allowing me to fulfill my creative yearnings.
I once saw a movie about how life turns on a moment in time. (The name is Sliding Doors, and its an interesting movie.) The plot of the movie is basically if you weren't in a specific place at exactly that time, everything could turn out differently. That is certainly true for me. It was a very close call. The medical condition should have taken my life, but instead, I was lucky. Everything went right, the doctor knew it was serious and made the time saving decision to see me instead of putting me off until later in the day, the surgeon did his best work, and my body fought its way back with valiant effort, (in no small part spurred on by knowing my children needed me too much to leave them - I had lived that, and I didn't want my kids to know that heartache.)
Experiences like that give you perspective. It is good to occasionally reflect on your life, to understand the gift of being here for your family and friends, to know that your presence in the universe makes a difference to a lot of people. No one can ever replace you. Each person is unique and brings something to the table that no one else ever has or ever will. My legacy is not a name on a stone or found in money or belongings, but in the love I will ultimately leave behind, passed to the next generation and the one after that. Ultimately, I think my worth will be defined by how I lived for others, not in how I lived for myself.
In these time of uncertainty, it is easy to get caught up in the moment, to get disheartened by the pettiness of the world at large. January is always cold and depressing, too, and emerging into the shortened month of February is always a relief. Spring can't be too far away when the days are getting longer and the sun starts to shine more often.
But for me, February 1 is a day of rebirth, a day of reflection and insisting on seeing the joy in being alive, whatever the world looks like around me.
Seek the good. Look for the joy. Hold onto the love. Be grateful and thankful that you have another opportunity to be you today. As it says in Psalm 118:24,
THIS is the day that the Lord has made; let us REJOICE and be GLAD in it! (NRSV)Rejoicing on this day!
