A column by John Estridge
Recently, I went through a life-changing event.
Maybe, I should not put that in past tense, because it seems to be an ongoing event.
God apparently put my appendix in a unique place. After I posted on my blog about this situation, the first day upon returning from the hospital, several first cousins contacted me, telling me they also had appendixes in the wrong place so this may be a genetic thing along with my enjoyment of bourbon, although I like the latter far more than the former.
My surgeon, one of the most unique persons I have ever met in my life, told me it is unknown how long I walked around with a burst appendix because I did not have the symptoms of an acute appendicitis attack. However, when my body let me know about the situation, it was tantamount to having a bomb blow up inside and that initial bomb just set off more internal incendiaries.
Later, from a hospital bed, I told the nurses on a scale of 1-10 for pain, I had a 15, and I was not kidding. It made my chronic migraines seem like child’s play.
The pain hit in its ferociousness on Friday morning, December 11. The previous night my stomach was upset with mild cramping, and I believed – at the most – I had a mild stomach bug. Relying on past experiences I expected it to end by Friday night.
Not able to sleep well Thursday night due to the mild discomfort, I went downstairs to my easy chair and fell asleep there. My Long Suffering Wife Ruth, seeing me asleep, went to see her sister in a prearranged scenario. My sister-in-law was at her daughter’s house in southern Union County.
Sometime after Ruth left, I woke up into hell.
Again, never in my life previously and I pray to God never in my life from now on have I experienced or wish to experience pain of that magnitude. Unfortunately, having an imagination and some writing ability, I tried to personify the pain Friday night when I was waiting for pain meds while in my hospital room.
There is a Twilight Zone episode starring William Shatner of Captain Kirk fame. He is on a plane with a window seat and views a beast with long claws out on the wing of the airplane tearing the metal apart. That beast had miniaturized itself with a bunch of friends and ended up in my gut. Along with claws, they had very sharp teeth. Instead of the metal of a plane wing, they were ripping up my internal organs and resting intermittently while someone else periodically poured molten lava into my stomach and intestinal areas.
I have read passages where people say the pain was maddening. Well, it can be.
Upon awakening on my easy chair, I attempted to walk the 20-some feet to my first-floor restroom. I made one step, maybe, before falling to the floor. Then, I crawled that distance. My journey helped not at all, seemingly, I made everything worse if that is possible.
On my return trip back to my easy chair, again crawling, I paused for about the 12th time at the bottom of my stairs.
When I first looked into this house from the front-door window back in early 1990 or late 1989, the gleaming hardwood stairway caused my heart to leap, and I knew I had found my forever home. Unfortunately, my ex-wife never shared that emotion, but I feel that to this day.
Well, I rested my head on the third step up, relishing the coldness of the wood against my cheek. There, I pleaded, screamed and talked with God.
During my ensuing seven days in the hospital, I heard many people wail, especially during the long hours of the night while I awaited pain medication. I prayed for all of those people who were wailing although I never found out who they were or their outcomes. I do not think I wailed in public. I could be wrong, but I don’t think I did.
Friday morning, December 11, with my body prostrate on the steps, I unabashedly screamed, wept and wailed. Later, when I told my surgeon I felt as if I were dying. He said I had been. He said it three times. I knew while I was on those stairs I was very close to death.
While screaming and wailing, I did not ask God why. Instead, I thanked God for my blessings and told Him I had lived a very blessed life and all my blessings came from Him. I really meant every syllable. But, I told Him I would very much like to continue to live. It is like putting down a novel just as it gets to the climax and not reading the ending. There is so much left undone.
However, I told Him the obvious that the final decision was His to make.
I did ask Him to take the pain from me or at least make it bearable. At the time, I did not get an answer; however, I felt comforted even though I remained in abject pain. Through all that, I was given the strength to continue my crawling – this time unabated — back to my easy chair and my cell phone.
There, I did not dial 9-1-1. Instead, I called Ruth. Knowing the COVID-19 rules, I felt if the ambulance came before Ruth, I might never see her again. Thus, I told her she needed to come home, and we would call for an ambulance.
She did, and we did. She even got to be in the emergency room with me for a short time. When she was ushered away from me during that early afternoon, I thought I was seeing her for the last time.
For whatever reason, the surgeon did not remove my appendix and clean out the poison until Saturday afternoon. I was incoherent during much of that interim time as they poured high-powered pain medication and antibiotics into my veins, and the pain, though dulled until the pain meds inexorably wore off, never abated and seemed to grow even worse, if that were possible.
My body temperature is always nearly a couple of degrees below normal, but all that long, terrible, lonely night I alternated between being drenched in a cold sweat, and shivering uncontrollably. The wonderful nurses periodically placed cold washcloths on my face making me feel somewhat better. I think the touch of another human was more comforting than they could ever know.
Since I am writing this, I did survive although I still have Ruth confirm, at least three times a day, I am still alive.
My recovery period is very long and painful. Not as painful as a 15 on the scale, but still painful. I become and remain frustrated because I am not regaining my strength as soon as I believe I should, although as my surgeon very undiplomatically pointed out, I am no longer a spring chicken.
The surgeon described his surgery as he filleted me. And he did.
But the important fact is I am recovering.
God did answer my prayers, screams and wails. It was not immediate, but I do believe it was a miracle or many miracles lain together. And I do believe it has intrinsically changed me for however much time He allows me to walk the earth.
John! Thank God you are
still with us! What an experience. You sure know how to tell a story but this is one I wish you never had to tell! Please take care and get well my friend.