Be Thankful for Today

Once upon a regular kind of day, I went to see my doctor. I’d had what I thought was really bad indigestion-for about a week. Despite my best efforts and the efforts of an array of antacid manufacturers, I could find no relief. As with most of my past visits to my doctor, he was perplexed. I am one of those people who has pain in places that have nothing to do with what is really wrong, if I have any warning pain at all. I’d been in to see him one year earlier, almost to the day, with a similar issue that was resolved with surgery, so we had eliminated one possibility. He poked and pressured, took an x-ray, but remained mystified. In search of a definitive answer, he sent me off to the hospital for a CAT scan.

At the hospital, I drank the gunk, went through the machine and then started to leave, expecting they would call the doctor with my results. The technician grabbed my arm and said have a seat-he was going to call my doctor. Realize at this point, I am still being my usual gregarious self. I joked with him about the fact that it must be something serious. His halfhearted smile indicated that might not be something to joke about and he left the room. When he brought me the phone, my doctor, knowing me as he does, made the following statement: “Well, since you are still walking, talking and it seems joking with people, just walk yourself down to the emergency room and check yourself in, you have a ruptured appendix.” What could I say but, OK?
I went to the emergency desk and told them I needed to check in, that I had a ruptured appendix. The woman behind the desk responded with a smirk and a “yeah, right.” I gave her my name and her face went white when she brought it up on the computer. From that point on it was a whirlwind affair. They were getting me out of my clothes, putting tubes in my arms-I had to say whoa and ask if I could call my family, since I had driven myself to the hospital.

When the surgeon arrived in the room, he looked at me quizzically. The only comment I remember him making was something like, “I wish all my patients were in this good a mood before surgery.” What was there to be upset about? Either I was going to live or I was going to die and having a bad attitude or getting upset wasn’t going to make things any better-besides, I’d been at this same “door” just one year earlier.

My test was at two. I was in surgery by four and in recovery by six. Whoosh! It was over. Needless to say I survived-after a long course of antibiotics. I think one of the nurses put it best when she said, “You must have had an angel on each shoulder and a spirit holding your hand. We never thought you’d survive.”

Whatever forces were at work, this was my third brush with death and I’ve had two since. Not a month ago, I was coming through an intersection and tapped my breaks because I thought the guy across the street was going to turn in front of me. I passed through the intersection and headed up the street. A lumber truck stopped at a cross street stop sign just ahead of me and his load of two by fours, that someone forgot to tie down, came shooting across the road in front of my car like a hail of spears. If I hadn’t tapped my breaks and held back for those few seconds-shish kabob!

Miracles of survival such as these are wondrous things. They are like wake up calls. Staring death in the face has a way of making you see things differently. Facing it as many times as I have convinces you to see things differently. Things I once considered important and high on my list of to dos have all but vanished from my life. Things I never had time for have taken priority. I no longer rush past those roses at my front gate. The moral of my story? Don’t wait until you are knocking on deaths door to realize what is really important in life. Hug your child, take that painting class, reclaim your life and appreciate yourself for who you are today, not who you want to be tomorrow. For, as they say, tomorrow is promised to no one.