I Wish...
"God must have plans for you."
Normally that type of statement, especially from a Baptist minister, no matter how well meaning, would irk me. I'd normally find it presumptuous and a bit creepy, but the antithesis of normal is sitting in a hospital as a patient for the first time in my life a few days removed from my appendix exploding and trying to kill me.
"Can we pray?" The well-meaning Baptist minister asked.
"Sure." I said.
So he prayed for me and the doctors and nurses as we held hands. And instead of being irked I traveled through time via memory and remembered sitting in a 1976 El Camino waiting on my Dad and thinking of eternity.
Eternity scared the shit out of me. Still does truth be told.
The concept of something (even good) never-ending is troubling to aboynamedstu. Back then I thought that I had a pretty good chance of going to hell so the thought of ending up in a never ending damnation damn near gave me the cold sweats. Not that I ever expressed this fear to anyone.
Alone, sick, in my hospital bed I realized that I am still scared of eternity. Not so much the where I'm going anymore, but death in general. Which I think is about control. I'm not so worried about myself in this scenario as those that love and depend on me.
Not that anyone could depend on me after my appendix exploded and tried to kill me. I lost control on the floor of our bathroom wracked with pain as my appendix went from bad to worse even though I didn't want to admit it. I figured I was being a hypochondriac. A baby.
Later that night in the ER as they were doing the ultra sound the lab tech asked "You worked today?"
"I worked and worked out today." I said.
"I don't see how you could even walk based on how your appendix looks." He said.
"I have a high tolerance to pain." I said. "I got blown up in a steel mill and had 2nd and 3rd degree burns on my head and didn't go to the doctor for 12 hours. I just drank a few beers and went to bed. I even broke my collar-bone once and let it go for three days."
"You need to listen to your body," He said. "A ruptured appendix can kill you."
It probably was the drugs. Morphine. Or maybe it was being half-naked outside the ultra sound tube. Or the pain. Which was still present even after morphine. Whatever it was, I opened up to this stranger in the ER that night and said, "I'm always afraid I'm being a hypochondriac and that I'm listening to my crazy head instead of my body."
"Your lucky you came in when you did," He said. "A ruptured appendix can kill you."
So I've been told...
Until I BLOG again...I wish I was as fortunate, as fortunate as me.
Normally that type of statement, especially from a Baptist minister, no matter how well meaning, would irk me. I'd normally find it presumptuous and a bit creepy, but the antithesis of normal is sitting in a hospital as a patient for the first time in my life a few days removed from my appendix exploding and trying to kill me.
"Can we pray?" The well-meaning Baptist minister asked.
"Sure." I said.
So he prayed for me and the doctors and nurses as we held hands. And instead of being irked I traveled through time via memory and remembered sitting in a 1976 El Camino waiting on my Dad and thinking of eternity.
Eternity scared the shit out of me. Still does truth be told.
The concept of something (even good) never-ending is troubling to aboynamedstu. Back then I thought that I had a pretty good chance of going to hell so the thought of ending up in a never ending damnation damn near gave me the cold sweats. Not that I ever expressed this fear to anyone.
Alone, sick, in my hospital bed I realized that I am still scared of eternity. Not so much the where I'm going anymore, but death in general. Which I think is about control. I'm not so worried about myself in this scenario as those that love and depend on me.
Not that anyone could depend on me after my appendix exploded and tried to kill me. I lost control on the floor of our bathroom wracked with pain as my appendix went from bad to worse even though I didn't want to admit it. I figured I was being a hypochondriac. A baby.
Later that night in the ER as they were doing the ultra sound the lab tech asked "You worked today?"
"I worked and worked out today." I said.
"I don't see how you could even walk based on how your appendix looks." He said.
"I have a high tolerance to pain." I said. "I got blown up in a steel mill and had 2nd and 3rd degree burns on my head and didn't go to the doctor for 12 hours. I just drank a few beers and went to bed. I even broke my collar-bone once and let it go for three days."
"You need to listen to your body," He said. "A ruptured appendix can kill you."
It probably was the drugs. Morphine. Or maybe it was being half-naked outside the ultra sound tube. Or the pain. Which was still present even after morphine. Whatever it was, I opened up to this stranger in the ER that night and said, "I'm always afraid I'm being a hypochondriac and that I'm listening to my crazy head instead of my body."
"Your lucky you came in when you did," He said. "A ruptured appendix can kill you."
So I've been told...
Until I BLOG again...I wish I was as fortunate, as fortunate as me.
Glad you are ok...I find it very interesting that you mentioned never ending is a concept you find troubling. Chad and I have struggled for years with Z and his fear of "Eternal Life" with God. It can keep him up at night. He does not like it at all and he worries about it. Then he stresses even more knowing that he "shouldn't" be worrying about it or that Chad and I are not worrying about it. I lose mom points when it comes to talking with him about it and offering comfort.
ReplyDeleteForever is a really long time. I get it just don't know how to help him.
I guess next time I could let him know that a ruptured appendix can kill you. That will give him something to worry about instead.