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And So It Goes ... MAG
The only consistent thing in my life is inconsistency. Ascending through my adolescent years, I often wondered if anything was ever going to stay the same. I went through relationships, hobbies, and interests as if I were the moon, entering a new phase each month.
I seldom had time to just stop and think about what I could and should do to improve my general well-being. I wished I could have a break - a time out from the game of life. I got it. My appendix blew up.
Of course, I didn't know it was my appendix. One morning I just couldn't get up. I rolled around on the floor cursing the intense pain the morning had brought me. Admittedly, I'm like this almost every morning before school - only this time, I knew something was very wrong.
I arrived at the hospital and was carted directly into the emergency room, singing "Nobody Knows the Troubles I've Seen" under my breath. I was supine on an examining table when I noticed a large clock on the wall. At first, I thought Ha! I'd be in math right now! Then I realized math would be a whole lot better than this.
While I was waiting for Mount St. Helens to start spewing lava, a doctor walked in. Not sensing my urgency to rid myself of this terrible pain, the doctor took his time in conducting a number of examinations.
The details of the day are somewhat foggy. What I remember is the pain. Now, this was no watered-down, generic brand of pain. This was high-concentrate, no artificial colors, pain-until-your-uvula-hurts kind of pain.
After more questioning and examinations, the doctors finally determined that I was sick, which, ironically, was the one thing I knew! Fortunately, I figured, things could not get worse.
But things got worse. How is that possible? Well, suffice it to say, the pain got worse, ranging anywhere from very intense to almost unbearable. Nevertheless, while all around me medications were being mixed and needles were being sterilized, I did get some quality alone time.
The questions inside my head were of a decidedly lighter character. How was I able to keep this positive outlook? I attribute it to the expensive medication which was being pumped into me at alarming rates.
Finally, I was ready for my first surgery. When it happened, I considered it the surgery. Only upon reflection do I appropriately title it the "first surgery, " since two more would follow.
Was I scared? In all fairness, I was usually too angry to be scared, and too worried to be angry. I knew everything was going to be all right. I figured I would get out of snow shoveling, not to mention an entire month of school. Besides, Christmas was coming, and I resolved to think only happy thoughts. Unfortun-ately, that was very difficult.
I was getting increasingly upset with my appendix. While being wheeled to the operating room, I couldn't help but think that for my whole life I had given my appendix nothing but love, respect, and a warm shelter. To think that it was now causing me all this hardship! As I looked around the operating room, I debated the somewhat philosophical question of whether my body rejected the appendix or the appendix rejected my body. To maintain my frame of mind, I was forced to believe the former. A doctor slipped a plastic mask over my mouth and a cool breeze began creeping down my throat. To think, an otherwise worthless organ affirming its superiority over Jeff Albanese! No way, I thought, as my eyes began to close. I don't want to have an operation. What right do they have to go leaping into my abdomen? I'm just going to stay awake - just stay awa ......