A year ago today, I nearly died.
I don’t mean I had one of those near-death experiences where a truck almost hit me or a falling piano almost crushed my unsuspecting self as I walked below. No. I mean my body gave out. It twisted in a way that without modern medicine, I would not have survived. Even with modern medicine, the urgency to fix my ailment meant a tricky and potentially dangerous procedure. And it all happened within seven hours. A blur that sent me to the hospital balled up in pain, pleading for medication, praying that this wasn’t the end, encouraged that it was fixable, and eventually unconscious, without a grasp of my past, present, or future. If I had floated away in that moment, I never would have known.
But my then-fiance would have. She received a far different diagnosis then I did, and she had to suffer longer than I would.
Yet, a year later after I should have died, historically speaking, I don’t know what lesson I should have learned or what changes I should make. I don’t know what it’s that I should even remember. On the day of my deathiversary, should I even acknowledge it?
Let’s back up and I’ll explain what happened. On March 5, 2014 around 2:00 in the morning, I woke up with a sharp pain in my side. I’ve had this happen many times in my life, the causes of which have ranged from simple gas to food poisoning. On this early morning, the pain felt stronger than typical gas, and I ate leftover Chipotle for dinner. I was leaning towards food poisoning.
The next four paragraphs get a little graphic, if you want to skip over them. Continue reading