My Uncle's Shoes

Happy Birthday

Part II

Tom Froehlich

Fifteen minutes later I am laying on a gurney wearing one of those open backed hospital gowns with my, less than firm fifty-year-old, ass hanging out. Sure, we’ve all been through it, but you aren’t 6’3”, weighing in at 230 pounds. I am. And trust me. One size does not fit all. The nurse takes blood and pokes and probes.

“So I understand you are having some pain,” the nurse says as if I came in with a paper cut.

“Some pain?!” I croak, “I think I’m having a heart attack!”

“Well, we’re testing your blood for that right now.”

“How long will that take?” I ask.

“We put a rush on it. Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Sister, I don’t think I’ll make it that long. Can you give me something for the pain?”

Moments later this angel of mercy returned with a syringe and pumped me full of morphine.  Trust me. With that stuff running through your veins you don’t give a shit if you die, white light or not.

Fifteen minutes later the nurse returned with a folder in hand. “Well, all of your tests came back fine.”

“No shit?” I ask with shock and relief.  “What did you test for?”

“Your body sends chemicals into the blood stream indicating where the trauma may be. You liver and kidneys look fine and there is no sign of cancer or a heart attack,” she said. “We still need to figure out where that pain is coming from, but so far everything looks fine.” Since you are uninsured and this isn’t an emergency situation we won’t be treating you here. You’ll need to go to county for that. The doctor will be in to see you.

Angel of mercy left and moments later a doctor walked in picking up my chart. “Hi, my name is Chuck.” 

All I can think is, “There are doctors named Chuck? Not even “Dr.” Chuck? We’re not on the third tee for God’s sake, I’m laying here with what feels like a filet knife in my chest and my ass hanging out!” 

“Well, it looks like all your tests are good which is a little odd because that pain had to have come from somewhere. We can’t fix you here, but let’s figure out what it is so you can make an appointment at the county hospital.”

Through doing a preliminary ultrasound Chuck determined the guilty organ was my gall bladder.  “I want to get our ultrasound specialist in here, but it looks like your gall bladder is the problem. Not sure what kind of shape it’s in, but we won’t be taking it out here. Against the rules. No insurance,” looking at my chart he added with a wink, “even if it is your birthday.”

Twenty minutes later the ultrasound expert covered my torso in cool gel and slid her wand around. “Wow! Those are SOME gall stones you have there.” That’s exactly what you don’t want to hear from an ultrasound expert. You have to figure she has seen a gallstone or two in her day.  Looks like you’ll have to get that taken care of, but I understand you’ll be scheduling with county. We only take care of emergencies here when you are uninsured. They do a nice job though.

“Wow! Those are SOME gall stones you have there!”, Dr. Chuck said looking at the ultrasound. Again, something you don’t really want to hear from an expert in that area. “Size of marbles! It’s really odd this didn’t show up in your tests. Somehow your body was protecting itself from knowledge of the trauma. That’s amazing.”  I think he saw the fear in my eyes, because he said, “If you had insurance we could just pop it out right now, but like I said, it’s against the rules. And in addition to that, nothing showed up on your tests. Don’t worry Tom. County will take care of it. Make an appointment as soon as you can. It’ll take maybe six months for you to get looked at and then a few more to get the surgery scheduled. Just stay away from greasy food and hopefully you won’t have another attack. No guarantees though. I know this hurts like hell. I had five or six attacks before I finally had mine removed. I don’t like doctors either!” he laughed.

Chuck evidently hadn’t caught on to the fact that it had taken this kind of extreme pain to get me this far and we had better ride that opportunity out until the God damn wheels fall off. The odds of me making that appointment at county and getting the surgery scheduled before I had another attack were remote at best. Kind of like the Charles Manson thing again.

“You sure you cant just pop it out?” I asked using his terminology, my eyes colored with desperation.

“Sorry bud, I would if I could. It’s against hospital rules and I would lose my job if I did. Don’t worry. County will take good care of you.  Let me just run these up to radiology and the nurse will come in to finish up your paperwork and you can get dressed and go home.”

I laid on the gurney devastated. Devastated that after three hours in the emergency room I would be leaving with the possibility of another attack.  I knew that even if I actually made the appointment that I would be in a state of complete hypochodriacal anxiety until my faulty gall bladder was finally “popped out”.  Marble sized gallstones and all. These are the times you want to be brave, but instead just feel afraid and alone.

We are taught in AA to rely on a higher power. I figured if there was ever a time to pray, it was now. So I did. “Okay, higher power. I think we both know where we are at on this one. I’m not sure how you’re going to pull it off, but when I leave this hospital I want that gall bladder out of my body. Please make it happen and please don’t make it any more painful than it has already been. I don’t need it bursting and spreading toxins throughout my entire body or anything like that. The hospital staff has already made it clear that with no insurance they can’t touch it. I think you and I both know that the odds of me taking care of this in a timely fashion are remote. I make no excuses. It’s just who I am. I can’t see where putting me through six months of extreme anxiety waiting for another attack is going to do anyone any good. If you have designed a plan greater than I can fully understand at this moment, which requires us to drag this out and go the county hospital route, I’m cool with that. If not, let’s get this done okay? That’s all I’ve got. Now it’s up to you. ‘Please take away my difficulties that they may bare witness to those I may help of they power, they love and thy way of life. Thy will be done.’ (AA 3^rd Step Prayer).  And although it really seems a bit pointless to mention that I feel alone, vulnerable and scared shitless right now, because as a higher power you should pretty much be privy to that info, I am.  Feeling alone, vulnerable and scared shitless that is.

I ended my prayer and heard the nurse enter the room. “Well, Tom…” she began and then the Dr. Chuck rushed in.

“Thank God Tom, you’re still here. We are admitting you.”

“What?

“The radiologists saw something on your ultrasound and are concerned so we’re going to take out that gall bladder for you after all.”

“No shit?!”

“Yup,” he said, flipping through my chart.

 “Thanks Chuck.”

“Happy birthday.”

Chucked turned and left the room. I looked up to the heavens and said, “And thank you.”

I’m not sure what exactly happened that night. I’m not sure if something happened to the ultrasound films on the way to radiology or if the radiologists possibly saw something that Dr. Chuck hadn’t. What I am sure of is that something miraculous happened.  Cynics may say that Dr. Chuck was just doing me a favor because it was my birthday. Somehow I don’t think there are many surgeons out there willing to lose a six-figure income just to pop out some stranger’s gall bladder on his birthday. Yet if that is in fact what happened, that alone is a miracle! All I know is I left the hospital forty-eight hours later minus one gall bladder. I believe my prayer was answered. Miracles happen. Sometimes we just have to believe.