I
don’t know if I’ve ever been very close to death. I thought I was, once. But I
probably wasn’t. I’ve had a few times in my life where there were near misses
on the road where I may have been inches from death there and never realized
it. But when things are moving quickly and I have to keep focusing on after,
there isn’t time to reflect how close to death I could have been.
The
one time I thought that I was going to die was when I was 19 years old. I had
tonsillitis. Anyone who has had a severe bout of that might know that it may
not feel like one is at death’s door, but at least that death had blown smoke
in one’s throat from some hellfire cigar.
This
was my third case of tonsillitis in about a year. I had landed in the hospital
for the first case and had the tonsils lanced in the operating room under a
local anesthetic and barbiturates. I stayed in the hospital for two days on
fluids and antibiotics and almost missed my high school graduation. The second
time I got the tonsillitis I was admitted again for the same procedure and only
stayed the night. The ENT doctor agreed that my tonsils should come out but
before they could remove them, they became infected again. You can’t operate on
a sick person so the surgery was postponed.
Tonsillitis
means having tonsils infected, swollen and painful. I couldn’t even swallow my
own spit. This third affliction was caught early. One of my parents took me to
the doctor and they had a look at me to confirm that yes, I had it again. I was
feverish, weak and miserable. The standard procedure was to give me a shot of
penicillin. I quietly agreed. I tried to tell them that the last time I had
gotten a shot like that it made me nauseous and dizzy. They acknowledged me and
gave me the shot.
It
barely hurt and I was able to sit back down in the exam chair right after. Time
might have passed by. Someone asked me if I felt okay and I heard my voice say
yes. I felt myself rise from the chair, point myself toward the door and walk
forward. Then I heard the clatter of the tray beside the door being bumped.
Next
thing I knew I was back in the chair. I had no memory of getting back in, if I
made it myself or was helped or carried. My blood pressure was being taken and
I couldn’t see anything.
“You’re
okay, David,” a voice said in the distance.
Then
I had a memory flash of the shift manager at Pizza Hut answering the phone the
previous evening when I called in sick. I thought I was having my life flash
before my eyes and the only part I caught was: “Lahaina Pizza Hut, Russell
speaking, may I help you?”
I’m dying, I thought. I thought about
the coolest item of clothing I owned, an imitation leather vest. Two friends
owned identical ones. It was the mark of our gang, KittyHawk. I had thought
that if I ever went out in the blaze of glory, it would be while wearing my
KittyHawk vest. But that morning I had put on my dark green hooded sweatshirt.
I almost never wore it. This was before hoods were cool and I didn’t expect to
see anyone that day. And of course I didn’t expect to die.
I’m dying and I’m wearing my green hooded
sweatshirt, was all I thought about.
Well
I didn’t die. I guess it’s normal to be knocked out by any kind of strong
injection if someone’s got an empty stomach and is in a weakened state. I don’t
think I was in any danger. But I had never blacked out before and it was scary.
A few days later they lanced my tonsils in that same chair with only the local
anesthetic. To this day it’s the most painful and physically unpleasant thing
I’ve ever undergone. But I never thought I would die during it.
I
got my tonsils out a few months later and kept them in a specimen jar in the console
of my Mustang.
There
is more than one way I can wrap up this story. I could say that I started
wearing my KittyHawk vest every day from then on just in case, which is true. But
I wish that experienced had changed me in a different way.
I
wish that instead of lamenting about what I was wearing when I thought I was
going to die, I had done a quick inventory of my life and hoped that everything
in my life was in order before I left.
I
don’t have that vest anymore. But I can still wear something each day. I can
put on hope each morning. I’m still learning what that is. But I think it’s
something that if I was to find myself at deaths door I would not only know
that I was entering God’s kingdom, but the life I left behind pointed the way. That
is the hope I wear each day.
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