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On The Mudline

Sleepless Night Ends In A Trip To Emergency Room

Tuesday, April 17, had been a great day.  There were many things to occupy my time around home—I was busy all day. That evening, as usual, Nannette and I watched the ten o’clock news and retired.

No Sheep (or Sleep)

In a short time she was asleep—but I could find no comfortable position.  Regularly I am asleep almost by the time the bed is reached.  The uncomfortable situation didn’t seem to get any worse and  certainly got no better but I was adamant—once in a while I have a sleepless night.  I never learned to count sheep but an old friend told me one time that the secret was to make one’s mind completely blank—concentrate on nothing.  That didn’t work—the pain around my midsection kept burning through the concentration.  

A Remembrance of

Abnormal Symptoms

After going through all the things I learned about sickness or ailments while teaching Anatomy and Physiology for several years, a light went on—I had not included appendicitis in my diagnoses. Feeling my side gingerly, at the probable location of the appendix, there was a slight tenderness.  

It was now about 2 a.m. Wednesday morning. Nannette, who had asked several times about a trip to the emergency room, asked again. This time I said, “I’m ready,  call Shipp to drive us to Oxford.”  

A Busy Emergency Room

at 3 a.m.?

    We arrived at the Oxford Emergency Room at about 3, right in the middle of a very busy time—three trauma victims and a wreck victim (head on collision) immediately ahead us and the workers were in a rush.  They got to us at about 5.

Tests, Tests, Tests–Eureka

In short order I had been X-rayed and checked especially for appendicitis by the young lady doctor on duty—apparently no appendicitis—we’ll do a Cat-scan.  This showed trouble with the gall-bladder.  Dr. Lovelace came in to relay the information, but said that he was going to look at the scan himself before telling me what he would do. In a short time he did return and outline the procedure he thought necessary—telling me that he would get to me (in surgery) up in the morning (my memory of Mike is as an eighth grade Science   and later as a good Chemistry student and now he’s telling me about looking at my “innards!”).

Goodbye Pain (and Sanity)

Apparently, at about this time they began to make me easy—for the pain left.   I was placed in a room to await the trip to surgery.  During this period I was asked repeatedly, “Do you know where you are?”  Now, I know that I never answered that question correctly, although I thought I did.  

Probably, there are a number of people to whom I should apologize but I don’t know who they are and if any one of them reads this please accept my apology.  I am told that I was in ICU.  For me that was a dirty place full of giant spiders, lizards, objects like TVs that slid down the wall to a flat position on the floor, channel atop channel.  I really thought that, believed that, people were trying to—going to—kill me.  

One friend tells me that when he was there they had fried chicken hanging all around and  would let everyone eat but him.  Another says that he was in a room with talking balloons—actually talked to them.  

Nothing is New Under the Sun

After  heart surgery, a similar experience that lasted twenty-one days,  I should have anticipated this trip.           I know that I had many visitors and I remember some of you, but it’s hazy.  At last, sometime on Friday they moved me to a discharge room and Saturday morning I was allowed to come home.  Oh yes, they did remove that gall bladder—but I never knew when they performed that little trick.

 Did find out later that all these strange events (I do wish that I had carried my camera along—those sliding TVs were some fantastic) took place very near the one time site of  (“do you remember the slogan ‘Don’t Cuss—Call Truss’?”) Ferrel Truss’s junk yard.  


    We, of the Camp Ground Reunion Committee, are saddened  too announce, that it is almost mandatory that  the 2007 reunion be canceled. Maybe our “get up and go has got up and went.”  We placed a notice of this in the mail on the Monday after  returning home.

I do hope that you had a better (maybe less eventful)  week than I did—you can almost always reach me  at           23541 Highway 6, Batesville, MS 38606,, or 662-563-9879

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