This past weekend, I said farewell to my gall bladder. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. For over a year I had experienced intermittent pain in my chest that I assumed was acid reflux. The episodes became more frequent and the pain more intense. There was no comfortable position in which I could get a good night’s rest. In fact, when I rolled over on my side, I suddenly would lose my breath and go into an involuntary yawn. One of our old family friends recently cautioned me that once you are in your late seventies, the wheels can start falling off the cart that is your life. Well, that could not mean me, I thought, I am in very good condition for a man of my age.
But I digress. Having lived in the developing world, I understand that the overwhelming majority of the world’s population does not have ready access to quality health care. This makes a huge difference in terms of life expectancy and overall quality of life. For all the problems we have in the United States with affordable health care for the poor, our health insurance system and high drug costs, the reality is that we have the absolute highest quality health care in the world. And it doesn’t matter whether you get your care from government facilities or private. I received military health care for most of my life, and it was always first class. Ditto with the care I have received from private clinics and hospitals.
People often ask me why I choose to live in a small, modest home on the outskirts of Richmond, Virginia, when we could afford to live anywhere we wanted. There are several reasons, but a major one is that we are five minutes and two stop lights away from a world class emergency room, at Bon Secours St Francis Hospital. Mary Lou and I have made that quick trip multiple times, sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, and we are always able to see competent medical personnel within minutes of arrival. And our primary care clinic, Family Practice Associates, is in the same complex as the hospital. They offer appointments seven days a week, and the norm is we are seen the same day we call. In all my years, I have never had such a wonderful network of health care providers. It is a true blessing from God.
Back to last weekend. I was initially ambivalent about making yet another trip to the emergency room as I looked at the clock and saw it was just before seven Saturday morning. Nothing I had done, no meds that I had taken relieved the intense pain in my upper chest, just at or beneath the sternum. But the previous day, I was unable to finish a simple neighborhood walk that my wife and I often take, and that really scared me. So off we went, and as usual, we were processed in within minutes of arrival. Vital signs were checked, EKG completed, chest X-ray and then the lidocaine cocktail that previously relieved my pain was drunk. This time, there was no relief. The attending physician, a young man named Tichner, became the detective. He probed my abdominal area and ordered a CT of that area. Fifteen minutes later he returned and advised me that my gall bladder appeared to be infected, and needed to be removed.
OK, I thought to myself, it looks like I will be admitted and scheduled for surgery first of next week. But that was not the case. Before I could become too engrossed in thoughts about what all this meant, I was being rolled up to another floor of the hospital and receiving comforting explanations along the way. I met Dr Amy Rose and her surgery team, learned that time was of the essence, consented to laparoscopic surgical removal of the gall bladder, and went into the operating room. I do recall being told there were no COVID patients on that floor of the hospital. Next thing I knew, I was in a recovery room, all chest pain was gone, and I had three small holes in my abdomen, all glued shut. I am still under anesthesia, so don’t put too much stock in my estimate of time, but next thing I knew we were headed back home. Mary Lou was great as a caregiver. She has had years of experience. Her (now our) sweet son Tim came to the hospital, was with us when I was rolled into the OR, and then picked up my meds from the pharmacy as we headed home.
I though to myself, where else in the world could all this have happened, and so quickly and efficiently? What if I had been living in a remote area, or in Central Asia, where so many have died of simple infections that did not receive timely medical intervention? To say that I am grateful is an astronomical understatement. They say I really don’t need the gall bladder any more, as long as I keep a low fat diet and steer clear of things like caffeine, alcohol and chocolates. I’m fine with that. What a small price to pay!
The Bible teaches us that our days are numbered, and only God knows the day our earthly lives will end. And Jesus teaches us to live one day at a time, trusting in His provision. Each new day is a precious gift, and even though I still am dealing with moderate pain from the surgery, I am able to pour out my thanksgiving and joy on to the pages of this edition of the Bristol Epistle. Thank you, Lord, for keeping me on this side of eternity for a while longer, that I may continue to love and serve others, for your glory and my joy. And thank you for a loving wife and family, and so many dear brothers and sisters all over the world.
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