Near-Death Experience Number 1:Chicken Pox

It all started in that time of bliss, that time of childhood, that time of...

Jason's Yesteryear's...
I think I was about six or seven. I was in second grade. We had recently learned about this horrible disease called The Chicken Pox, and I remember hearing my teacher, Mrs. Logan, say, (among other things), "It's much worse if you don't get it until you're older." This apparently made a great impression upon me...

I prayed for The Chicken Pox. I could only imagine how horrible it would be if I didn't get it until I was older! (And, of course, to a seven year old, 15 is older!) I even remember putting it in the "prayer request" box one time at least once, hoping sky god woul dmake me sick to spare me from it being worse when I was older... (Oh, the ironies...)

And wouldn't you know it... All five of us came down within weeks of each other... with The Chicken Pox. If I was seven, that means Tom was eight, Michael was five, Sylvia was four, and Cynthia was three...

(Brief segue:) My poor mother... (End segue.)

I was one of the last to get it, actually. And I only got a few spots, not like my siblings. (I still have two spots on my tummy from it; I did have four until Near Death Experience Number 2: Appendicitis, but that's another story...) I suppose everyone thought I was free and clear...

A few days later...

My knee hurt. Hurt something bad. I remember going to bed, and I called out to my parents before they closed the door and turned off the light, saying: "My knee hurts." I was told to go to sleep...

I woke up the next morning. My knee hurt! Much worse than last night. I guess I was running a small fever, or maybe they still thought I was getting over The Chicken Pox, as I was home from school. I was sitting there eating my (Yuck!!) Cheerios with (Yum!) tons of sugar poured over it to make it edible...

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Me: My knee hurts.
Mom: It's probably growing pains. (I had been taller then my older brother since I was three--I was growing fast...)
Me: It really hurts bad.
Mom: It's growing pains. You want some Tylenol?
Me: My knee hurts bad.
Mom: I'll get you some Tylenol. Go lay on the couch.

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Now, sky god bless my mom, she was babysitting four preschool children that day (as, apparently, five of her own was not a big enough challenge...), and I know they were sitting there playing with their various toys and whatnot. Four small children is a lot to keep track of (unless, of course, your my mom...) and she still had time to get me some Tylenol...

I think I fell asleep on the couch. The next thing I remember was not my knee hurting--my knee was on fire with pain!!!! I had never known such agony before! I think my mom knew now that this was no "growing pains." She ripped off my pants, and, in her words, "my knee was the size of a softball." Picture that briefly if you will: A seven-year-old's knee, the size of a softball... Oh, and red. And painful.

I was screaming in pain.

Next thing I remember, a bunch of women were at our house. Mom had called all the mother's of whom she had their offspring there. I don't know if they gave her a hard time or not (we all remember how career women of the 80s thought they had to be tough and own shoulder pads three inches higher than their ears...), and, even though I was in pain!!!, I also had to pee!

I'm seven. I have no sense of timing or a terrific sense of bladder control. So, between my sobs:

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Me: Mommy, I hafta go to the baffroom.
Mom: (Incredulity) Now?!
Mrs. Orner: He's sick?
Me: I hafta pee!
Mom: Hold on, honey--
Mrs. Orner: Well, what's wrong with him?
Me: I HAFTA PEE!!!!!!

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Next thing I know, my pants are pulled off, and three grown women are holding me over the toilet, staring at me with concern, alternately staring at my volley-ball-sized knee cap, and I no longer hafta pee... In fact, I'm sure that I'll never hafta pee again...

I blacked out.

I remember waking up with a sudden THUMP! I was on a stretcher. Several people were around me. I think I had one of those oxygen things on my face. The sun was shining, glaring off the mask... I blacked out again.

I woke again in a hallway. A all-white hallway. People in white were a few yards down the hall, answering phones, looking at clip boards. An old man in a wheelchair waved hello to me. Mom was standing beside me, running her hands on my head. I couldn't hear her, even though her lips were moving... I blacked out.

One month later:

I don't remember much of the past month. From what I've heard, Mom was a wreck. Actually, she was A WRECK. She spent most nights at the hospital at my bedside. Grandmom constantly badgered her about neglecting her other four children (mostly because she was stuck babysitting them, and she wasn't exactly what you would call "child-friendly").

Apparently, for most of that first month, I had been dying as none of the doctor's could figure out what was wrong with me. (Now would be a good time to point out that

1. There was no white light
2. No angel standing by my bed
3. No dead relatives beckoning to me

At least, not that I remember...) Surgery had been performed, a ton of pus had been drained off my knee, tubes were going in and out of me in every--every--conceivable hole in my body...

I had Internal Chicken Pox. For the next month, my teachers came to tutor me in the hospital. One time, Miss Cox brought me a strawberry milkshake from McDonald's... I threw it up all over her (Hehehehehe!!) Mrs. Logan took over the tutoring (Hmm, wonder why?)

All the other kids on my floor were there to have their tonsils removed, so, as none of them could talk (and they were all in-and-out so fast I couldn't make friends with any of them), the nurses were my best friends. They would bring me Jell-O pudding pops anytime I asked for them (to actually help put meat back on my bones--I was anorexic thin, apparently...)

I was released after yet another month on crutches. Those crutches would be with me for another three/four months until I learned to walk again.

And, turning 31 today, I have passed the age when I was told I would need to have a replacement knee put into my body. (Hey! It's a happy milestone in what could be just another year!)

I still tease my mom over this: "It's just growing pains! Have some Tylenol!"

I'm not sure what life would have been like for the rest of my family had I not lived. I doubt Sylvia or Cynthia would even remember who I was, as they were so young. But I just know, this was one of the most profound experiences of my life, though I wouldn't appreciate that until I was much older. The sacrifices my parents had to make, even my evil grandmother, no matter how unwillingly. But I know that this, combined with Near Death Experiences Number 2 and 3, have helped me to learn not only to appreciate my life more (who wouldn't appreciate life more after almost dying?), but also to be less concerned with What May Be After. As What May Be After is just that: What may be. And not only can What May Be not have any bearing on What Is Now, it also shouldn't be used to in any way deter, overshadow, or command What Is Now. What Is Now is all we have, all you will ever be given, for all anyone knows.

And I intend to continue to live it to the fullest. I know that everything I have today, I have it not because I almost died; I have it because I lived. And that's a big difference in outlook...

Thanks Mom and Dad, and to the doctor's whose names I don't know, and most likely never did know. Thank you for saving my life and allowing me to reach this milestone, this age. I don't know what your lives may have been like if I had died, but I know my life is wonderful, in part, because you continue to be there...

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Medicine has made some wonderful advances since Near Death Experience Number 1. Do you know they now have a vaccine so that no more children will go this the agony I did? I'm glad I'll never have to see any of my nieces or nephews go through my experience...

The moral: Don't just assume it's growing pains!!! and
Live life in the now. You never know when you will have no more "nows" to live in...