A Brush with Mortality

Late in the school year I developed a severe stomach ache (or what I thought it to be, having had such symptoms before in my life) only this time it was worse. I recall spending a very wakeful and restless night up on the boys bedroom of the Peterson farmhouse though by dawn I felt a little better — however my mother looking at my condition decided that the doctor should be called, which was surely indicative of her evaluation of the situation as being serious as calling the doctor for a house call under the economic circumstances of the family was not a decision to be taken lightly.

I guess the doctor recognized the condition immediately as appendicitis and indicated that I should be taken to the hospital in Fort Dodge at once for surgery. I vaguely recall being administered the anesthetic, but I have no recollection of the ride to Fort Dodge, or entering the hospital or any pre-operative diagnosis by the surgeon. It seems though that the operation was in the late morning. The appendix had ruptured (which was perhaps the reason that I had felt a little better earlier that morning).

I was in the hospital 11 days and for a time around the third or fourth day it was touch-and-go whether I would survive or not. It was in the period before antibiotics and perhaps the deciding factor was the use of an implement that provided for the continuous washing out of my [abdominal cavity]. There was a special nurse assigned to me (this was before the days of intensive care units) by the name of Miss Bang. She turned out to be the fiancée of one of the workers at the country treasurer’s office where my father had by then started to work part-time.

That was also the summer that my mother had her goiter operation so the family had a considerable medical expense at a difficult time. I believe that my grandmother bore some of the cost of the hospital and the special nurse and I think that the surgeon cut his fee in half.