A Brush with Mortality

When Dr. Erickson died or retired (the two events may have coincided) his practice was sold to Dr. Borgen whom my mother called to see me when I had my ruptured appendix in 1934. I don’t have too clear a recollection of the night before Dr. Borgen came out to the farm but I know I was feeling pretty awful. Actually the discomfort had eased towards morning and this was interpreted subsequently as indicating that the appendix had ruptured.

It was the spring of the Dust Bowl in the southern plains and this dust had blown north and was pervasively settled on and in everything in the house. Anyway the house was quite dusty inside and my mother had sort of cleared a path for Dr. Borgen through the east door, the dining room, the parlor, up the stairs, along the hall and into the bedroom occupied by me and Vincent where I was lying on the bed. After Dr. Borgen had made his diagnosis he asked my mother where he could wash his hands and my mother was mortified as she had not seen this as likely to occur and the bathroom was a mess.

The surgeon was Dr. Studebaker, the same doctor who had been in attendance at Verner’s birth. For four or five days after the operation I was quite sick and is understand it was pretty much touch and go whether or not I would survive. During this first few days I was attended by a special nurse, around the clock, and I suppose this corresponded to intensive care at the time. This nurse, a Miss Bang (who actually was engaged to be married to one of my father’s co-workers at the county treasurer’s office) had heard of a device developed by a Wallenstein (doctor?) which could be used to elutriate out the contents of a stomach. Sort of like a stomach pump except that the operation was continuous. I guess the water came in through one tube and the stomach contents were sucked out through the other. I think these tubes came in through my mouth but I’m not sure now.

Anyway the device worked and my mother at least credited its use for my survival. Those were the days before antibiotics or even sulfa drugs, so either you survived on your own or you didn’t. I was discharged from the hospital after eleven days. By then I suppose the two discharge tubes through the two incisions on my abdomen had been removed. I don’t recall when the stitches were finally removed. My recovery from that point on was rapid but I was restricted from vigorous physical activity for some moths until the incisions were fully knit again. At the pre-induction physical I had during WWII I recall the examining doctor looking at the scars and commenting on them.