Random childhood memory

Girls always ask me about the scar on my hip. The smart ones don’t ask because it’s fairly obvious. I had my appendix removed when I was ten or so. They told me I almost died. Not something you should be telling a ten year old. I did learn one thing though: Never get appendicitis in a foreign country. My mom’s husband was in the Air Force for a number of years, then the Army for a couple. He’s a loser, but that’s another story. We were stationed for a year in Ansbach, Germany to fight Nazis or something. I dunno, nor do I care. On one cold, German day, I started experiencing sharp stomach pains. No one really thought anything of it. Could have been just gas. When my pains turned to crippling torture, it was suddenly a good idea to see someone about it. We went to see a doctor later that night. Not just any good doctor mind you, just the closest doctor possible. What I didn’t mention earlier was that we lived off base, on what they called ‘the economy’. Thinking the base with the English speaking ER was too far, the closer, non-English speaking doctor’s office was the better choice. We soon arrived at the German hospital. This is when the crippling torture turned into violent puking, power puking if you will, up and down the hallways. In an attempt to either get me the hell out of there or actually help me, they gave my mother a bottle of ‘Not For Oral Use’ suppositories. “This is to settle the stomach. If symptoms don’t go away, call me in the morning.” At least I had hoped what he said translated to that. For all I know, he could have been the janitor who was tired of cleaning up my last 6 meals. I really should have paid attention in Deutche class. That night I was subjected to take pills ‘the old-fashioned way’. It was more or less a bonding experience between mother and son. After I completely emptied my stomach, I passed out. I woke up the next morning paralyzed from the waste down, sort of. I could feel my legs and probably move my them, but doing so would drive me to chop or gnaw them completely off. Getting out of bed was not an option. Suddenly the long drive to the ER didn’t seem like such a bad idea. The Army doctor said another couple of hours and my appendix would have ruptured, resulting in my early death. I knew he said this because he spoke English, as did I. If I had a dollar for every time someone said I almost died, I’d have about twelve dollars and some change. Who knew a useless organ could be a cause of death? I ended up getting it removed and spending close to a week in recovery. Moral of the story: make sure your doctor speaks the same language as you do and has some sort of degree and medicine. I can remember that, but I can never find my car keys!?