When I Survived Death At 4 Years Old
I don't remember but I still see the pain in my mother's eyes.
Childhood memories are like smoke, they fade with time once the fire is put out.
I’ve known to remember less of my childhood than most. What I see is blurry at best — thank goodness my parents kept lots of pictures I enjoy looking at from time to time.
Another piece of evidence of my childhood that isn’t blurry at all is the scar located on the lower right corner of my abdomen. A scar I got from surgery when I was just 4 years old.
I remember nothing of what happened around the surgery.
However, my mother never forgot. It stuck to her memory like an insect trapped in a dark spider’s web. The first time she described it to me, a tear streaked down her cheek from one eye.
I could tell it broke her a little just recalling it. I almost told her to stop but I had to know the story of the strange scar on my tommy.
What she told me both shocked me and gave me a new philosophy on life.
She told me about the time I almost died from acute Appendicitis.
I wasn’t even five when I looked like a skeleton. I was a very chubby toddler before I became nothing but bones. It started when a kid about 4 years older than I was put mud in a bottle and made me drink it.
To this day, my dad still refers to that boy as the devil who nearly claimed his firstborn’s life. My father isn’t one to forgive.
My mom saw her kid (me) with mud all over his mouth and immediately took him to the hospital — or whatever place it was. We were not financially blessed during that time so we couldn’t afford the best healthcare.
The doctor advised plenty of water and rest, and I would be okay. How he came to that conclusion defeats me.
In about 5 days, my appendix was known to be ruptured. I was 4, so I couldn’t speak properly and it took a long time for my mom to see the symptoms. It usually takes about 2 days for the appendix to rupture after the infection, so the fact that it took 5 days for me made the situation much worse.
I was rushed to the hospital afterward. By then, my appetite was zero, and the pain I was feeling was unimaginable — no wonder my brain erased the memory.
Surgery was unavoidable if I was to survive the ordeal.
My parents couldn’t financially afford the surgery. The hospital was charging more money than they could ever hope to come up with.
As if a price was put on the value of my life. The fact that they couldn’t afford it must have broken them.
My mom and dad started desperately asking for help from all their relatives. It took a great deal of time before they were able to raise the amount.
While I was waiting for something to save my life, I was in a wheelchair. I had lost all fiber and muscle from my body — only skin and bone remained. My stomach was bloated and my eyes were dead.
What gave that little kid the courage to hold on to dear life amid all that pain defeats me?
My mom also told me about an old man making a sick joke to her during that time. He was a dying old man and he told her I would die before him. She said immediately after he pronounced those cold words, he started frantically laughing like a maniac.
Those words must have felt like a physical blow to my poor mother now contemplating my mortality.
It didn’t help that a day later, the doctors who refused to treat me without getting paid, told her that I’d soon die if the surgery didn’t take place.
My mother who gave birth to me, at the height of her protectiveness and courage was forced to consider my death.
She went to pray to God, but her prayer was a double-edged sword.
She begged God to help me get better. She pleaded with everything in her power to convince him to spare my life. She then told him that if I was destined to die, he should take my life right now so my pain would stop.
At this point, a tear fell down her face when she was telling me the story.
I can’t imagine the pain she must have felt to pray for such a thing. She couldn’t handle seeing me like this, so she wanted it to stop.
My mother courageously gave God an ultimatum. Heal him or take him right now.
One day later, her prayer was answered. God decided to heal me. The money they needed for the surgery was paid in full by a politician pursuing the Governorship of my state.
Whether he did it to garner more votes for his election, or from the kindness of his heart, my mom’s prayer was answered nonetheless and that’s all that mattered to her.
She paid for the surgery and the operation was given a date and time.
There’s still one obstacle to my recovery — Anesthesia.
According to my mother, children rarely wake up from surgery after being given anesthesia.
Apparently, they frequently died because of it. I don’t know if the fault was the quality of the doctors or the nature of the drug itself at the time, but I was to go through the surgery awake and fully aware.
My mom told me she had no idea how she would explain the concept of surgery to her 4-year-old. She ended up just telling me that it would be painful but it would make me feel better. She also told me that she would be there with me every step of the way.
My mother said she held my hands throughout the surgery as I screamed from the pain.
My dad couldn’t even watch it — he wasn’t inside the operating room because he couldn’t handle seeing me in so much pain.
Hours later, the surgery was successful. I made it!
Again, how that little kid refused to die is one of the things that pushes me through life’s difficulties to this day. When things get hard, I just say to myself, “This couldn’t have been worse than the literal hell I went through when I was 4”.
I wonder to this day the mark my brush with mortality left on my soul. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been attracted to solitude. Maybe that’s why life is so precious to me as a constant reminder that it is a gift I almost lost.
My mother said back then, children afflicted with my childhood illness rarely survived. This lets me know I am a survivor — I beat the odds that were stacked against me and I have the scar to prove it too.
My near-death experience might be a foggy memory, but its incredible impact on my life is undeniable.
I want you to cherish every sunrise and sunset. Find joy in the mundane because nothing about being alive is mundane.
My 4-year-old self held onto it with a love so fierce, it defeated death. The strength of that child quite literally, saved my life.
