A Change in Plans
Fast forward to 1998: I’m in my third year in the M.A. in Communication Arts program in Fort Worth, TX at Southwestern Seminary. I’m busy studying and also actively traveling at least weekly (often bi-weekly) with the touring drama team, The Company. I’m also working part time in the school district as a reading tutor and helping out at my church with the youth group & doing some drama stuff.
My plans for the summer of ’98 were as follows: I was driving up to Oregon to visit some relatives and meet up with my parents. Beth would drive back to Alaska with my parents and I’d fly back to Texas to tour full time with The Company for the summer, and then I’d go back to school.
So, Beth & I drive up and meet my parents in Oregon. All is going great until a few days before they’re going to put me on the plane to fly back… For whatever reason, I was in a back room by myself while everybody else was up in the living room. We’d all just gone on a fun shopping excursion and returned for lunch.
All of a sudden I have this horrible tearing black pain in my belly- like I’m being ripped apart. It’s so bad I can’t scream. I can’t call for help. I can’t stand up.
I’m gone so long my sister calls me to come back up front. Finally, I struggle up the hall to the living room by leaning on the wall. And I told them all something was wrong and I didn’t know what to do. They all look at me and say it's time to go to the hospital and I refuse. (I HATE hospitals, shots, blood… I’m the fainting queen. And I’ve got a LONG negative history of bad doctor experiences. Maybe I'll tell part of that story sometime...) I went back to the room I was staying in and laid down. I’m moaning in fetal position and holding on to my belly. (Beth’s told me I looked like death- gray with black eyes and actually rather scary looking.) Finally, the pain gets so bad that I let them talk me into going to the ER.
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