Everyone has great stories about holiday gatherings. In most cases, these are pleasant or humorous tales about Uncle Bill or maybe that surprise reunion.
In my case, it’s tales of people’s appendixes going into full revolt.
Thanksgiving 2010 started with Steph and I heading down to Dubuque to visit my parents and then follow them over to Geneseo, IL to have lunch with some of her sisters and brothers. A good time was had by all and we ate too much as mandated by law.
Steph and I kept heading south to visit our friends Becky and Simon in St. Louis. Becky and Simon always take us places we’d never think to visit. We’ve seen some great jazz bands, found a fantastic book store (Subterranean Books in the Delmar Loop), and so forth. Most often, we go to restaurants because they are foodies like us.
On Friday, we went out to eat and then back to their place. Unfortunately, the evening was cut short because Becky wasn’t feeling well. “Bad food,” we all thought. Beer Cheese Soup can be hit or miss. So we headed out, wishing Becky a good night’s sleep and hoping she felt better the next day.
By 7:15 the next morning, she was having her appendix removed.
Assuming that Becky did not go to extremes to avoid hanging out with us, I shall tie this in with another tale of holiday gatherings – Christmas morning in the mid-1980s.
At the time, my twin brother Jon had been fighting a stomach flu for a few days. About 3am on Christmas morning, he walks into my parents room. He has this look on his face that says “I’ve died and if I haven’t, please kill me now”. Wisely, Mom and Dad take him to the hospital where a doctor informs them that Jon’s appendix has ruptured and is taking a toxic tour of his torso and, oh yeah, surgery RIGHT F**KING NOW!
So were we talking about those sleeping bags Mom and Dad got us? Or Jon stealing the spotlight? I think you know the answer to that.
So … who’s up for Easter?