Gods perfect design

Glorious God, in his infinite wisdom and everlasting glory, saw it fit to strike me down with an affliction of such ferocity that I was writhing on the floor in the bathroom.
It was a Tuesday in early January when, after completing all my classes, I returned home feeling in good health and spirits. If there had been a palm reader or of some sort on the street predicting my affliction, I would have insisted on the return of my hard earned money. I was not so lucky to receive a prophecy of my ill fate, but instead was reduced to interpret the creeping abdominal pain for myself. Being the type to ignore a splinter till it simply disappears, I of course paid no credence to the nagging stomach pains, brushing them aside with the reassurance it was gas. The pain stuck with me for the next few hours, growing then subsiding in intervals. It wasn’t until 9:00pm that the pain became unbearable.
Having attended chapter, and gone to Chick-Fila, I had returned to my home where the growing agony continued to plague me. I, of course, was becoming aware that I was not having a stomach ache, but instead that God had stricken me with something much more fowl, though I was still unsure what. There was no comfort to be found, not in sitting, standing, crouching, or lying down. I was in constant discomfort, and even experiencing sudden sharp pangs of agony in my abdomen. The floor of the bathroom is where my roommate found me, rolling around in pain, sweating. It was apparent to the both of us that I needed to get to the Emergency Room. The car ride, no more than a mile, was excruciating, every bump in the road shooting pains through my side; I sat writhing in the passenger seat. We arrived at the hospital at 10:30pm. I walked to the receptionist, where I was unable to clearly communicate, or put the thoughts together, so I simply tossed my wallet on the table and gestured to my roommate.
Once in the next room, I was asked a few preliminary questions, “where does it hurt,” “when did it start,” etc.. I was quickly escorted into a room, and issued a hospital robe. A young doctor came in and simply poked me in the stomach, to which I responded with the expected response, “OW!” The doctor gave me a grave, yet very sure look, and said “I’m 80% sure you have appendicitis. He brought in an Ultra sound and checked my stomach, but found no telling signs, but assured me that the CT scan would see it. It did; but why he found it necessary to run me through the most expensive machine in the building, when he was pretty positive what I had, is beyond me. Of course God would see it fit for me to be unable to reach my parents by cell phone. Furthermore, since bad things insist on happening in 3’s, I was also unable to give them my permission to operate due to the morphine in my system at this point, forcing me to call my older sister, who was more then surprised by the phone call.
I was introduced to my soon be surgeon, who all thanks be to God, was damn good apparently. Or that’s about the best I can deduce, because we went into the operating room at 2:30am, and the apparently wheeled me to the recovery room at 3:00am. Just to clarify what that translates to; that’s 1,800 seconds to make three different tiny incisions, remove a small, pinky sized, organ, that apparently is useless (except for causing pain), then sewing me back up. All in all it was a simple operation that I survived easily. When I look back on the incident, I find myself thinking of two things. The first thing; why do I have an appendix, if its only apparent function it likened to that of a waiting time bomb, and second how fortunate I really was, God permitting or otherwise. I realize how fortunate I am that I live not only where I have easy access to a hospital, but also that the hospital is capable of offering me world-class care for an affliction that in other, less fortunate, circumstances would likely be fatal.

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