John got a call on his cell last night at 11:30. When the phone rings at that hour, it can only mean one of two things: a wrong number or something’s wrong with someone you know. An Army nurse was calling to let us know that Eric was in the hospital about to have his appendix removed.
I went back to bed frustrated and worried that my peanut baby was in the hospital with no one to advocate for him.
At 4:30 a.m., Eric called to let us know he was okay. He’s been at a forward operating base in Fort Polk, Louisiana, for almost two weeks now and presented with symptoms indicative of appendicitis. He thought he might be air lifted to the hospital but instead was transported there (wherever there is—we still don’t know and neither does he) by truck and van.
The doctor said his appendix was inflamed and joked with him, “And now you know what the appendix is for: waking up the surgeon in the middle of the night.”
He will be on medical restriction for about 6 weeks, prohibited from lifting anything heavier than 10 pounds, and he is already worried about PT. As his parents, we’ll be anxious to see how this factors into his potential deployment.
I hope to talk with him later today, but am relieved to know he came out of surgery okay.