Jim's Appendicitis

There have been so many changes in my lifetime. It sometimes blows my mind. Some changes for the better and perhaps some not so much. However when it come to medical advancements there can be no question as to whether they are good - they just are. To emphasize my point I think about my brother Jim's appendicitis. We were really fortunate to have him survive. The story I’ll tell is as I remember, for when it took place I was five and he was seven. My memory would not be the best at that age.

The story was kept alive because Jim’s abdomen forever looked like he had been used for target practice or was blessed with many belly buttons.

It happened this way. At seven, Jim was putting cabbage plants in the holes dug by someone with a shovel. I am not sure who was digging the holes, so I won't try to identify them. He became ill and came home. He had a bellyache, so our Mom gave him castor oil...the normal remedy for such. He became sicker and developed a fever. Our summer time neighbor Dr. Botkin was at his property that day so he was asked to come check on Jim. He being quite a blunt person said Jim must get to the hospital...he has appendicitis and will die if not taken care of.

Rushing as fast as possible with transportation as it was in 1931, they went to what was Portland Sanitarium Hospital on 60th and Belmont in Portland. That was the closest hospital. There he was operated on by Dr. Rippey (nice name for a surgeon) but his appendix had burst before it could be removed. Because of the massive infection in his abdomen, drains were installed to drain out the infection. There were no antibiotics to take care of the issue. He was in the hospital for sixteen days and thus all the scars left from all of those drains.

Our Mom stayed with him those sixteen days. Marilou stayed with Grandma Kerslake and our Dad had the rest of us with him. We got to go to the hospital a couple times but could not go inside because he was in quarantine. We stood in the yard and waved to them through the window. My Aunt Grace stayed with us sometimes to help. She was 12 then.
The entire summer he was really frail and we had an old wheel chair to take him outside to be in the sun and watch what was going on. I vaguely remember that and for some reason remember looking through the windows to see them. It was a gift to us that he survived, and something always to be thankful for. It is such a marvel now that surgeries are done with tiny holes and antibiotics are so amazing. One of God’s many blessings.