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Life is short. So very, very short. We strut and fret our hour upon the stage and then are heard no more.

Today, the average lifespan stands somewhere in the mid sixties. Sixty years, 720 months, 3120 weeks, 21915 days, 525960 hours - and way more minutes, seconds and moments than even a moderately geeky person like me cares to calculate.

In that vast span of hours, sixty doesn't seem so very long at all. Especially when sixty of them are all that stood between one third of my family and Whatever Lies Beyond...

We can call today's piece "Sixty Hours From the Razor's Edge"...

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The more recent account is of my mother, who went in for back surgery on Dec. 20, 1999. She was released from the hospital late on the 28th - the visiting nurse came by on the 29th and told my Mom that she might have an infection in the incision and she should get the doctor's office to prescribe some antibiotics. Mom called the doctor's office and they said - No, we don't prescribe antibiotics over the phone - come in and see us in the morning. The next morning Mom and Dad went in to the doctor's office - what the doctors saw startled them - Mom was ordered back into the hospital and within hours was back in surgery to remove what was called a "major infection" Staph. Aureus - a resistant strain. A variant of the monster Staph that kills tens and hundreds of people each year. She beat it - after a second surgery and nearly three more weeks in the hospital. She beat it.

After the first of the surgeries, the doctors admitted that it had been a very close thing indeed. They said twenty-four to forty-eight hours longer undiagnosed and they wouldn't have been able to save her. Two extra days and she would have been taken from us, and the doctors could not have stemmed the tide of infection.

Two days and gone...

This is the kicker.

This the thing that sets you back on your heels and makes you think. Hell, I know it sat me back for sure.

The visiting nurse was early.

Two days early.

Yeah, you've done the math right. The nurse wasn't scheduled to arrive until it would've been too late. My Mom is alive because of the whim of a visiting nurse who stopped by early.

Forty-eight hours.

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The earlier account is of my brother David. (Those on this list for a while have seen some of his posts. Family and friends know him well. The rest are just now introduced.)

Hi Dave.

(He's a member of this list...)

Hi Di.

(His wife is, too)

Dave had a gallbladder infection earlier in the year. A real nasty one that gave him a great deal of pain. Like most of the rest of us he worked with the pain for quite a while before he gave in and went to have it checked.

The doctors recognized the problem and set up surgery for the next day. The gallbladder was coming out.

Dave was in a hospital - all the modern medical technology of the western world within moments of his need.

Something came up. Either a surgery slot opened up or some time was saved from another. In any case, a chance opened up for an early surgery...

Dave's doctors thought - what the heck, let's get it out now, it's not gonna get any better on its own.

So my brother went into surgery. What the doctors saw startled them - his gallbladder was WAY beyond infected, it was ready to burst.

Now, this is the thing to note - if your gallbladder ruptures while it's still inside you - even if you're lying open on the operating table, they won't be able to save you - the interior of your body will go septic and you will "crash" - on the table, with all the modern medical technology of the western world within moments of your need.

You will die.

The doctors pretty much agreed. Another twelve hours with the gallbladder still in there and my brother would have died.

It would've been more than twelve hours to the originally scheduled surgery.

Yeah, you've done the math right again. My brother is alive because of the happenstance of an early surgery.

Sixty hours between one third of my family and Whatever Lies Beyond...

Sixty hours from the razor's edge...

It kinda makes ya think.

Cherish what you've got, it might not be there tomorrow.

My name is Bern, very subdued-ly Out There...

(Addendum---

This is the latest in a series of e-mail columns. If you know of someone who might like to read one - please feel free to forward it. If you are receiving these as a forward, send me your e-mail address at <X_a_n_a_d_u@yahoo.com> and I will add you to

the direct mailing list. Should you want to read through the older columns in the series, go to <www.frontiernet.net/~gaidasz/> And lastly, if you would like to stop getting these - let me know, and you are free of the cursed things... (Though I can't think of a single reason you might want to stop... ;])

If you have a comment or criticism, please let me know. (Even the grammatical stuff.) I will "publish" expansions to the theories I propose, opposing views, or even related rants. Let's shake up the world a little. My inspiration remains Unca Harlan, but the vitriol I spew is my own.

The content will vary as often as the weather in Binghamton, and may include political commentary, stories, reviews, or even a highly personal rant about the general unfairness of life. The goal is to illuminate a problem, then try to solve it. It's all too easy to point out what's wrong with society, solutions take a certain amount of creativity. Hopefully, I'll occasionally entertain, periodically inspire, and generally make you think about things...

All in all, an idea as "Out There" as I am.

---End Addendum)

Flatulence is a lot like electing politicians, it only stinks if you do it.

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