I remember when I had necrotic pancreatitis and my parents (both nurses) discouraged me from going to the ER even though I was pissing blood because I wasn’t “bad enough” despite me saying “this is the worst pain I’ve ever been in. Something is wrong with my organs”. So I take a shitload of Vicodin and hunker down for the night. I have my brother take me to urgent care the next morning because I’m in too much pain to drive and they took my piss and took one look at it and told me the only way I was leaving the urgent care was in an ambulance because my kidneys were failing. My heart rate was well over 250. I get to the hospital and they do their plethora of tests and debate flying me down to the specialty hospital in Detroit for emergency surgery to remove the dying tissue. They put me in the SICU (surgical intensive care unit) I spend 10 days, my 23rd birthday alone because of covid. I get exposed to it by a nurse and get it anyway. I had, after I get out they tell me this of course, but about a 10% chance of living because my body was shutting down. I go through DTs in the hospital. They have to put me in an ice bath one night because my fever is 106 degrees. 10 days on a feeding tube, cath, and morphine. Fucking nightmare. But I lived. And tomorrow I turn 26. And I lived