The pain woke me at 11:30PM on a Monday. “What the fuck?” I muttered aloud. I got out of bed. I walked. I cursed some more, annoyed. This is disrupting my precious sleep. Sleep I consider precious, however, I do not treat it as such. I make my own rules about most things, and sleep is no exception. I expect results or outcomes without the prerequisite effort or behaviors. I squat deeply. Whatever is inside of me causing this pain has to come out. I roll my belly on the squishy pilates ball—the way the woman on Instagram recommends. It does not work. Nothing works. I enter this limbo space as I do each time I am not well. I call it “twilighty sleeps.” When I am not quite awake and not quite asleep. The only constant is Zeke by my side and pain. A loyal, loving dog. And pain.

I knew. I always know. Don't we always know? If I sit in silence and presence consistently enough, it simply comes in. Enters my world, my thoughts, my being. I know, but I don't listen. Ever? No. Often enough? Yes.

Nudges. That's what I call them, when I know something. No giant signs, bright lights, or large, heavy objects hitting me over the head like I am in a cartoon. Inklings. Small sparks. A tiny, almost imperceptible a-ha. This is how God communicates with me.

I resisted God for so long. The God of a Catholic upbringing that no longer made sense to my young, stubborn, ideological mind. No. I don't believe. Not my God. No, no, no. I knew it all, then. How blessed was I to know it all at 20, 25, 36, 42? While I emphatically said no to God, I walked through life confident that my mother’s prayers were keeping me alive and well.

I sat with the pain for two long days. Inside, my miraculous body was working hard to keep me safe. Your appendix was perforated, but your body formed a partial seal. A contained perforation. Fluid in your pelvis. Your appendix was very angry. Nasty! as the beautiful, Polish, f-bombing angel anesthesiologist said when I awoke from surgery. You were remarkably stoic for how bad it was. For how much pain you must have been experiencing.

The appendix. It is a small, finger-shaped organ located in the lower right abdomen. It is attached to the large intestine. While the exact function of the appendix is unknown, it is thought to play a role in the immune system, perhaps helping to store beneficial bacteria. It is considered a vestigial organ—no known essential function. It may have been more important to our ancestors. At approximately four inches in length, it is small, but mighty. If the appendix is happy, it garners zero attention. Piss it off, and we are playing a whole different ball game. Appendicitis, the inflammation of the appendix, is a medical emergency. If left untreated, the four-inch unnecessary organ can rupture and lead to serious, possibly life-threatening infection.

Remarkably stoic. Words. Wonderful words. Someone chooses two and never knows how they will land. How they will live in the listener's mind forever more. How they will change someone. How they will carry meaning beyond the choosing of them and the using of them.

Strong and independent are my words. My identity. Up until remarkably stoic entered the chat, strong and independent were my pride and joy. I do myself! My first sentence. An exclamatory statement of how it was to be. I have asked why, but I know. Just like I knew the pain was bad. Serious. I know why, just like I knew on a Tuesday morning that I needed to go to the emergency room. I was receiving nudges on nudges on nudges. I chose to look the other way. Head in the sand. Muscle through. Don't show any weakness.

I read somewhere that pain is the last to show up. The body has exhausted all of its problem-solving solutions it had to heal me, and now it is signaling for help. How do I apologize to my body? I have ignored its pleas for quite some time. I hated it. I called it names. I wished it were different. Better. I have looked in the mirror and cursed it. Especially my midsection—where my digestive system resides. The digestive system is a marvel of biological engineering, transforming the food we eat into the energy and nutrients our bodies need to function. To stay alive. From the moment food enters the mouth, a complex series of processes involving mechanical and chemical digestion begins. Enzymes break down carbohydrates, proteins, and fats, while specialized organs like the stomach and intestines ensure proper absorption. The liver, pancreas, and gallbladder contribute essential secretions that aid digestion, while the intestines selectively absorb nutrients and expel waste efficiently. This intricate system works seamlessly and continuously, demonstrating the body's ability to extract life-sustaining nourishment from ordinary food—it is a truly miraculous process, and I have had the audacity to hate it. Yet…despite the resentment, loathing, and neglect, my body formed a seal. It contained the perforation.

Is this my thank you? My atonement? Is it my way of evening the score, because I cannot receive help without an equal or greater gesture in return? How do I land this plane? How do I change, not for the time being but once and for all? I dodged a bullet, again. Now, what are the lessons learned?