A few years ago I was accepted into a phenomenol NEH Institute called Voices Across Time in Pittsburgh. I decided to take the opportunity to use the experience to go on a historical road trip and visit as many places as possible on the journey there and back. My itinerary included D.C., various Civil War battlefields, and the 4th of July in Philly.
I was very excited to get going, so much so that I just gave up on trying to sleep the night before and headed out of town at 4 in the morning(the lack of sleep did catch up with me though and I ended up napping in a Wal-Mart parking lot somewhere in the middle of Florida). As I crossed the Florida/Georgia state line I stopped for gas and grabbed a yogurt to eat on the road. As a travel tip, I would not suggest buying yogurt in a place that sells bait because after getting halfway through it I began to have regrets.
My first official stop was to be Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina. Fort Sumter was where the opening shots of the Civil War occurred and being a Civil War buff, I was really excited to finally see it. As I began to get closer to Charleston, a wave of ill feeling came over me and I began to feel progressively worse with each passing mile. I figured that it was the sketchy yogurt I had eaten earlier and figured that pulling over and getting something real on my stomach would not hurt. I saw a Subway up the road and pulled over to grab a quick sandwich. As I got out of the car I was wracked with pain but hobbled my way into the restaurant. Honestly, I don't know what the heck a sandwich would have done but it did seem like a good idea at the time. I choked down part of the sandwich in hopes it would calm the demons inside me, but it seemed to have only angered them even more.
By the time I finally got to Charleston I was a hot, sweaty mess, but I absolutely refused to believe I was actually sick and walked toward the National Park Service Visitor Center for the next ferry out to the fort. With an hour to wait, I went to the bathroom to throw some cold water on my face. When I looked in the mirror, I simply could not believe it was me. I was dead man pasty and my eyes were dilated. Now, I'm normally pretty darn white, but this was totally abnormal.
The boat ride turned out to be an experiment in terror. The rocking back and forth, plus the heat turned my stomach into a boiling cauldron. I could not imagine throwing up because I had not actually gotten vomit sick since I was four years old. This was a a totally foreign feeling for me, but despite the misery I soldiered on, keeping the Civil War soldiers in my mind. Surely, they had experienced far worse than a tummy ache. I didn't want to be a wimp.
I have a strong passion for historical preservation and try to instill that into my students. I feel that these sites should be approached with respect, dignity, and reverence. As I toured around the fort, I kept running back and forth to the bathroom to throw cold water on my face, but I still wanted to get the most out of the experience. Looking at a plaque with at least two dozen other tourists, I felt that unmistakeable feeling that I was gonna puke. I fought it hard, but the juices began to swell in my mouth and all of a sudden I exploded like vile volcano all over the plaque and the surrounding area. The tourists scattered like crazy. A little old lady in a wheelchair took off like she was in the Indy 500. And then of course, there I was continuing to release the contents of my stomach all over a national shrine. So much for dignity and respect.
Fort Sumter had survived war and scores of tropical storms and hurricanes through the years, but I managed to close down a whole section of it. The NPS got me back on the boat and people kept giving me the stink eye and stayed far away for fear I would unleash again. Upon landing at the dock I decided to forgo any other touring for the day and checked into a hotel, where I continued to be sick.
After suffering through the night, I drove the next morning to Virginia, where I planned to do Colonial Williamsburg and the Historic Triangle. By the time I finally arrived there, I was so weak and sick that I just crashed in the hotel and prayed that all would be better by morning. I was mistaken. The next morning I looked at my itinerary longingly and knew that all my plans would be put on hold until I got medical attention. With Pittsburgh being my destination, I headed towards there, passing D.C., Philly, Antietam, and others along the way. I was miserable at the thought of the lost opportunity.
To make matters even worse, I realized I had forgotten all my insurance information and frantically called my school to see if they could fax it to me once I got to the hospital. I do not remember too terribly much about the drive, but apparently I scared the hell out of our business office because they kept calling me, begging me to pull over and call 911. Later on, I was told that I was speaking gibberish and muttering about all sorts of things, including reading out the speed limit signs every time I passed one.
I got to Pittsburgh and found a hospital. I walked in and said that I had REALLY bad food poisoning and that I needed help. I then just sat down in the middle of the floor and refused to move until they hauled me onto a wheelchair and into an examining room. It did not take too long to diagnose me with appendicitis and I was whisked off to emergency surgery.
The next thing I knew I was in recovery shivering uncontrollably with the surgeon standing over me shaking his head. Without much of an expression on his face he said "Mr. Fowler, you should be dead." Not exactly the sentiment I figured I would receive, but I was at least relieved to be alive. Later on he informed me, that my insides were a wreck and that the appendix had burst two days before while I was most likely at Fort Sumter. He had never heard of anyone surviving that long with the toxins running through them.
Now let me tell you one thing, being that sick away from everyone you love just plain sucks. Sure, the morphine trigger helped the first day, but after they took it away, I was left alone for 3 days with sadistic but well meaning nurses barging in every hour to poke and prod me to get a new blood sample.
I would like to say that the three day hospital stay was it, but when our class visited Gettysburg two weeks later, I was overcome with fever and had to be rushed to the emergency room once again to treat infections in my abdomen. Another three days and I got to have a wonderfully attractive drain installed in my back that was connected to a collection bulb which smelled like death. I tried to Febreze the thing but nothing curbed my stench. My fellow classmates did their best to not to wince every time I passed by, but needless to say "drain boy" had to eat alone for several lunches.
All in all it took at least nine weeks to get over my battle. I didn't even mention my rather unique roommate during the Philly institute, but honestly that is a whole book itself. I like to tell my students that the Civil War got kicked off at Fort Sumter, but Sumter also declared a Civil War on me.
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