People talk of life’s storms as if they are universal experiences. But they’re not. Some people hear thunder while others touch lightning.

Elise Dutton’s Diary

THREE YEARS EARLIER

I couldn’t sleep because of the pain. At first I thought it was an upset stomach. Then, as the pain increased, an ulcer. An ulcer made sense. I was a worrier. I’d worried my whole life.

While my husband, Dan, slept, I downed a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, which did nothing to relieve my agony. Finally, at four in the morning, I woke Dan, and he reluctantly drove me to St. Mark’s Hospital emergency room. It wasn’t an ulcer, it was appendicitis. And my appendix had burst. I was rushed into surgery and spent the next two days in intensive care being fed massive doses of antibiotics to attack the infection that had set in. On the third day I had shown enough progress that they moved me out of the ICU.

Dan came to see me that afternoon bearing a bouquet of spring flowers. It was only the second time I had seen him since I was admitted, and, in spite of his absence, I was glad to see him. We had talked for only about a half hour when he said he had to get back to work. Dan was working as a telemarketer and managed a phone solicitation office. After he left I was just lying there looking at the flowers when one of my nurses walked in. Keti was a Tongan woman as wide as she was tall.

“Oh, aren’t you lucky,” she said. “Somebody loves you.”

I smiled. “Aren’t they beautiful? They’re from my husband.”

“You hang on to him, honey. I can’t tell you the last time my husband brought me flowers.” She looked up at me. “Oh wait, I don’t have a husband.” She walked to my side. “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts where they made the incision.”

“That’s usual. An appendectomy is like a cesarean, except you don’t get a baby for it.”

“I feel a little warm.”

“Warm? Like a fever?”

“Yes.”

She sidled up to my bed. “I was just about to check your temperature.” She rubbed an electronic thermometer across my forehead and frowned. “You have a temperature. A hundred and two point four. I don’t like that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe a little infection.” She checked my chart. “You’re already on a pretty high dosage of antibiotics, but let me see if the doctor wants to up your dose a little.”

“Thank you.”

As she scribbled on her clipboard, I heard the vibration of a cell phone. We both looked around to see where it was coming from, then Keti discovered an iPhone lying next to the flowers. “Is this yours?”