I was a forceps delivery, so I and my mum probably would have died in childbirth. Failing that, I’m very lucky I don’t have brain damage common in forceps births, aside from having very incredibly mild cerebal palsy. It’s a bit embarressing saying that though as I’ve met a people that have it pretty severely and after I eventually learned to coordinate my fingers as a little kid I didn’t even know I had it till my mum told me.
After I was born it turned out I had pyloric stenosis, which is a condition where the sphincter between the stomach and small intestine is too tight to allow food through. If I hadn’t had the surgery to fix that I would have either starved, or gotten brain damage through lack of nutrition. Even with the surgery I had wicked reflux until I was in my mid teens.
I would have died of scarlet fever or gestational diabetes or the delivery of my last child or the abortion I had two years later.
What about the auto-immune stuff I have now which could be (tentatively) linked to the weekly flatplates (Xrays) of the abd my mother had for the last 6-8 weeks of her pregnancy? They were looking at the plates at the end of my long bones to see if I was full term or not. Yeah-there’s a standard of care for ya! :rolleyes:
Febrile convulsions, appendicitis, adult-onset chicken pox, ditto diabetes, hypercholesterolemia, depressive personality, and attention deficit (which could have taken me out numerous times during mundane activities like driving, and indeed, may yet do so).
I’d be just fine. My delivery was easy, had the chicken pox when I was five and had never even had an earache before I was twenty five (which was already healing by the time I saw a doctor). I had food poisoning a couple of years ago and a thorn in my left heel that had to be snipped out. That’s it. The very few bad things I’ve had were very light/minor.
My mom might not still be alive, though. She was quite overweight and had a gastric bypass. But would she have gotten so heavy, way back when? Her weight and smoking led to a heart attack and quadruple heart bypass, but if you go far enough back, there’d have been no tobacco.
My dad would have been even more healthy than I, and then dead as a doornail, from pancreatic cancer. Modern medicine hasn’t fixed that one yet, but at least it made his exit a lot less painful.
Mr. Legend and I used to love playing this game! We’re fairly evenly matched, too. I’d have probably died from rabies at the age of five (my own, very definitely rabid, dog bit me hard, drawing blood). Mr. Legend would have died from a burst appendix at age 13 or, had he somehow survived the appendicitis and resultant peritonitis, from typhoid shortly thereafter.
Anyway, I had Crohn’s disease when I was little, like 5, which was kind of weird because Crohn’s doesn’t usually hit until people are adults. I probably would have wasted away from not getting the nutrients from what little food I ate (Crohn’s also gives you anorexia. Not anorexia nervosa, you just don’t want to eat).
I was a forceps delivery, so I could have died at birth.
I had a rare gum infection when I was 1 year old, so I could have died in an age before antibiotics.
Tropical skin disease when I was 5 contracted from an aeroplane seat of an airline that is no longer with us (unsuprisingly). Cured with antibiotic cream prescribed by a Tropical Medicine specialist in London.
Gastroenteritis when I was 9.
Asthma since age 11.
Bladder infection aged 17.
And the usual bouts of bronchitis, pneumonia, influenza.
Basically, I wouldn’t be sitting here unless I’d lived my life in some remote, unpolluted village in the Alps, or something.
As it was, they removed nearly a liter of blood from my abdomen after the thing ruptured. My husband said I was so pale after surgery that even my lips were practically colorless.
That is scary. I had PID once before and very assuredly would have died of it as recently as 20 years ago. It very nearly killed me anyways and would have if I hadn’t had laprascopy.
I’m a twin, we were both breech, and my mother was left (in the 1960’s) to labour alone for three days before a forceps delivery to allow the consultant to go on holiday.
So I suppose I might have died then and there.
Very healthy until the birth of my first kid - his head was too big for my pelvis, so I had a cesarean. He MIGHT have been born, after a very long labour, but he might have not.
Assuming I survived that, then I got cataracts so I’d have maybe died from not being able to look after myself, depending on how long ago we are thinking about.
Then my second baby was placenta previa, which has a 100% percent chance of maternal death if you don’t have a cesarean, so that’s me gone at the age of 34 at the oldest!
I have to call a foul on the “forceps delivery” trend we’re developing here. Forceps are not new - they’ve been used for thousands of years, well before anything we could label “modern medicine.”
They’re oogy and scary nowadays, but in the 1920s they were routine, and in properly trained hands, very safe.
I think I’d be okay, baring some accident or smallpox or death in childbirth. My mother suffered through a long, excruciating painful, but not life-threatening, delivery. I’ve never suffered from any serious illnesses or defects. Without eyeglasses I’d be severely near-sighted, but eyeglasses have been around since the 13th century in various forms.
Osteomyelitis in my heel, which untreated would have turned gangrenous. Back in the day, they’d have taken my leg off with an unsterilized saw, which would probably have finished me. If I had survived that, my appendix would eventually have gone – though not till I was an adult.
Boy, this is an illuminating thread. What a crapshoot life is, eh?
Huh! I don’t know anything about mono, other than that I had it & was given penicillin (little white pill shaped like a flying saucer) and some big yellow honker pill. In bed for 2 weeks, watching Hazel & other reruns on our little b&w tv. And lots & lots of bloodwork.
Somebody mentioned febrile convulsions - I didn’t think those were at all fatal. Scary for the parents, to be sure, but nothing to really worry about.