I apologize for my blog absence last week, but I had a good excuse. You see, my appendix tried to murder me.
I hadn’t been feeling great, but pretty much chalked it up to my usual digestive woes. Tuesday morning, I was so bloated I had to dig out fat pants to wear to work. Still I wasn’t alarmed. Maybe the cold cuts I’d eaten were pushing their code date or something. I mean, I had things to do. Wasn’t going to let a little crippling pain, alarming bloat, and increasingly stabbing stomach pains get in my way.
By Tuesday night, it was concerning enough that I decided I’d definitely do something ... if it was still bad in the morning. Then I realized I was in flannel jammies, under a comforter with two blankets layered over that, and I was still shivering. It was possible I now had a fever.
I did what any modern, self-reliant, mature woman would do: I called my mother. (Jason was out of town.)
Mom: I’m coming over and we’re going to the walk-in.
Me: Really? You think it could be bad?
It was. My appendix had gone rogue (and gangrenous). I was in surgery by 7 a.m. Wednesday morning, though the mutinous little death organ had ruptured by then.
The good news: I am now lighter by one appendix, and I didn’t die.
The bad news: All of this--all of this—hurt. Tremendously. In a million different ways. It still hurts over a week later, though not as much, but still enough that I’m whining right now.
The hospital was awful. My roommate was incontinent. The hospital food smelled okay, but I had no appetite and the idea of putting anything in my stomach nauseated me.
My surgeon was great, though. He stopped by that evening to see how I was.
Dr. Awesome: Do you remember our talk right before surgery?
I did, and blushed. “Yeah. I asked you if it was okay to swear.”
Dr. Awesome: Yup. And then what did you say?
Oh, dear lord. Did I drop an F bomb? Please don’t tell my mom. “Um ... nothing? I fell asleep.”
Dr. Awesome: You apologized for not having shaved your legs.
Me: I did feel bad about that.
Dr. Awesome: Then I asked you if you had any preference of what type of music to listen to during surgery.
Me: I had to have been asleep by then.
Dr. Awesome: You said you were an eighties kid, and you’d really appreciate a little Duran Duran.
Keep in mind I have no memory of anything after “Is it okay to swear?” I would’ve sworn he was making all this up ... except that Duran Duran thing sure did sound like me.
Dr. Awesome: The good news is, I was in college in the eighties, and I happened to have two Duran Duran songs on my surgery playlist. So your appendix came out to the tune of “Hungry Like the Wolf.”
Me: I can live with that.
So, a little over a week post-emergency-surgery, I’m on the mend. I can’t wear pants and I’ve developed an aversion to marshmallows and eggs, the two things I did try to eat while in the hospital. I’m still very angry at my appendix, even though it’s long gone. I get seasick when I read.
But: Jason and my family and friends were awesome throughout the whole thing, and I certainly felt loved and supported. My job was pretty great, too. I’m going to be fine eventually, and it’ll never happen again.
And I love that my doctor had Duran Duran on his iPod.
I hadn’t been feeling great, but pretty much chalked it up to my usual digestive woes. Tuesday morning, I was so bloated I had to dig out fat pants to wear to work. Still I wasn’t alarmed. Maybe the cold cuts I’d eaten were pushing their code date or something. I mean, I had things to do. Wasn’t going to let a little crippling pain, alarming bloat, and increasingly stabbing stomach pains get in my way.
By Tuesday night, it was concerning enough that I decided I’d definitely do something ... if it was still bad in the morning. Then I realized I was in flannel jammies, under a comforter with two blankets layered over that, and I was still shivering. It was possible I now had a fever.
I did what any modern, self-reliant, mature woman would do: I called my mother. (Jason was out of town.)
Mom: I’m coming over and we’re going to the walk-in.
Me: Really? You think it could be bad?
It was. My appendix had gone rogue (and gangrenous). I was in surgery by 7 a.m. Wednesday morning, though the mutinous little death organ had ruptured by then.
The good news: I am now lighter by one appendix, and I didn’t die.
The bad news: All of this--all of this—hurt. Tremendously. In a million different ways. It still hurts over a week later, though not as much, but still enough that I’m whining right now.
The hospital was awful. My roommate was incontinent. The hospital food smelled okay, but I had no appetite and the idea of putting anything in my stomach nauseated me.
My surgeon was great, though. He stopped by that evening to see how I was.
Dr. Awesome: Do you remember our talk right before surgery?
I did, and blushed. “Yeah. I asked you if it was okay to swear.”
Dr. Awesome: Yup. And then what did you say?
Oh, dear lord. Did I drop an F bomb? Please don’t tell my mom. “Um ... nothing? I fell asleep.”
Dr. Awesome: You apologized for not having shaved your legs.
Me: I did feel bad about that.
Dr. Awesome: Then I asked you if you had any preference of what type of music to listen to during surgery.
Me: I had to have been asleep by then.
Dr. Awesome: You said you were an eighties kid, and you’d really appreciate a little Duran Duran.
Keep in mind I have no memory of anything after “Is it okay to swear?” I would’ve sworn he was making all this up ... except that Duran Duran thing sure did sound like me.
Dr. Awesome: The good news is, I was in college in the eighties, and I happened to have two Duran Duran songs on my surgery playlist. So your appendix came out to the tune of “Hungry Like the Wolf.”
Me: I can live with that.
So, a little over a week post-emergency-surgery, I’m on the mend. I can’t wear pants and I’ve developed an aversion to marshmallows and eggs, the two things I did try to eat while in the hospital. I’m still very angry at my appendix, even though it’s long gone. I get seasick when I read.
But: Jason and my family and friends were awesome throughout the whole thing, and I certainly felt loved and supported. My job was pretty great, too. I’m going to be fine eventually, and it’ll never happen again.
And I love that my doctor had Duran Duran on his iPod.
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