My Appendix Story, Part 1

No, it has nothing to do with politics, but I figured I'd post it anyway. Allow me to say that since the appendectomy, I have been horribly busy, which accounts for my lack of posts. Never fear though, even as we speak, things are calming down (though only slightly), so I hope to post more.

Now, for the main attraction... This post covers a few "bathroom" issues, so I ask that you forgive any crudeness, as it is generally a necessary part of the story.

On Saturday, June 4 I had an appendectomy. I suppose my problems started around 12:30 AM while I was up late playing Xbox. Out of the blue, I felt a pain in my stomach, just below my navel. The first thing that came to mind was that I had to use the restroom, so I paused the game and off to the bathroom I went. I came back several minutes later, feeling a little better, and continued to play my game.

The pain returned shortly, leaving me wondering if I just hadn't properly finished the job on my first visit, so I headed back to the restroom. This time, I did nothing and I did not feel any better. I thought that perhaps the problem might have been caused by sitting hunched over with a controller in my hand for so long, so I decided to call it a night. After shutting off the video game and walking downstairs, my stomach started hurting a little less; by the time I made it to bed, however, the pain had returned.

Several more visits to the bathroom did nothing to ease my pain, and before I knew it, it was 2:15 AM. I headed back for the bathroom one last time, and this time while I was in there, I felt my hands tingling, and I started to get dizzy. At this point, let me assure you that it is not a pleasant feeling to know that you have fallen off a toilet, but that is exactly what I did. At that point, I decided that it was time to get my parents.

I woke them up, and as soon as they turned on a light and saw me, my mom commanded me to lie down. Needless to say, I complied; really, I would have complied whether she told me to lie down or not. As I was lowering myself (rather quickly) to the ground, I began to feel cold and started shivering.

The first thing my mom did was shove a thermometer in my mouth (which, by the way, was brand-spankin' new). When we took it out, we couldn't believe what we saw: 90.7 degrees! Being certain that that couldn't be right, we took my temperature again, with the same results. Surely it wouldn't malfunction again...

But we got the same temperature even on the third try. This thoroughly worried my mom, who briefly consulted with my dad before calling 911. We ended up taking me to the emergency room, where I answered a barrage of questions about the pain, where I felt it, how long I had felt it, what I am allergic to, what medicines I take, etc... All in all, I think I answered the same set of questions about nine times. Maybe they were just testing to make sure I wasn't delirious...

They finally finished asking me questions and helped me shuffle back to a room where I climbed into a bed. Once there, the first thing the nurse said to me was "Here's a cup, we're going to need a urine sample." Oh joy. I won't go into details, but even in private, that is a rather humiliating task. I had not had a drink of water for about four hours, so it was rather hard to come by. Then, of course, I got to stumble back to my room carrying a clear cup of hard-earned urine.

I climbed back into my bed, only to be summoned again, this time to the X-ray room. That went relatively smoothly (besides the fact that for a few minutes I went almost completely deaf), and they finally let me go back to my bed. All the walking had made my stomach start hurting again, so sleep was not an option.

Enter the morphine. After this point, things get a little fuzzy. The nurse inserted an IV into my arm, gave me a dose of morphine that I (at the time) thought didn't affect me. However, witnesses have informed me that even on morphine, I STILL have to have the last word. Now, they couldn't actually *understand* the last word, but that didn't stop me! A mumble is harder to respond to than a well-planned wisecrack, after all. While on morphine, I also remember spending upwards of ten minutes staring at my hands... Or was that later, when they gave me Percocet?

Anyway, just as I was getting comfortable (the morphine was starting to help the pain), the nurse came back in with what I thought were two pints of milk. "Finally, something to drink!" I thought. I was so thirsty, I thought I would drink anything.

I was wrong. The nurse informed me that they needed me to drink those two bottles of Barium Sulfate so they could run a CAT scan on me. My next question was obvious: "What does it taste like?" "Oh, some people say it tastes kinda like coconut," He told me.

He lied. It tasted like a soapy coconut, dipped in sour milk. I imagine it took me an hour to chug all of that junk, though my concept of time was distorted; I was no longer on standard minutes, instead chillin' out in morphine minutes. I guess it doesn't really matter... I drank the stuff, and they ran the CAT scan on me.

Now, there is something unnerving about being placed in a tube that makes Star Trek noises, while a computerized voice tells you when to breathe. I could have sworn I went to Warp 6 and back at least three times, and nearly passed out when they told me to hold my breath. Not that it really mattered, since I was sleep-deprived and on morphine (and thus barely functional) anyway. All I know is that they ran the test on me and wheeled me back to my room.

After waiting for several hours (either Standard or Morphine hours), we got the results back, which confirmed that I had appendicitis. They scheduled me for surgery around 9:00 AM (I think), so I had approximately four hours to burn before my surgery. Of course, it occurred to me that I should try to sleep. Somehow though, that just didn't work out...

Maybe it was the pain in my side. Maybe it was the IV in my arm. Maybe it was the unbelievably small bed I was laying on. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't had anything to drink since before midnight. Regardless, I don't think I got much sleep. I do know, however, that my memory of the period between my CAT scan and the actual surgery is very fuzzy. The last thing I remember was a foul-smelling mask being placed over my face, while the surgeons were asking me questions about my SAT score...