March 4, 2008

I’m currently at my grandparents’ house. It is Tuesday.

Yesterday was Monday, as usual, and I decided after trying with much effort and strain that the pain in my side and in my back was far too much for me to handle. With it clear in my mind that I’d been unable to stand up and talk to the class for more than a minute at length and doing so much as answering a question was a severely taxing demand, I took myself to the emergency room.

The horrors of such trips were not prevalent. I sat in the waiting room about fifteen minutes, was quickly handed a small plastic cup and then attended to. Blood pressure good, pulse good, a bit of a temperature. On a scale of one to ten, the pain was a seven.

I was dressed in the fashionable attire of most hospitals: a gown that flattered by backside. I waited, they took blood, the offered me a blanket because it was cold. The doctor came in, punched my kidneys, punched the bottoms of my feet, and hmmed his way back to a desk somewhere. Before I know it, there is a wheelchair sitting before me.

The X-ray. The ultrasound to make sure I didn’t have testicular inconsistencies. The long wait on a flat bed the raised the pain to level of tears. They gave me a warm blanket afterward, and I was grateful. They couldn’t give me water, but a nurse gave me gum. She’s a nice lady, I think.

A CT scan, and back to sit in the waiting room. My mother is one her way, she sends a friend ahead of her. We chat. It is a nice diversion. She’s that friend my mother was always able to go to with any problem, and she would listen listen listen, and you always could feel better after talking to her. It remained true.

Mom arrives, and I’ve got twinges in the back of my head the turn me into a child again. I’m thinking of all the times women have told me that men are babies when they are sick. This is true, because I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my mother’s lap and sleep. The look in her eyes told me she would love to let me.

An IV full of drugs, and an antiboitic to prep me for surgery. The doctor says its early appendicitis. They are discussing things with the surgeon. My mother won’t let me stay her, so they unplug me, still doped, and we go back to her house, so I can sleep. With drugs, the two hour trip is uneventful and relaxed. The sleeping was short, but good.

And this morning, I’m sitting in a clinic with another health care professional and he’s telling me I likely don’t need surgery, and I should go home, rest, drink lots of liquids and see if this little infection will pass. I’ve had no surgeries up to this point, why start now?

I do feel better, but I still don’t feel well. I’m about to enjoy the first solid food in two days and its jello, and Giada De Laurentis is keeping me company on Food Network. Tomorrow will be Wednesday.



  1. Get as many opinions as you can, my dear. My husband nearly died at 12 because of appendicitis, and I’d like for you to suffer as LITTLE as possible.

    Sending you love and healing energy to go with all that jello!


  2. Ai! No good!

    But hell, join the surgery club. We’ll make scars hip together!

    Let me know if you need anything.

  3. Wish I was there hun. I’m prayin’ for ya. Ya have me officially worried now too.

  4. Ahhh yes, the pee cup. And the moist towelette they give you to “clean up”. haha, it took me years to figure what that was suppose to be used for, only to come out of the bathroom using it to wipe my hands and to see the nurses giggling.

    haha. Good times.

    I’m staying tuned, but I hope you get to feeling better. Shoot me an email if you need anything, and if you can spare any of the drugs they’ve given you this far, shoot me an email 😉


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