Ah, I have a tale to tell. Spoiler alert: it ends with me having an tiny obsolete chunk of intestine chopped out of me and lots of bed rest.
Friday night I thought I had a gas bubble lodged in my bowel, so I took some Gas-X and went to bed. Later, I was woken up by a not-excruciating-but-damn-persistent pain in the same spot. Figuring it was still gas, I did some stretches and wiggles in the hopes to jar it loose. Four hours later, I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t lay down, I was pacing around because that was the only thing that helped. Being that it was 5:00 in the morning, the only place to go was the emergency room. I won’t lie: I was hoping it was something remotely serious, because nothing is lamer than going to the emergency room for gas cramps (“I have a boo-boo, meeeehhhhh!”). Since I was profoundly grumples about the pain (I may or may not have used uncouth language towards everybody), the nice lady put a needle port in my arm and gave me Dilaudid.
Ahhh, Dilaudid. Let’s talk about Dilaudid for a minute. It’s a derivative of morphine, and you know how people get addicted to opioids? Yeah, there’s a reason. The next time I watch “Intervention” and someone is addicted to Dilaudid, I’m gonna cut them a little slack, because, damn.*
Then I was wheeled to have an ultrasound, and as soon as the ultrasound lady pressed that thing down on my lower right side, I said through my gritted teeth, “PLEASE. PLEASE DON’T DO THAT.” She said, “Oh,” in a knowing way. And then jetsetter me was off to have a cat scan! Whee! Where they were clearly able to see my inflamed appendix and then I was scheduled for surgery. Did you know when you have surgery they strap you down with your arms out a la the death penalty? I did not.
Which, don’t get me wrong, is a good thing. Funny story about how my maternal grandparents met: my grandmother was assisting in a surgery on a young adult male getting his appendix out and, in the middle of surgery he sat up, completely drugged, insisted he needed to go now, and had to be wrassled back down. My grandma eventually married him. So I think strapping down members of my family during appendectomies is a good way to go. Apparently we get feisty and like to wander a bit.
After I ate lunch the next day and didn’t barf (I actually didn’t throw up at any point in this process, very strange) they tossed me out. Everyone at the hospital couldn’t be nicer; They offered me Percocet, which I politely declined in favor of Tylenol (don’t worry, you’re not going to see me selling my lady-wares or plasma on the streets for hard drugs any time soon, despite my newfound love for Dilaudid) and now I’m home feeling sorry for myself. And, since I know you’ve been on the edge of your seat, here’s the picture you’ve all been waiting for:
*Even though this is insanely vulgar, it gives you a vague idea of what it was like. Start from 6:48 so you get the plot, but the pertinent bit starts at 9:16: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tp5TeDVf1_Y