Two weeks ago around midnight (the night following my last post!), I awoke to a horrible pain in my abdomen that started on the left side and migrated to the lower right quadrant throughout the night.  This was the third time in so many months that I had experienced this pain, and it was much, much worse than it had been the previous two times.   Because I had done some research about the pain before, I was pretty sure that it was appendicitis, so I woke David to take me to the emergency room.

 

We arrived around 7am, and I was immediately given pain medication.  The doctor scheduled a CAT scan for later that morning that showed that the pain was in fact caused by an incredibly unhappy appendix.  Here’s the quick overview of what followed for the next sixty hours:  meet with surgeon. schedule surgery. admitted to hospital and moved to a regular room.  nurse call button doesn’t work and i have to yell out whenever i hear voices in the hallway to get someone to come to my room.  doctors visit.  taken to surgery prep and into OR.  told that i might feel a little sleepy.  wake up to lots of commotion in the recovery room.  oxygen mask. confusion.  told that my oxygen concentration had dropped too low and that i had been coughing following the surgery.  informed that i have fluid on my lungs and will be placed in a critical care unit in order to be better monitored during the night.  lots of morphine.  groggy.  clear liquid breakfast.  doctors visit and tell me that a young, relatively healthy man shouldn’t get fluid on his lungs from this type of surgery.  need to run tests to make sure that I don’t have fluid around my heart.  doctor scares me.  david arrives and i tell him i’m scared.  doctor returns to tell me that he thinks that he scared me (no shit).  tests are to rule out possible complications.  chest x-ray. echocardiogram.  everything is normal. atelectasis - collapse of alveoli. common with abdominal surgery.  i still think i have fluid on my lungs.  moved to new room.  out of control roommate.  asked to be moved.  nothing happens.  more out of control behavior (screaming, yelling, nine people trying to control him at once - he’s 90, doesn’t speak english, alzheimer’s).  asked to be moved at 3 am.   moved at 4 am.  sleep, finally.  doctor comes and tells me that i should be able to go home.  still think i have/had fluid on my lungs.  ask about fluid.  other doctor tells me i never had fluid on my lungs.  confused.  wait.  wait. wait.  nurse tells me i am being discharged.  no.  have to wait for doctor.   wait. wait. wait.  doctor comes, changes bandage, gives instructions, tells me i am being discharged.  where are my shoes?  no one can find them.  old rooms checked.  no. lost and found. no.  i’m leaving.  call david and ask him to bring shoes when he picks me up.  walk to elevator.  excuse me, where are you going?  i’ve been discharged.  no.  wait at nurses station.  can’t find chart.  wait. wait.  sign here.  goodbye.  david, i’m downstairs.  put on shoes.  get in car and go home.  60 hours at hospital.

 

Once I was home, I spent a week in bed.  I forgot to mention that they had to cut me open rather than perform a laprascopic procedure.  It hurt to bend, sit up, walk, or laugh.  I am so happy that David was here to help me; I couldn’t have done it on my own. Poor David!  He was only here for two days before I had to be hospitalized.   I’m so happy that he was here even if he felt like it was hell.

 

I was gradually able to start getting out of the house for an hour or two and then feeling completely exhausted.  I was ok’d to return to work on Monday and have never been happier to return to work in my life.  

 

I had hoped to blog while I was at home, but I found it hard to concentrate because of the pain medication.  Our stuff arrived on Saturday and movers came to carry our stuff on Sunday.  We’re finally starting to get things unpacked and settled.  I’ll post more about San Francisco, work, and our new life soon.  I hope all is well with everyone.