Sometimes you wake up in the morning with a clear sense of what you intend to do that day, so on you go to make it so. But I have an expression I use often when discussing the vagaries and risks of everyday life: I woke up this morning; all bets are off on what happens after that.
So it was one day late last November when I awoke and went about my morning as planned until a little pain developed in my upper abdomen that did not change for a few hours. I pretty much ignored it and went to work that afternoon, but over the next several hours I could be found keeled over or on the floor, interspersed with random attacks I can only describe as attempts by my body to empty all abdominal cavity contents through my mouth.
I have no recollection of driving home. Once there, it didn’t take long to finally admit that these symptoms were not going to just “go away,” so I decided it might be wise to go to the emergency room. Over the next few hours a workup was done and emergency surgery ensued as soon as I could be shoe-horned into the OR schedule. The next day, post-op, I was apprised of the full extent of the nightmare of causes that were attempting to kill me. It was a perfect storm of not one, or even two, but three abdominal pathologies—abdomanomalies™—(not to be confused with the nightmare of Obamanomalies™ despite both having the same gut-wrenching effects) that included a blocked bowel, an internally herniated bowel, and a quickly deteriorating appendix. I highly recommend that if you ever intend to develop all of these conditions, you arrange to get them at the same time so they can be corrected in one surgery rather than three spread over time. It’s just a more efficient use of suffering, hospital resources, and medical insurance (should you be responsible enough to have it and pay the out-of-pocket expenses for 11 days of in-patient care plus visiting nurses so that others may game the system).
Three weeks later, over the New Year’s weekend, I was back in the hospital for 5 more days after spiking a fever. A CAT scan revealed a massive abscess requiring the installation of a drainage tube through the side of my rib cage into my liver. I spent the next two weeks with a drainage bulb in my sweatpants pocket. If anyone at work made the mistake of asking about the tube coming out from the bottom of my sweatshirt to my pants pocket I would show them the bulb with its syrupy blood-and-pus contents, then explain that I like to put salsa on a cracker, add some of the bulb sauce, and have it with a nice Chianti…f-f-f-f-f-f. LOL! Be sure you want to know the answer before you ask a question! Yes Hannibal, I was getting better by the day.
If you have been tabulating the timeline of this story you will understand why I have not been in the mood to add content here for quite some time. But I am once again ready to take on the insanity of the world it appears I will continue to inhabit. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Despite four new scars, I (luckily) still have my full complement of intestines and intestinal fortitude, as well as all of my other abdominal organs, so all bile production and venting abilities remain intact.
I’m back…
I am sorry that you had such a terrible ordeal.
Thank you for your empathy.