Want to trade your appendix?

It’s been a little (okay… a long) while since my last blog. And I’m sorry about that. My goal for writing this blog is to help others and I feel I’ve been slacking in that mission.

Two weeks after my nissen surgery. I got a chauffeured trip (i.e. an ambulance ride) back to the hospital because of insane abdominal pain.

Though to be honest once the pain meds kicked in I don’t know if Ive ever had a more pleasant trip. (Fentanyl is a wonderful thing. Don’t do drugs *serious voice*)

I went to bed fine and awoke feeling like Manchester United’s entire squad had spent the evening using my tummy to practice free kicks. (Yes I’m a futball fan. Go Indy eleven!)

I was bloated up like a woman about to give birth and no way to make the delivery.

So after two weeks of CT scans, and x-rays, and blood work, and art-lines, a sump pump down my nostril, enemas, medications, bedpans, a central-line (aka PICC line) to deliver nutrition and no change or diagnoses…

One of my doctors decided on exploratory surgery. Believing something had to be knotted up in there. And we’re talking old school surgery here. None of that fancy schmancy robot with a tiny camera stuff like my nissen.

Nope, I was too bloated for that. I got the “gut you like a fish” method.

Lo and behold my tubing wasn’t twisted like they’d feared. Instead I had a really really hulked out appendix.

I woke up with it gone and another wicked scar in its place. (Sure hope Falco is right about those things.)

 

The next few weeks my doctors (all of whom I love) enjoyed teasing me about how nothing about me is ever simple, easy or by the book. Which to be fair… iiiiiissss an honest statement. I had several people tell me they had never seen appendicitis present like mine did.

So… Uh, go me? I guess… wooooo! (*twirls finger in the air*)

I spent another two weeks in the hospital recovering. AKA visiting with the most awesome staff in the business. (I totally stand by that statement.)

One of my nurses decorated my room for Christmas and one of my pharmacist friends brought me operation as a present. (How freaking cool was that?)

One mistake I made while in there was neglecting to tell one of my friends I was back in the hospital. We had been talking about finding the time to hang out… and me being a stupid male didn’t want her to think I was using my illness to expedite getting to see her.

She told me she wouldn’t have thought that. Which I totally believe, but I sometimes have the nasty habit of over thinking things and it was to late to change.

Even though she said it was okay and no big deal that I didn’t tell her. I still regret it and wish I’d told her. Because to be be honest I would have loved to have seen her. She always makes me smile and it wasn’t my place to keep it from her.

Yes; what happens to us is or business. But how our friends and family react to it is theirs. And they have every right to decide for themselves to what extent to be worried, whether or not to visiting, and what help to offer.

So… don’t screw up like I did. Keep those you care about in the loop. Capisce?

By the time of my discharge I was thankfully allowed to eat what ever I want. (FYI baby food gets real old reeeeeeeeeally quick.) But had to take it real easy on the exercise and working on my bus.

Because of how I was cut open there was a risk of a hernia. I had too take it easy and slow for a couple months. But I’m all cleared now to eat and be as physical as my happy little heart desires.

I’ve been back to the gym and (once our winter wonder land thawed a little) started working on my skoolie again.

Hopefully I’ll be talking about it soon along with another medical road bump.

But I’ve probably either entertained or bored you all enough for one day. (I’ll gracefully allow you to decide which.) Thank you sincerely for taking the time to read my goofy ramblings. I truly hope something in one of my post helps you in some way.