Yeah, so….guess what!

I had an emergency appendectomy yesterday! Go me!

This sucks. I just coughed, and I swear I nearly punched a midget. That hurt…so bad. Anyway. Let’s review, shall we?

Wednesday night

I was out at dinner with my coworkers, eating Mexican food and drinking margaritas and generally having a swell time. I left the place around 9 or so, feeling very full on my 30 minute drive home. Too full. I felt kinda bloated, almost like I had indigestion bad gas. I got home, and by then the pain decided to drop in bringing a nice bundt cake and grape soda. I laid down on the couch, wishing the pain away and shooing off my pesky kids, but nothing would stop it. I figured I could just wait it out, but I could actually FEEL the pain migrating around my abdomen, like glass moving through a garden hose. Holy hell, this sucked the big one. I went to sleep, hoping I’d be awakened by the sound and sensation of a nice, long fart. I’m just being real with you, people.

Early Thursday

Very early. 1:30am. Sadly, no fart was forthcoming. Instead, the pain greeted me by saying “Dude, get up. Go to the hospital.” I said no. The pain said “NOW, BITCH!”. And I said OK. I drove myself up to the ER and cursed the doctors for having parking spaces right up front. Seriously, I had to park and walk about 75 yards to the ER door, hands clutching my stomach like I was smuggling diamonds from Sierra Leone. At least there’s not much of a line at 2am, ’cause they took me right into triage, where they got my information and told me to go wait to be called. Now, I realize that for the people who work in the hospital, it’s really no different than any other workplace, but when I’m doubled over in pain, lying on my side on a hard-ass lounge chair, I do NOT wanna hear loud cackling and laughter from the people NOT SERVICING me at that moment. They were laughing like they had just seen Barney Miller for the first time, the bastards. Finally they took me to a room and drew blood and misspelled my name and made me drink Barium (dis…gus…ting) so that I could get a CAT scan, where they thoughtfully informed me that I had acute appendicitis, which isn’t surprising, ’cause I’m a cute muhfucka. At 5am I was admitted, and got a really nice room.


Surgery was scheduled for around 3pm that day, so I had nothing to do but lay still and chill out while I waited. Did I mention that, for pain, they gave me morphine, demerol, and hydrocodone? Oh GOD, morphine is the SHIT! It really is. I was hallucinating, hearing things, and visiting places that don’t exist. I heart morphine. The switch to demerol with finnergan was disappointing, but that combo got me high eased my pain and helped me make it to the surgery. Oh, and I got a bit more good news – I also had gall stones. Yay me. The surgeon (who, by the way, looked younger than me, meaning that either she’s a prodigy or that I’m just getting old) said she wasn’t gonna remove my stones or the gall bladder this time because 2 surgeries just complicates things, and honestly, I was fine with that. She brought me down about an hour early for the Big Cutting, where she told me that I’d be enjoying a laproscopic surgery, meaning instead of a giant gash in my belly, she’d be serving me with 3 smaller incisions where she’d insert the tools she needed for the job. I said whatever, ’cause it was ALL gonna suck. They wheeled me to the surgery floor, where a new set of people asked me the same, tired set of questions that I’d been asked about 12323452 times already that day. They pumped something lovely into my IV, and the next thing I knew I was back in the room, minus one very infected appendix, and swimming in the bliss of a lot of pain. I hate surgery.

Thursday night

Yeah, Thursday night sucked big time. The most continuous sleep I got was maybe 30 minutes, either due to me not finding even ONE comfortable position, or from the steady train of interruptions from nurses and lab techs throughout the night. I think I saw every number on the clock last night, including a couple of new ones between 4 and 5am. Or maybe that was the demerol. And because I was on IV fluids, I had to pee every hour or so, and as SOON as I put my pecker in the plastic urinal, it was like a light went off at the nurse’s station because invariably, someone would roll up in there while I was draining the main vein. I hope they liked the show. By 5, I gave up and had a male nurse help me to my feet so I could walk around. Let me tell you something, people…that hurt. A lot. But I knew I had to do it if I wanted to be discharged, so I sucked it up like a trooper and strolled the hallways at that ungodly hour. My belly? Huge. The surgeon pumped it full of air to give her room to work, and it’s STILL huge, even as I type this now. I made it back to my room and immediately got back into my sweaty bed. I smelled like rancid mountain goat. And I really didn’t care, ’cause all I wanted was to get my hurting ass in a semicomfortable position and pretend to sleep for a little while longer. I did get to see “Heroes” on, though. Score.


After pretending to sleep, I got up (read: laid in bed because getting up sucked ass) and waited for the doctor to come tell me the deal. Aside from the pain, the demerol, the back sweat, the ability to FINALLY get some sleep (a whole hour!), and more walking, all I did Friday was wait to be released. Oh, I did eat, finally. A lovely buffet of broth, a melted popsicle, some red jello that was hard on the edges, and ice tea that needed more than just sugar. It needed therapy. I needed to be discharged. I was tired, smelly, hurting, and sick of being in that Room of Constant Interruption. The Younger Than Me surgeon finally showed up, gave me her blessing, and off I went.

And as I finally wrapped this up, I farted, long and hard. It was the best fart of my entire life.

By the way, Badger The Witness will still go on Sunday night, so listen to me bitch about my ordeal, and listen to Laurie talk shit about it, having birthed babies or whatever.