The pain started while I was teaching class. Or I should say, my students were busy
working on a project while I was curled up in a fetal position in the corner of
the room. At first I thought it was gas
pain. Then it got worse and all the
normal things flashed in my brain – diverticulitis…kidney stones…appendix. I remember a doctor telling my daughter that
if you jump up and down and can’t stand the pain, it’s your appendix. After class I went into the bathroom and
jumped up and down.
Decision time: do I drive myself to the hospital or drive
home and let my husband take me. The
juggling of too many vehicles left in a parking lot slipped into my organized
mind, so I drove home. Husband saw the
look in my face, grabbed the keys, and off we went. It reminded me a little of driving to the
hospital before my son was born.
Admitting to the hospital went fairly quickly. When I told them the pain was 15 on a 1-10
scale, they immediately wheeled me into Room ER13, just as the cooking channel
appeared on the TV. Then off I went to
get a CAT scan – roll off the bed to a table – click – hold your breath –
click, buzz – hold your breath - roll back on the bed – yikes! When Dr. McGloomy came back in he told me it
was a hernia – say Whaaaa? That was the
furthest thing from my mind. Then the
Dr. with no manners had the nerve to try to push this 5 inch bulge back into
place. The screams from my mouth gave
him the clue it wasn’t going to work. A
sweet young nurse taped a needle in my arm and cooed, “You’re being admitted.” Praise the Lord, cut me open.
I had my own room until after surgery, when they relocated
me upstairs to room with a woman who had TVLAND on all day and all night. Flashes of reruns of “The King of Queens” and
“Everybody Loves Raymond” permeated the room.
The drugs started to kick in and I was content to just lie in bed,
dozing off in la la land. My son came to visit and watched golf on my TV with
my husband. When he left he said, “Nice
talking to you, Mom.” Then the ugly
nurse with the mole on her chin came in and forced me to walk around the
nurses’ station. A lot of expletives
spewed forth from my lips until I was able to grasp a hold of my IV pole and
shuffle, hunched over, down the hallway.
I was able to go home the day after surgery and knew I
needed to drink a lot of fluids and eat.
So that’s what I did. I was able
to pee ok, but figured out I hadn’t had a bowel movement for 2 days when my
abdomen started to bulge above my incision.
I found some laxatives and took those for 2 days. Nothing.
Then, in the middle of the night, I felt it. Oh goodie, I’m going to get some relief, so I
sat on the toilet for an hour. That’s
long enough – I yelled at my husband at 4:00 in the morning that he needed to
take me to the hospital so I could give birth to this bowling ball out of my
rectum. When I was admitted, the same
doctor who was on call 4 days ago strolled in.
He probably thought, “Oh no, you again.”
“I’m baaack!!” I cried. An x-ray
showed that my intestines contained a line of 4 days’ worth of food packed into
a 1 inch tube – oh look, there’s the turkey & green beans, the cheese
crisp, the chicken noodle soup, and an Arby’s Ruben Sandwich.
Now, if you are over 50 and reading this, you will know
exactly what I went through. Anyone
younger, be glad your mother didn’t subject you to…THE ENEMA!! They told me it would be a few minutes while
they got the enema from the pharmacy. I
think they had to wait until Walgreens opened, because an hour later the nurse with
a pointy nose and chicken neck came in with her blue gloves, plastic bag, and
long tube. So this is the END of my
shitty tail. To sum it all up Surgery
not only Sucks…it is the Shits.
Epilogue: At 4 in the
morning when I am in pain and it’s dark outside, no one gives a damn that I am
in my night shirt and socks with treads.
It’s a different story leaving at 9:00 a.m. with a full waiting room.
