Well. Remember how I said that I could feel something good headed my way? Boy, was I wrong.
The last 17 days have been a whirlwind of doctors, IVs, hospital gowns, morphine and banana popsicles. But the important thing is - I came out alive...1 appendix, 10 inches of my colon and 10 pounds less than I was 18 days ago.
It all started a couple months ago with a minor pain in my lower right abdomen. I was convinced that I was just experiencing worse than normal female pains and I ignored it. The pain kept coming and going as it pleased, but got considerably worse during a road trip to Ocean Shores in mid-February. Grant convinced me to see a doctor - and it all went downhill from there.
Tuesday, February 16th: Saw a Doctor in Boise who poked and prodded, drew blood and made me pee in a cup. Sent me home with a diagnosis of "it's definitely not an appendicitis, but it could be Chlamydia or Gonorrhea." AWESOME.
Wednesday, February 17th: Pain gets considerably worse throughout the day and starts moving into my stomach area, with sharp pains shooting through my whole abdomen. Started getting very nauseous and having chills. Called the Doctor after work, where a lab tech told me that my test results came back normal (i.e., no STD!), so there shouldn't be any immediate concern.
Thursday, February 18th: Stayed home from work and called first thing in the AM to speak with my doctor. He scheduled me for an Ultrasound but failed to mention that I shouldn't eat anything for 8 hours prior, so I had to wait until Friday. Prescribed me some pain meds to tie me over. Still said there wasn't any immediate concern.
Friday, February 19th: Had an ultrasound done at the hospital (where the Doctor forgot to fax over his order/diagnosis and had to wait until his office opened for him to do so). Sat in miserable pain for the rest of the day until he called at 5pm to tell me that the results were normal, but encouraged me to go to the ER if the pain wasn't going away. Decided that the ER was probably the only way for me to get a real answer, so off to St. Luke's we went.
About 20 minutes later, I had more answers from the ER staff than I ever had from that stinky old Doctor I had originally seen. The nurses chuckled at the initial diagnosis that stinky doctor gave (definitely not an appendicitis, could be Chlamydia or Gonorrhea). They were
definitely concerned about an appendicitis, but were also thinking that I could have had a ruptured cyst on one of my ovaries. They drew blood, made me pee in a cup, did a lovely female exam and hooked me up to morphine to make me more comfortable. EVERYTHING came back normal. At a last resort, they ordered a CT Scan, made me drink a giant cup of 7Up mixed with drugs, and pumped me full of something that made me feel like my insides were glowing. 30 minutes later, the doctor walked in and I instantly knew that something was wrong. "You, my dear, have a ruptured appendix." I repeat: AWESOME.
After a few frantic calls home and some panicked tears, the surgeon came in to explain the procedure to me. Unfortunately, since my appendix had already ruptured, there would be no way to assess the damage until he was able to open me up. He warned me that, depending on how long the appendix had been ruptured, there could be some damage to my large intestine as well. Nonetheless, he was very reassuring and I knew that I would be in good hands. Or, at least, the morphine made me feel that way.
Saturday, February 20th: Just after midnight, I was rolled out of my ER room, through the doors that healthy people are not allowed through, up the elevator with creepy ceiling mirrors and to the OR waiting area. I met with the anesthesiologist and some of the nurses that would be in with me during the surgery. I used the restroom long enough to give myself a little pep talk in the mirror and make peace with the fact that I looked awful in my blue surgical hair covering. A few minutes later, they rolled me into the OR. It was time.
I remember the harshly bright lights, the world's most uncomfortable operating table, and what seemed like 100 people dressed in blue. They put the oxygen mask over me and asked me to breathe and count to 3. I remember counting to 1.
When I woke up, the pain was pretty incredible. They kept telling me to keep my eyes open and to relax my stomach muscles, neither of which I could do. I'm pretty sure I cried and cursed a lot before I went back to sleep (or they knocked me out to shut me up). At some point, I remember Grant being there and I asked him if I was going to hurt like this forever, at which point he asked the nurse and she responded, "only for a few days". It was sweet of him to ask for me, though, just to be sure. Grant ended up spending the night on a cot that the nurses brought in for him, so he was able to be there as soon as I came to.
The surgery ended up being an Appendectomy and a Colectomy - meaning they removed my appendix and about 10 inches of my colon, due to infection that had spread from the rupture. They attempted to do the procedure laparoscopically but ended up having to open me up with a large incision on my stomach to remove both. Later, the surgeon informed me that my appendix was as hard as a rock and they were doing some tests to determine why. One possibility was Chron's disease but other than that, he was pretty baffled.
The rest of the day was pretty blurry. I just remember hating the nurses until they gave me the magical green button that made all of the pain go away and my head feel fuzzy. My parents were there after a long, late-night drive. I'm sure they had a pretty boring day watching me sleep, but it was comforting to know they were there. That evening, the evil nurses made me go for a walk...with a granny walker. I felt like Mr. Frederickson from "Up", with the exception of the tennis balls. I didn't get very far, but everyone seemed impressed with the few steps that I was able to take. Guess I'm just Superwoman.
Sunday, February 21st - Saturday, February 27th: The next week was probably one of the most uncomfortable in my life. Hospital beds are really awful, even with the cool buttons that control everything in the room. I couldn't find a position that wasn't painful so sleeping was a big challenge. On top of that, the nurses have to check on you every hour or so, so there really wasn't any hope. I was only allowed ice chips for the first 3 days, so I was constantly thirsty. Even when they did upgrade my diet, I was so nauseous that I couldn't keep anything down. I tried to keep everyone happy by eating Jello and popsicles, but none of it tasted very good.
I did, however, slowly begin making progress as I was able to walk longer and get myself in and out of bed. On Tuesday, I received the good news that Chron's disease was out of the picture but that my mystery, rock-solid appendix was still a conundrum that the doctors couldn't solve. It wasn't until Wednesday that I finally started seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and feeling some hope that I would get to go home soon. I was determined to get out of there, so I was walking as much as I could and doing everything they recommended to speed up my recovery. I met some wonderful nurses and hospital staff who were all rooting for me at each baby step in my progress.
I got to come home on Saturday, 8 days after checking into the ER. Grant packed up all the flowers, crossword puzzles and magazines that kept me busy for the past week and we headed home during what felt like the longest drive ever.
Grant was a saint during my hospital stay. He sat with me every day, reassuring me that things would eventually get better and encouraging me to keep walking and using the stupid breathing machine to prevent me from getting pneumonia. He even brought me a chocolate milkshake when I was finally able to keep food down - he knows me all too well.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I'm now home, but limited to few activities while my body heals. I'm missing 3-4 more weeks of work as my Doctor has stressed that recovery from this kind of surgery is much longer than one would expect. It's hard for me to relax, knowing that I left work at probably the worst possible time and that my co-workers will have to work even harder than they normally do to keep up with my work. But I'm having to focus on my recovery, stay off my feet and take care of myself to insure that everything heals back to normal.
Having never been admitted to a hospital before, I have to say that I'm grateful for the knowledge and expertise of everyone I met at St. Luke's. There wasn't a single nurse who didn't constantly ask what more they could do for me and even my surgeon was kind enough to stop in every day that I was there to check in. So a huge shout out to my peeps and Dr. Reese Verner at St. Luke's for keeping me alive and happy. Mostly the alive part.
This whole experience has been so crazy and unexpected, but it reminds me that I'm incredibly lucky to have the family and friends that I do. Ones who are willing to spend a few awkward days, hours or even minutes at the hospital, send flowers to brighten my boring hospital room, call and text daily to check in and show their love and support in so many ways. I'm just...incredibly thankful.
And I have a really cool, 5 1/2 inch scar to remind me every day for the rest of my life.
On Sunday, July 18 the love of my life popped the big question. I, of course, said "yes!" and thus began the happiest day of my 25 years.
