Appendix: fingerlike projection from the large intestine with no known function
Appendicitis: inflammation of the appendix
Appendectomy: surgical removal of the appendix
Ileus: intestinal obstruction
Those are the definitions in the dictionary. Until February 28, 1995, when I decided to try the "Tequila Lime Chicken" at Applebee's, that was about all that I knew on the subject. Friends, let me tell you, the dictionary doesn't begin to describe these terms with nearly enough eloquence. Let me try to expand on these topics.
As I mentioned, on Tuesday the 28th, I dined at Applebee's. I try to have something different every time I'm there. I had never tried the "Tequila Lime Chicken" before, and that day decided to give it a go. It was delicious. Applebee's caters to many different tastes and wisely puts items of limited appeal in a side dish. In the case of the "Tequila Lime Chicken", this dish contained a concoction of peppers, onions, and other assorted pieces of fire in a solid form. Wanting to savor the complete meal, I naturally dove right into these morsels. The blisters that formed in my mouth were the first warning. I quickly drank all of my iced tea and that of my neighbor to quench the inferno in my mouth. Knowing what I know now, I should have forgotten my modesty and table manners and spat every bit of the ghastly stuff back onto my plate. But I get ahead of myself.
That night I played darts in the league. I played rather well with a couple of 6 marks and several bulls. I had a couple of beers and retired early.
Wednesday morning, I awoke with a severe stomach ache. I brushed it off as the after effects of the "Tequila Lime Chicken" and went to work. All morning long, I kept expecting to feel better, but by noon, I decided to go home and lay down for awhile. I told the boss I'd be back about 2:30. At 2:30, I was wrapped around the toilet and thought that I should take the rest of the day off. By this time, the ache that began in my stomach had moved lower. I began to think it was gas and started eating Tums and drinking 7-UP.
About 5:30 Thursday morning, I awoke to even more pain in my lower right side. I decided to try and eat a banana. I would get to tell about this banana several times in the next 8 hours. At 7:00, I woke again, and took some Tylenol with about a half glass of water. I would get to talk about this activity several times as well.
About 7:30, I called work to say I wouldn't be in right away. I left a message for my boss that I would be in after I went to see the doctor (HAH!). I told Deb to take the kids to school and come back to take me to the doctor. Since the doctor's office doesn't open until 9:00, she wanted to go to the emergency room. I was sure I was sick (I can count on one hand the number of times I have called off work sick in the past ten years), but I didn't see the need to panic. In fact, during this whole episode, I don't think the enormity of what was happening to me ever sank in. I'm not sure it has sunk in yet.
I got in to see Dr. Rogers at about 9:30. Dr. Rogers is a neat doctor. I had only seen him once before when I had a sinus infection. He is a tall, white haired, distinguished southern gentlemen. He obviously knows his stuff. He asked about 5 questions, poked the exact spots to elicit a controlled scream, and in 2 minutes time said "Son, I think you have appendicitis. Lets get a blood count." The nurse poked my finger, and a few minutes later, Dr. Rogers came back to inform me that my white cell count, which should be about 8,000, was nearly off the chart at 19,000. He called and made an appointment with a local surgeon to examine me.
Deb drove me to the surgeon's office. I've been pretty lucky in my 42 years, but I have experienced a broken arm, a broken hand twice, two abscessed teeth, and three lacerations that required stitches. I thought that I knew what pain was. By the time we got to the surgeon's office, the pain was unlike anything I have ever felt in my life. I couldn't stand up straight, and could only walk with Deb's assistance. We got confused and went in the back door of the office. A nurse started to scold us, but after one look at me became very helpful and took me directly into an examining room.
The surgeon that examined me was Dr. Parks. I resisted the urge to ask Dr. Parks how old he was. For although he had graying temples, he was obviously younger than me. The reassurance of someone with Dr. Rogers' age and experience would have been nice, but I find myself trusting people younger than me more and more lately. Once you leave the thirties behind, you don't have much choice in the matter anymore. Dr. Parks quickly put any anxieties I may have had to rest. He also knew the right questions to ask and the right places to poke in order to elicit a reaction. He told me that all indications were that I would need to have my appendix removed. He spent some time telling Deb and I what was involved and what we could expect. He emphasized a couple of times that my appendix needed to be removed today. About 10:30, he called the hospital to set up the surgery for 2:00. Deb thought that was too long. Dr. Parks assured us that was very quick.
Along about this time, THE QUESTIONS began. THE QUESTIONS would be asked by at least 10 different people. Some of those people would ask them more than one time. THE QUESTIONS were:
1 - Have you ever had surgery before? where? by who?
2 - Are you allergic to any medications?
3 - Are you taking any medications?
4 - Have you had anything to eat or drink since midnight?
5 - Have you ever had _________ (list of numerous ailments)?
I patiently answered THE QUESTIONS the first 5 or 6 times. After that, I started to wonder if any of these people talked to each other, or if they just collectively didn't belive my answers.
Deb took me to the hospital. We went to admitting. THE QUESTIONS. A volunteer showed up with a wheelchair. After a struggle, I managed to get into the wheelchair. We went to the second floor, the surgical wing. The volunteer needed to return the wheelchair to the lobby, but the nurses in pre-op were in a quandary. There were no beds available. In fact, they had to admit me as an outpatient because there was no room at the inn! This meant that I had to change wheelchairs and wait until they could find a bed. After much groaning and complaining, I got into the other wheelchair.
By now Deb is really nervous. But not me. I'm sick, sicker than I've ever been. I understand what needs to happen to make me better, and I can't wait to get started. This calm detachment is not something that comes natural to me. I guess I have Dale Carnegie to thank for helping me to think objectively instead of emotionally. Anyway, I can honestly say that I was never worried, scared, or having second thoughts.
They finally got me into a room. I was told to remove everything down to and including my wedding ring. Then the fun with the gowns began. We went through three gowns before we found one with all of the straps. Even then, I was still clothed in a manner that will get you arrested in most of the civilized world. These gowns are made to fit someone who is 5'4", not 6"0". Modesty is apparently not a virtue that is admired in hospitals. We finally managed to get a gown on and climb into the bed. I was immediately surrounded. One nurse took an EKG. Another started an IV. Another took blood. Another took vital signs. And all of the time, from every one of them, THE QUESTIONS.
A little later, the anesthesiologist came in. THE QUESTIONS. He described how he was going to put me to sleep and shove a tube down my throat so I could breathe. I asked him when I would get something to eat. He chuckled.
About 1:00, they came for me. I was wheeled into pre-op. THE QUESTIONS. A nurse came in with an electric razor and pleasantly informed me that she gets to shave my belly. Having left my modesty at the gown fitting, I just absently watched the clock and endured.
About 1:30, a nurse came in to tell me it's time. She wheeled me into the operating room. I keep expecting THE QUESTIONS, but she had either taken the time to look at my chart or just wasn't curious. Dr. Parks is there. He talks to me while I get strapped to the table. They stick a mask over my face. I'm waiting to get drowsy but nothing is happening. I open my eyes in recovery at 4:00.
Before the surgery, Dr. Parks had said that I would probably wake up feeling much better. It was an understatement. For although my belly hurt like hell, I already felt better than I had that morning. My throat was raw, and I drank alot of water.
After a short while, I was wheeled into room 236, my home for the next four days. I had fun playing with the buttons on the bed. There was a machine that monitored the IV. It would alarm for no known reason about every hour until one of the nurses reprogramed it. After awhile Dr. Parks came in and said that the appendix was gangrenous and had started to leak. I was lucky to have gotten in when I did. He told me to drink fluids and that I would be on a liquid diet for a couple of days, and that I would probably go home Saturday. Boy was he off!
All I needed to do now was rest. You ever try to rest in a hospital? Every four hours, someone wants to take your temperature and blood pressure. Every six hours, I get a shot. Every 12 hours, the IV gets changed. In between, someone wants to clean the room, look at my dressing, change the sheets, bring in food, take the food away, etc, etc, etc. The best thing I found for getting some sleep was to turn on the TV. Daytime TV has got to be programed by some of the biggest morons on the planet. Five minutes watching what passes for entertainment and I was fast asleep.
My first challenge came the first night. I had tried a couple of times to empty my bladder. I couldn't get the job done lying on my back, and I was too sore to get up. The nurse informed me that the doctor had left orders that if I was not able to perform this task on my own, that a catheter would have to be installed. She said that she would give me a half hour to consider my alternatives. It is amazing the discomfort you will endure when properly motivated. When she came back in 30 minutes, I proudly pointed to the full jar by the bed.
The next challenge was a little more difficult. In order to perform abdominal surgery, the bowels naturally need to be anesthetized. Most people have no trouble getting the poduction line going again. I, unfortunately, am not most people. I voraciously consumed the juices, jello, pudding, and broth that they gave me to eat three times Friday. Early Saturday morning, it became apparent that these consumables were not going to follow their natural method of egress from the body. I ended up being violently sick. Vomiting at any time is not a pleasant exercise. With several stitches in your belly, it is downright dreadful.
Unfortunately, there is not a whole lot that can be done. They gave me some medication to reduce nausea and suggested that I walk around to help stimulate the bowels. Did I mention about the gowns? There wasn't any way that I was going to walk around the hospital in that state of dress. I would be alright as long as nobody came up behind me!!! I managed to find another gown and put it on backwards. Thus covered, I started walking the floors. This got to be a joke after awhile with the nurses. Every time they looked up, I'd be walking by. All I was trying to do was get well so I could go home. Besides, it beat watching the mindless drivel on the television.
I finally got to go home on Monday night. As I write this, it is the following Sunday. I am just now getting back into a rhythm. I can't believe how difficult it has been. For 42 years, I never had to think about it. I would wake up in the morning and it's time to go to the bathroom. What could be more natural? But I'm getting back on solid foods and expect to be regular again in a couple of days.
The worst thing is the bloating. Some of this is due to the surgery, and some is due to the ileus. My belly looks like a big pile of jello. It shakes whenever I move. I finally felt good enough to throw some darts yesterday, but after I let go of the dart, my belly shakes. I have to hold onto it with my left hand.
The silver lining to this whole episode is that I cannot stand the taste of cigarettes. Hopefully, I'll be able to put them behind me. (took a couple more years, but I got the job done)
But now to the reason for writing. I'm sure that you could find more interesting things to do than listen to my tale of woe. But what is important, is that when I wasn't feeling too good, you found the time to do something to make me feel better. Some of you came to visit, some sent cards, some sent flowers, some called. Some of you did nothing more than pray for my recovery. I am grateful to you all. It's good to know that there are so many people that care for me. God bless you all.
And if you ever go to Applebee's, I heartily recommend the "Tequila Lime Chicken", but only if you have already had "a fingerlike projection from the large intestine with no known function" removed. Return to home page