Appendexplosion! POW! (A Story with Pictures! Wowza!)

For some reason, horrible experiences tend to be some of our favorite stories to tell. It's been said that bad choices make great stories, and I think the same goes with horrible experiences as well, probably because often they are hopelessly tangled together. One of my favorite horrible experiences to tell is the story of my appendicitis. It went something like this.

The day started out like any other day. Classes, homework, hanging out with friends, and basketball were the norm. However, the night turned out to be a little different. I had just gotten back from eating dinner at the school's cafeteria, and had decided to spend the evening in the library studying for a test. It wasn't long till my stomach started to feel a little funny. As the evening went on, my stomach grew worse, and I decided to call it a night, hoping that maybe I would feel better in the morning. The night went kind of like this.

Over the night the slight discomfort in my stomach had grown almost unbearable. I felt like I was going to explode. So I did what any self-respecting guy would do, I called my mom.

It's important to go into a little background here. When I was about 10, I pulled up a ramp close to my basketball goal, ran off it with the intention of dunking, and ended up lying on the pavement on top of my arm. By the time we got to the hospital, the pain had worn off, and everything was fine, but ever since then, Mom's sworn that it's all in my head whenever I get hurt. I could get stomped on by an elephant, but if she didn't see it, it'd all be in my head, and I'd be told to go dust my room. With this being said, when I called my mom, certain that I was about to die, she told me to take some Pepto Bismol (I didn't) and go back to bed. After about another half hour I called her again, and I was told to just go to the doctor if it hurt that bad (do you see the lack of sympathy here?).

I had won! I'd finally convinced Mom that something was wrong! Though it didn't take the edge off of the pain, it did make me a little happier. There was a doctor's office on the other side of campus I could go to. Because my stomach was hurting so bad it was getting hard to walk straight up, I decided to take the bus.

I was a freshman at the time, and up until that point had walked whenever I needed to get somewhere, so I had absolutely no idea regarding the bus routes. I hopped onto the first bus that came by my dorm, not realizing that it would take me to the opposite side of campus before taking me to the doctor side.

I finally made it to the doctor's office. I shuffled in, waited a little bit, and finally went in to meet him. I told him everything, and he decided he needed to check for appendicitis by pushing my stomach through my spine.

He confirmed I had appendicitis, and I walked outside to find my Granny had come to take me to the hospital. After about three or four hours laying on a table without any meds, they decided to move me to another hospital that actually did surgery.

Granted, they did have a psych ward too, but I didn't need that just yet. So, they took me to the other hospital, where by this point I was expecting my intestines to shoot out of my stomach and hit the ceiling. It'd been almost a whole day since this thing had started, and I'd had no pain meds the entire time. When we got to the other hospital, they immediately stuck me on morphine.

A little while later, they decided it was time for surgery. I was wheeled into the operating room, where I only remember two things. First was that it was very cold. Second, was looking to my right, and seeing a scene reminiscent of Saw with knives everywhere, just before passing out.

I woke up around 3 that night in some other room somewhere in the hospital. My nurse came in, said hi, and left as I fell back asleep. When I woke up again later that morning, a different nurse named Olga (no lie) came in and demanded that I get up and walk.

I tried to object, mentioning something about just coming out of surgery, but that didn't work.

After about two days in the hospital, and another few at home, I finally made it back to my dorm. Apparently , through the whole fiasco, I had forgotten to tell anyone on the dorm much of anything regarding what had happened. I had woken my roommate up early in the morning muttering something about driving to the hospital, but that was about it. When I finally showed back up, I was surprised at all the rumors that had been going around.

It took a little while, both to heal up, and to straighten out most of the stories (I might have let the bear one slide), but eventually everything ended up ok. My stomach healed up, I could walk again, and best of all, I'd I'd say the only problem with my recovery was hearing more funny jokes those first few days after surgery when it hurt to laugh than any other time in my life. It was certainly a miserable experience, and I definitely wouldn't do it again (not that I have a choice or anything), but I did learn a valuable lesson: don't ever wish to prove Mom wrong. You'll only end up in the hospital.