The Other Side

Here I am, on the couch. Can't move very well. Do you realize how many movements your stomach is connected to? From scratching your head to lifting a coffee cup. You use your stomach muscles for everything.

Forgive me if I ramble, I just had surgery yesterday, and I'm on a lot of painkillers! Woke up in the 5 am cold dark Sunday at the farm, felt a cramp--menstrual cramp? I never get them, but my period just started, so I thought, "first time for everything." Went into work, the pain kept getting worse and worse. Textbook appendicitis. Right Lower Quadrant pain, rebound tenderness, mid epigastric pain. Could hardly stand up, had to lean on chairs and counters to talk to people.

Finally, Wiz says, without looking at me. "What are you planning to do about this?"

I hadn't really planned to do anything. Just work, hope nothing happend that required me to move quickly--I was getting everything done. But he asked me, and all the sudden, I started crying. I have never been in so much pain.

"I want to go home." I gasp, like a little fool.

"Okay. I'll send you home at 3."

"Perfect."

But then, an hour later, Wiz comes over, sits down next to me. "Give me report. Get out of here." I don't even question him. Rattle off my 21 points, leave. In the break room, I curl up on the couch for a little bit before I even try to walk to my car. On my way out of the building, I have to sit down on the floor twice to rest. A few doctors pass me. No one asks if I'm all right, which I find funny.

I make it out to my car, drive home and immediately crawl into bed. Where I just lie there, open-eyed, in pain like an animal. I'm not bored or tired, because the pain is taking all my attention. Why I didn't go to the ER, I don't know. I mean, I knew what was going on. I guess I had some strange idea of talking myself out of it. Finally, Nick comes in. "You need to go to the hospital," he says. "I'm driving you."

So, here I am. Two days in the hospital, surgery--laparoscopic, but still tender. I haven't pooped yet. I'm a little worried about this. The weirdest thing was being a patient there. I was afraid to ask for pain killers at first, because I didn't want the people I work with to think I was a drug seeker. One of the ER docs came in, finally, after I'd been there 4 hours, and had been scanned, etc. "Are you having any pain?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Has anyone give you anything for pain?"
"No."
I get fentanyl. Which makes me feel dizzy, like I did when I had my first beer. The room spins, and people seem to keep showing up, over and over again. It doesn't hit the pain. Maybe for 5 minutes. Nick just sits next to me, friendly and silent. Then Jay shows up. And he's the same. Pleasant, quiet. Supportive. I feel I'm about as interesting as wet paint. I feel guilty. I call Wiz. "It's my appendix." I tell him. Subtext: see, I wasn't being melodramatic.
"Well, I thought so." He says. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone that you've been admitted. I will absolutely respect your privacy. Take care."
"But--" he hangs up. But I don't want to be in here by myself! I want love! I want my room crowded with people saying hi and sending me flowers. Geez. I love Wiz, but he's kind of a broken little toy in some ways. Do unto others is generally good, but sometimes you have to examine yourself for damage before you practice that.
The word got out a little bit, despite Wiz' best efforts. A couple of the residents popped by, one of the nurses I work with brought flowers, and our dietitian brought me a homemade malted milkshake at 11pm. My parents showed up at 3am, for some reason, and managed to get lost in the building. Security had to track them down.
The morphine gave me friendly dreams--benevolent monsters with big purple tongues, trees growing out of closets. Persian rugs. Jay sat with me, holding my hand. Now I'm home. And that's my 1/2 hour.