I grew up with three brothers and two sisters. I was always the “strong one.” Common childhood maladies sailed by me without slowing down. Like many multiple-child households at that time, if Mom noticed a rash on one kid, she’d stuff us in a room together for a day or two and get all her little ducklings sick at one time, thus able to check off that particular disease on six school records in one fell swoop. I was the one who came out with nary a red spot.
Unfortunately, this gave me an unrealistic view of my immunity to all things involving sputum or surgery. Symptoms of any disease have always been dismissed with the wave of a hand, and I believed in my ability to stay healthy through sheer will, or if that didn’t work, ignoring it until whatever it was got bored and went in search of a more receptive host.
Then, about a month ago, I began to feel a weird pinching sensation in my lower right abdomen. Not enough to mention and certainly nothing a doctor needed to take a “look-see” over. A day or so later, the pinching became a sweaty, all-over aching. Hubs repeatedly suggested I go to the doctor, but I had a new book coming out, and I didn’t have time for this nonsense. By Friday night, I was in agony. In bed at 5:30, hoping to sleep it off, I promised Hubs that if things weren’t better the next morning, I’d call the doc. Bad decision. Bad.
The next morning, I was lying on the floor, screaming, while Hubs stuffed me into his baggy sweats and an oversized t-shirt, and carried me out to the car, running two stop signs and a red light on the way to ER. Quickly hooked up to a dozen tubes, I was immediately wheeled in for tests and scans. It was not good. (But I should mention here that hospitals have the best drugs ever. Whatever was going on was no longer a concern, since I felt nothing from the neck down.) I met the head nurse, and we quickly decided we were sisters from a different mother because our lives were so parallel in experience, age, and attitudes. The ER doc tried unsuccessfully get a word in, until he finally threw his hands up and said, “You’re the first patient I’ve ever had that kept laughing and chatting while I was trying to explain a potentially a catastrophic condition.” Catastrophic??
By now, they were wheeling me upstairs, followed by my extensive, sobbing family, many of whom had come in from out of town in the last few hours. I love my family, but the image of half a dozen parents, siblings, and in-laws standing at the end of your hospital bed, crying and looking at you like they wish they’re gotten to know you better before your premature and untimely demise will be forever seared into my brain.
Then things began to get real.
Doc pointed at me and said, “We need to talk.” Well, crap. “It has come to my attention that you can be what we call ‘non-compliant.'” (Ya think? Just ask my Parkinson’s docs.) “Your appendix burst last night. Well, actually, it didn’t just burs. It exploded.” Awesome. “And that explosion has basically Napalmed your lower abdominal area, causing a massive infection throughout that entire region. If you’d have waited another day, you might not have made it.” And it just kept getting better.
“We won’t really know until we get in there how bad it is.” A humming noise began in my brain, until all I could hear was that every sentence included some variation of “You could die,” You probably would have died,” or “This is the worst infection I’ve ever seen due to an ruptured appendix.” As I was being wheeled into surgery, I heard Hubs tell the Doc that he was going to wait until after the surgery to notify everyone, because he wasn’t sure if I’d make it. Doc nodded and said he understood. Seriously??
Five-and-a-half hours later, I woke up to a room full of flowers and a stern doc standing next to Hubs, whose face bore a remarkable resemblance to Grumpy Cat. “Okay, here’s the deal,” said Doc. “When I opened you up, the room got very quiet. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could fix it.” (OMG.) “This was the most difficult and dangerous surgeries I’ve ever done. What happened was this: The night before you came in, your appendix exploded into tiny pieces all throughout your abdominal area. Left untreated overnight, this resulted in a virulent, widespread infection that could have killed you. and most likely would have without immediate surgery. When we opened you up, the liquid infection had solidified, becoming a large piece of cement that we had to chisel out like shrapnel, one chip at a time. That’s why it took so long. We hope we got it all, but only time will tell.” When I grabbed the nurses arm and asked for a bag to throw up in, she smiled and said, “No problem. You know, we call you our ‘Miracle Patient.’ Without Dr. Johnston, we don’t think you would have survived the surgery. Would you like more pain killers?”
Yes, please. I cried for two hours, then faded into medicated oblivion until the next morning.
I stayed at the hospital for the next five days, learning how to be compliant, and even had a few epiphanies along the way.
- When all you can do is watch TV all day, there’s never anything on you want to watch.
- Pain meds come in three strengths. Zen, which takes you to a lovely place with puppies and pink glitter. Knock it Out, which addresses the immediate area of agony, but doesn’t necessarily involve all the other organs. And Fix This or Shoot me, which pretty much takes out every nerve in your body. Guess which ones you can get in the ER?
- Dignity is overrated. And you won’t be left with any. During my “spa week” in Recovery, I met the entire staff of the hospital (and probably a few strays who were just lost looking for Aunt Bertha’s room across the hallway). Everyone wanted a little peek and I’m still not sure if they were all medically licensed to be peeking. One guy, I swear, used to be the janitor. Welcome to the big leagues, Buddy. This is what it looks like. Last I heard, he had locked himself in the Chaplain’s office and wouldn’t come out until “it” was gone.
- Don’t whine. It’s insulting to everyone trying to help you and makes you look like a nasty old bat. And remember, the nurses (your new BFFs and the source of all your pain management necessities) can’t control how often you push that annoying red call button, but they can absolutely control how long it takes them to get to your room.
- Let your partner off the hook. Especially if he’s been unofficially appointed your primary caregiver during your recovery. Love is a grand and generous thing. But you can squash it like a cockroach if you spent the next several weeks if you become a demanding bag who expects to be catered to 24/7 (especially if you expect him to be clairvoyant with your needs). “Why did I have to ask?” should be instantly and forever banished from your conversations.
- Be willing to take a Life Break. People will either be there or they won’t when you’re ready to come back. I was freaking out trying to figure out how to launch my new book, with all of the fun giveaways and promos we’d had scheduled for several weeks, until all the fun was being sucked out of it because I just couldn’t do it. Now it was all for nothing. “Oh, get over yourself, Missy,” my angels said one night. It’s not like you’re John Grisham and have a 12-State book signing scheduled. The world can wait for your newest masterpiece. Your yoga class will still there in March. And dinner with your bestie will still be an option in four weeks. They’re aren’t shutting down all the restaurants. Go back to bed.
- The hospital staff gets positively giddy the first time you announce that you peed by yourself. I’m not kidding. It’s one of the first things they start asking you after the the surgery. “I peed by myself this morning!” can cause every medical professional in the room to smile and start high-fiving each other like proud parents of a toddler who has finally been accepted to private pre-K because she’s finally potty trained. I was having great fun with this until I remembered that as toddlers, we always got gold stars. Yes, Baby Buttercup gets to go to pre-K. Big woo. I almost died. I want my damn stars. Okay, I’m better now.
- Thank your support people. Don’t assume they know. Hollywood stars (the classy ones, anyway) remember that they didn’t achieve anything all by themselves. Don’t be afraid to sound corny or cliche. If someone you love helped you through something frightening, they deserve acknowledgment and honest gratitude. For my parents, my siblings, and wonderful extended family, I am grateful. To the hospital staff, I will be grateful for the rest of my hopefully long life. Hubs, you know how I feel, but anything I say here will sound sappy, trite, or like I pilfered the script for Little House; Home for Christmas. And of course, a very grateful shout-out to my book writing team, who without hesitation, said “We got this. Call when you’re ready.” How blessed can one woman get?
- When in doubt, order the Jello. It makes everyone happy.
Epilogue: It’s now been four weeks since they removed my appendix, a few feet of colon, and a giant cheese wheel of solidified shrapnel from my body. I have an in-home physical therapist starting tomorrow to teach me how to walk again. My goals are to walk without assistance, standing up (less Tim Conway shuffling his walker across the room on The Carol Burnett Show and more Maria, running up the mountains while singing The Hills are Alive. No one will commit to how long this is all going to take. Could be weeks or more. But I’m just so grateful to have a complete recovery in my bowl of options, my only response is “Thank you, God.”
In the next week or two, we will be doing a super fun, post-release party for Chin Hairs & Back Fat, and I so hope you’ll join me in the giveaways and other cool stuff we’ve planned. This is my favorite book so far, and I think everybody should have one!
….whew…. you reaaaaally scared me
Wow! So glad you are doing better, so sorry you had to go through this!
Wow. I can’t believe I sent you a private message earlier today wondering where you’ve been because I’ve been missing your posts. Now I know why. SO glad you’re on the mend. I’m sure the docs and nurses have never had a patient like you (and not just because of your appendix!). Wishing you a speedy recovery, Vikki!
Oh my gosh! So glad you are ok! Must have been horrible – sounds like your sense of humor is intact! Would love to get your new book! I will share with my neighbor, who loves you, too (Alisha Little) ❤
I was seriously beginning to wonder! Cuz I remembered your schedule, and I was like – what’s up?
And OH MY gosh! You poor thing! Jeez-us! I am so glad that your hubby finally overcame your strong, apparently sounds like me, self & got you in just in the nick of time! Lots of ???????????????????????? On your complete recovery!
I am soooo glad you are OK – I missed you and was about to send out the posse! (sweaty men on horse back type posse!)
Oh my gosh!!!!!!!! I am so thankful you are on the road to recovery!! Will be praying you up!! I thought it was odd that I hadn’t gotten any emails or updates. Please take good care of you! <3
Holy crap, Vikki! Thank god you are okay. Remember for next time: Health first.. book later, ok?
Wowsers! You’re a trooper! I’m glad that everything is more or less the way it ought to be.
Get your wine glass ready – it’s almost time to toast your good health and your new book.
Until then, skål from North Dakota!
~Rebecca
SO glad you are recovering! I know someone just like you! I know, kind of scary, huh? She recovered from the same thing and is doing great! So will you!
Love you and your writing! Hope to see you and the “hubs” this summer in the big HR!
OMGoodness! I was starting to wonder where you where. I too am missing an appendix and a few feet of colin, Happened about 15-years ago. I feel like we are related now.
Anyway whenever you are ready I am happy to do an interview…
I am truly glad you are on the mend! I was wondering where my posts were from you and I am sorry that it wasn’t a fabulous vacation to some interesting location but the hospital! Feel better soon!!!!!
Wow Vikki – that is some story, but sooo glad to hear you are okay and on the road to full recovery! And it sounds like you are the true meaning of laughter is the best medicine…:)
What a terrifying story! I am so relieved to know you are on the mend. They may have removed a few feet of colon, but your sense of humor is clearly intact.
Well now girl, that is quite a story! I was recently thinking I hadn’t seen any blogs from you and now I know why. Sounds like you will be participating big time in your recovery, but I’m sure you will do it and find humor along the way. Good luck and all my best wishes!
Well now girl, that is quite a story! I was recently thinking I hadn’t seen any blogs from you and now I know why. Sounds like you will be participating big time in your recovery, but I’m sure you will do it and find humor along the way. Good luck and all my best wishes!
My dear the exact same thing happened to me several years ago. But mine was not due to my denial it was the denial of an ignorant ER Doc. Thanks heavens a caring nurse that had a head on her shoulders when she went to get a top notch surgeon to come take a look see.
There is nothing better than having dear husband and dear surgeon standing beside my bed and telling me, after 5 hours of surgery and two days in ICU, “good news you are going to be fine”. Wheeeew!!
You on the other hand sound a bit worse. I will be sure to keep you in my get well thoughts.
What an ordeal, Vikki! Heal quickly & get pampered & taken care of for as long as you can milk it. I’m so happy you are ok!! ????????
OMG! So glad you survived, sense of humor intact!!
Wow, Vikki. I am so glad you’re going to be okay! I, too, was wondering where you went. Hadn’t heard from you in a while. You’re too feisty to stay down for long. So very happy to hear you’re doing better.
I, like all the others, were wondering why I hadn’t received any posts from you….thought you might have deleted me for some reason or another!! ….WOW…what an experience you had…glad you are on the mend….sending healing thoughts your way!!
SO THANKFUL YOU ARE ALLRIGHT………..REST & GET WELL SOON & GOD BLESS YOU & YOUR FAMILY REAL GOOD…………HANG IN THERE!!
Oh my, what a saga. You must be made of tough stuff to survive such an ordeal. Hope that the recovery goes smoothly and that you are feeling better everyday.
Vikki. Girl. Ya gotta listen to your body! Who am I kidding…I’m pretty much the same way…taking care of everyone BUT me. This has been quite a roller coaster for you, and I’m sure glad you’re on the mend.
Hang in there, girl! We can wait for the fabulous book, but would hate it if you didn’t come along with it!!!
I enjoy reading your blog and had to stop to comment. What a very scary ordeal you have been through! Your family may not admit it , but it has likely affected them greatly as well. I’ve had my own scary ordeal in the past and have a little idea of what you are going through. I wish you all the best, a smooth recovery, lots of down time, and continued good drugs. Take it easy, one day at a time. -Jenn
Vikki, it seems you are a real trooper! Sounds like you had no fun, no fun at all these last few weeks. I’m guessing the outlook on life will have a whole new perspective! Wishing you a quick recovery and well wishes on better days ahead.
Vicki, you are my start-the-week-off-right breath of fresh air (Vicki and coffee – yes!) so I’ve been in withdrawal the last few weeks, as you may well imagine. Fortunately, my Kindle and my copy of “Who Left the Cork Out…” were there as backup! I’m really glad you are on the mend — my get well gift: I bought the new book!
Hi Vikki; A very scary ordeal for you and I can only wish for you speedy recovery. You are the lucky one surrounded with friends and family and with a new book coming out you will be able to focus on things outside your recovery. I have found that going through difficult times and surviving has given me empathy for others and made me realize I am a survivor and I can accomplish more than I thought I had in me. You are that kind of woman and can’t wait to hear what you will be up to next. Your friend, Karen
I’m so glad you’re on the mend! My daughter went through this–waited until the last minute and then her appendix ruptured. Horribly painful. I’m just glad you survived, dear friend. <3
Cut it out! Get better soon
Wow. Glad you’re on the mend. Wishing you all the best as you recover. You got this.
Vikki!!!! Hugs and drugs and PT and lotsa lotsa love to you!!! You got this woman!
Glad to see you are up and around. You always were a tough cookie.
Oh, Vikki — so glad you got help when you did!! The same thing happened to my oldest sister only she waited one more day and she DID die. Hope your recovery is speedy!
Holy crap, Vikki! Glad you’re okay.
So very glad you are ok. What a scare. If we can help out in anyway please let us know. Big hugs and prayers coming your way!
Oh my gosh girl…..had heard something had happened to you. Goodness, my first thought was if anyone had whip this it would be Vikki……so happy you are doing well! Take care and let them spoil you! You earned it!
Hope you are feeling much better! Your book will be ready when you are.
Love you, Karen Goeden Fuller
Forgive me, but oh for fuck’s sake! I’m glad you’re on the mend. Listen to your body. It sometimes whispers, and sometimes it shouts. Just listen.
Glad you’re okay!
You poor thing! Happy to hear you’re back among the living.
Hey we both have inspiration breathing thingies from the hospital. Please tell me you at least got to order room service from your hospital bed. Do all your PT and be sure to whimper. Here’s to your swift and complete recovery
Dearest Vikki: So glad you’re on the road to recovery!!! You gave us all quite a scare!! Love you bunches. Fern, Dick, and Dennis. ????????
I was told by our mutual friend about your surgery & how serious it was. But she never said HOW serious! So good to here you are on the road to recovery & to a healthier you! Take care & don’t do more than you are up to doing! God bless & the angels are still hovering!
I am so glad you survived this ‘epic appendix’ ordeal. Get better quickly, but take it slowly, okay?!
Much love. Miss you … ~c
Thanks for the reminder not to be “non-compliant”—or at least to choose wisely the things about which we can be non-compliant without meeting the Grim Reaper prematurely.
So glad you’re on the mend! Wishing you a speedy recovery!
I’ll join all the others and say I’m glad you’re on the road to recovery.
Several years ago I watched my niece writhe on the ground waiting for an ambulance to take her to the hospital with appendix problems. If you got through that without medical intervention you ARE tough!
Talk about a talented writer. You qualify with your ability to turn the awful into funny. Not everyone can do that.
Glad to hear that you are recovering–and that perhaps–you’ll pay more attention to warning signs in the future!
Still hanging out and rooting for you, dear Vikki. Full Recovery + Malbec, no less. Your new book IS magnificent so making ’em wait will be sweeter than they know.
Love from Bend to Santa Monica and back,
Kathryn
It’s absolutely terrifying! It happened to me when I was 15 and babysitting. I called my mom who had to call the parents. Luckily, I was across the street from the fire station. It was so painful and the first of many, many scars to race across my stomach like a Rand McNally! I am so happy you are on the mend!
Wow, Vikki! You don’t do anything halfway. Having spent a lot of time in hospitals, I learned how to take life one day at a time there because you can’t do much else. I’m glad you are out and home. Prayers for your continued healing and physical therapy.
Wishing you well! I am confident there will be more than a few bursts of laughter to share when you get your sea legs back.