As many of you know, I’ve spent the last several weeks battling an exploded, nasty appendicitis attack. I came to a slew of emails and messages (for which I am grateful) asking, “What the hell happened??” so I decided to write about it. (Ranking second only to “What I Did on My Summer Vacation” photos, but you asked.)
I’d been having stomach pains the week prior to the Big Event, but none of my self-diagnoses turned out to be the problem. (Never trust Wikipedia with your health care.) Hubs wanted me to go to the ER, but seriously? Who goes to the ER for stomach flu? So we waited for my internal storm to pass. It didn’t.
Four days later, I woke up doubled over, with intense, debilitating pain that had me on my knees. Hubs scooped me out of bed, stuffed me into the front seat of his truck, and tore down to the hospital ER. The doc determined quickly that it was probably appendicitis, and the next thing I knew, I was being wheeled down the hall for the first of four CT scans. Well, crap.
The doc told us that the scan revealed a severely burst and pissed off appendix, and because I delayed coming in, it had gotten septic and run rampant throughout my abdomen. They needed to go in right away, and they were going to “try” (try??) to get it out, but it was such a mess, they weren’t sure if that was possible. Yeah. because that’s what you want to hear while the anesthesiologist is masking you up.
Five and a half hours later, I’m dopey-stupid and sleepy in Recovery, while Doc talked to Hubs. I heard snippets like “dangerous and difficult surgery,” “if you’d waited one more day day, she wouldn’t have made it,” and “not out of the woods yet.” I. Don’t. Think. So. I am woman. I am strong. I am healthy. Stand back and see how its done. After a week, dazzled with my ability to bounce back so quickly, they said I could go home and finish recuperating. We packed up my jammies, my new purple walker, half a dozen prescriptions, a list of exercises, and left with high hopes.
Then things got real.
I was not getting better. I was getting worse. The pain and frustration of being bedridden had me in tears all day long. Hubs refused to leave my side, staying home to help me sit, stand, or put on a clean t-shirt. Nothing was working. He cooked all my favorite meals, but my appetite was nonexistent, and I was rapidly dropping weight, leaving me with zero energy to do anything.
After two weeks of trying everything he could think of, Hubs announced that we were going back to the ER, and it was not an option. An hour later, I was strapped to an ambulance gurney with two 22-year-old pups I’d never met, going to Portland for specialists who were trained to “perform surgery at this level. ” Okay, now I was freaking.
At the ER at Portland, another CT scan showed a raging infection throughout my abdomen that was life-threatening. My weight had dropped from 120 to 99 pounds. (I looked disturbingly like a hairless cat.) Hubs was beside himself because they kept referring to him as my “next of kin.” I’ve never been so scared in my life.
This is the time you start sleeping with one eye open. I just knew that if I ever actually fell asleep, I’d never wake up.
Good news: Back upstairs to a second ER, the docs found what we all hope will be the magic bullet. Bad news: No going home to recuperate for you, Missy. They released me to an in-patient nursing care facility for the next two weeks. Fourteen long days of rest, interspersed with daily physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, and of course, the requisite horse-pill antibiotics that that would cure a bull moose of pneumonia. As for sleep? You’d sleep better on a cot in the middle of a Las Vegas casino. The constant carts, with their squeaky wheels, going back and forth down the halls, the chatty night aides standing outside your door arguing about their job descriptions and who has to clean up old lady Zelda’s unfortunate bout of gastrointestinal distress, and my personal favorite, the med aide who comes into your room at 3 a.m. with pills for everybody, and turns on the lights. But time went by and finally, I was cleared to leave.
Now I’m home, with another two weeks of therapies, drugs, and lots of sleep (I’m learning to love naps). I’m also on a once-in-a-lifetime weight gain program. I’m positively giddy about all those yummy, fattening things I didn’t eat before because they’re…well, too fattening. I told Hubs to go to the store, go up and down every aisle, and whenever he saw something he knows I like, but rarely eat due to the ridiculous calories, put that in the cart. It almost makes it all worthwhile. (Don’t judge…I’m shallow.)
In other good news, my seemingly endless hours in the hospital and nursing facility (docs call it “Extreme Boredom Therapy”) weren’t wasted. The writer in me looked at everything going on with “I’ve got to write about that.” A few truisms about hospital stays:
- Know how to find your happy place. We teach our toddlers how to “self-soothe.” But do you know how to do it? You need to be able to calm yourself down, because even your most devoted family and friends will eventually get tired of your whining.
- Take whatever wins you can get. Walked the complete hallway that morning? Ate your entire dinner? Finally peed? Yay you!
- Ask for help. My roommate was an elderly woman who had several medical issues, but she “didn’t want to bother anybody.” So she’d lie in her bed, moaning, in pain. I kept telling her, “Push the white button. The call button. Push the damn button.” She got it. By day three, the staff wanted to have me shot.
- If there are 200 people working at the facility, 198 of them will see your junk. And neither of you will care. (Hubs has never seen me pee. Not once in 18 years. Now he’s a black belt in pee pans, and can change out a bed pan in 10 seconds flat. Yet, the romance lives on.)
- It’s okay to be scared. You’d be an idiot not to be. When docs start tossing around phrases like “You should have died,” and “You’re on our Miracle Wall where we show photos of patients who beat the odds,” it’s natural and normal to freak the hell out.
- When the doc says “This might be a little uncomfortable,” ask for a shot of Patron and a piece of leather to bite down on, because it’s going to send you screaming for your mama.
- There’s always somebody worse off than you. Go help them. Sometimes we forget that the world doesn’t revolve around us. (Bahahahaha.) Helping someone else is great for getting out of your own head and gaining some perspective.
- Never, ever give up.
Wow. That’s all I can say. And I’m so very glad you’re still among us. You are one strong woman and a real badass to find the humor in all of this. Props to Hubs, too!
Thank you, Roxanne! I’m glad it’s over and I’m going to be fine. I can still go to Erma in 2018! :)
What a crazy ride you’ve been on! wow. So glad you are on the mend and even happier that you never lost your crazy sense of humor. What would life be like if we couldn’t laugh? Take time and take care. You have a huge fan base rooting for you.
xob
Thanks Barbara! One never knows if her tribe will still be there when she comes back. I’m so glad I didn’t lose anyone. :)
OMG – How scary!!! So glad you’re okay and even managed to write about it!
I it was the scariest two months of my life, Mona! Thanks for your support! :)
I love you with all my heart, girlfriend. I am sooooo very grateful you’re doing better.
Love to you, my friend! And I’m a grateful girl these days, too! :)
WOW, I am extremely glad you are back home and on the road to a full recovery. I am sending good thoughts your way and loving your sense of humor through all of your experiences with the medical world. Take care of yourself!
Thank you, Bobbie! I appreciate the good juju everyone sent me. Turns out prayer, good thoughts, and positive energy really do work! :)
I’m so sorry that you had to go through this, but I’m so glad you’re on the road to recovery and with your humor intact!
Thanks, Connie! I’m not sure why I had to go through this. I certainly could have learned it through say, a quick bout of the flu? But it’s all good (with moments of actual laughter) in the end. :)
Wow, Vikki, so glad you are still here to keep us laughing. Next time hubs wants to take you to the ER, I say you spritz on some perfume, put a rose between your teeth, and GO. (You can use the rose to bite down on when the doctor says it won’t hurt – much tastier than leather. And the perfume will be your defense against GI disasters.) Get well.
You crack me up, Karen! I like your style. Lordy, I didn’t give my appearance a second thought until I finally had to get up in the hospital and go to the bathroom, I passed a mirror and saw a wizened old lady, hunched over, with bed hair and fleece sweatpants that had little hearts all over them. I thought, OMG, that poor woman! Yep, it was me. Sigh… :)
Your tough spirit and brilliant humor will help you survive. Your story is so intense, I had to take a break and eat some Girl Scout cookies…but I did it for you. Please continue to get well. This is your next book. By the way, my left leg weighs 99 pounds…
Thanks so much, Elaine! You continue to be an inspiration to me. I’ve been walking around all day with a smile on my face, thinking “Elaine Ambrose said my humor was brilliant.” Take THAT, you wretched appendix. :)
Vicki, thank God u survived! Hubs is doing a good job also. U r a true bad-ass! Love ya babe!
Thanks, Maureen! Although to be honest, I sure haven’t felt very bad-ass over the last few weeks. I’m starting with physical therapy this week while I gain some of the weight back. Then look out world, I’m back! (And Hubs is kind of a sweetheart. I’m blessed in that department.) :)
Remember when room 473 kept you up at night? I so wish that were the reason for your sleepless nights. Glad you are on the mend, and your #7 is what makes the world go ’round.
LOL Kate! Yes, I DO in fact remember the party camels in room 473. My God people, when do you all sleep?? Next year, we’ll have to try to get all our rooms on the same floor. :)
So glad you are okay now!! I love the way you wrote about this — in classic Vikki style ????– nothing like comic relief to recall such a scary time! Keep on eating and enjoying all those carbs! Xo
Thanks, Emily! I’ve always tried to find the funny in bad or scary situations, but I had to really work at this one. Once I got going, it got easier and easier. My roommate thought I ‘d gone off ledge when she would hear me laughing out loud in the middle of the night (WTH, we were going to be awake in about ten minutes, when the night nurse comes on duty with the drugs), sitting on my bed with my laptop. I ended up with so much material, this could have been turned into a series, but I’m getting back to regular programming on Monday. :)
Vikki, that is a very bad weight loss plan, that’s all I can say. Though on that end, I’m a little jealous…(I’m shallow too…) In all seriousness, I knew you were going thru some bad stuff, but had no idea it was this bad…I am so glad to hear that you are recovering– great piece. Sending more love.
Thanks, Ronna! I’ve spent roughly 40 of my 60 years trying to be thin. It’s not a natural thing for me. But I got caught up in the “You can’t be too rich or too thin” mantra that Boomers were throwing around like rice at a wedding. Now that I’m there (or waaaay past my goal weight), I realize I’m no different now. I’m just more tired, with less energy and less patience. Nope, not a good tradeoff. It’s back to the curves for me. :)
Oh, Vikki, what a nightmare! So glad you are back among the living and making us smile once more. And giving us good advice. Blessings, girl.
Thank you, Carol! I’m happy to be here, doing what I love, and counting my blessings. :)
Hey there Vikki! I am so happy you are finally on the mend. I had what you had many years ago, I’m fact, I had just gotten engaged a month previously, so naturally I thought mine was a stomach virus too. After a visit to the doctor and him telling me that I pulled a muscle doing sit ups, giving me pain meds and to rest with a heating pad on my abdominal. Well, my infected appendix seeped through my entire body… terrible pain in and I had turned yellow. I saw another doctor and was put in for emergency surgery. Now, this was a long time ago, so I wound up with a nice long scar, my appendix taken out and a d and c just for good measure! Now, after that and a lot of antibiotics, I was okay after eight weeks, and cleared to go back to work. So, I am glad you’re hanging in there.. Enjoy your food freedom and as you know, do what you’re told. Thank God for your wonderful hubby. Get well soon!
Hi Deb! Your experience is similar to mine, but even scarier! You would have been the person I went to, to help with your appendicitis, so I would quit feeling sorry for myself. So glad you made it out the other side. (Can you imagine the stress of the hospital staff if we were sharing a room during our attacks? Within a week, they would either be drinking on the job, in therapy, or applying to teach PE at the local middle school!) :)
Hey! I was just reviewing our conversation and here’s a new tidbit..the doctor thinks I have a hernia.. Oh boy…more surgery! At least I can recall our “war stories” and laugh about it this time.
Wow, not only frightening, but enlightening. I’ll never feel the same way again about abdominal pain. So glad you’re okay.
Thanks, Susan! Yep, it was a wild ride at the fair! :)
You are a light and an inspiration to all of us, Vikki! Only you could find the nugget of humour in the mud slide of pain, fear and uncertainty of life-threatening illness. So glad you’re still with us!
Thank you, Diane. I am overwhelmed by the flood of support and encouragement I’ve seen since this happened. It reminds me how blessed I am. :)
Vikki,
You are the second friend of mine to go through this so I’m glad my friends are batting 1000!
Both of you are tougher than you appear! For that we are all thankful!
The small victories? When they want you to fart before they will let you check out? Been there. When they want you to walk down the hall with a walker for the first time after a hip replacement and you feel like you are trying to swing a log back and forth. Been there.
When you was your only robe in the washing machine after discovering that that fart was not a far only to remember your new smartphone was in the pocket of your robe. Been there!!!
So glad you are still here with us so we can share in your laughter!
Life puts us through crazy things! I just love your take on your events! Kenny deserves a big award! Love to you both!
Thank you, Clay! I agree. Today you have a certain life, but tomorrow you may discover you suddenly have a very different life. I don’t think anyone is ever really prepared, so we need to work on our happy skills BEFORE we need them! (And yes, Kenny is a keeper.) :)
Wow Vikki what a saga and so like you to see the humor in it all. Hope you are recovering without any more difficulties. Love your survival tips.
Thanks, Pat! It was most definitely a saga, that felt like it would never end. But I’m back, with my head up out of the ground, and ready to get back to the life I had before the Big Explosion. Glad you enjoyed the post! :)
Glad it is almost over. Great blog material for months!
Thanks, Haralee! Life is funny that way. Sometimes the weirdest experiences just need to be looked at as new writing material. That’s usually accomplished AFTER the pain meds kick in. :)
Vikki, some people have all the fun :-) Thanks for sharing your experience with your inimitable style and humor.
I know, Barb! Sometimes we just try to hog all the glory and all the fun. I’m not sure how I’m going to top this one. I’m considering finding a magician that wants to saw me in half. With my luck, it wouldn’t end predictably. :)
So glad you’re still with us. I must say when my grandson was very ill my first thought was appendix. Meanwhile I’m also out of it. Re broke my wrist. Bent the titanium bar in my wrist and sprined my ankle.Needles to say I had surgery and was hospitalized. I’m home now and if you need a buddy I’m here to help or entertain you.
Oh, Sandra, I wish we could have been hospital roomies! Of course, we’d have to keep the laughter down to a minimum (like that’s going to happen…) because I can’t laugh with staples in my belly! I’m so sorry to hear about mishaps. Sick grandchildren just break a grandma’s heart. Especially when Grandma has boo-boos of her own to fix! :)
Yeah…wow. But hell yes great writing fodder on the other side! Glad you’re on the mend! Sending lots of prayers and healing thoughts.
Thanks, Lisa! I love that so many of the comments and FB messages from other writers is always “But think of the new material!” I agree. We are a hardy people! :)
….oh~! …OH~! …..OHWEE~! I wuz scared poop-less ~!!! Sooooooo glad yer home and on the mend~!!! XXOO … Daddy-0
Me too! It’s quickly becomes a thing of the past, and I’m actually starting to believe I’ll be “normal” again soon. (There was more than one episode of “I’m going to be in pain forever). And I’m thinking some sunshine, a little more sleep, and a big, fat book by some water would do me a world of good. Hmmm… :)
I am SOOOOOOO relieved to hear that you are finally on the mend!!! LOVE YOU!
Thank you, Ms. Marcia! I had to get better. We have Erma in only one more year! :) (Love you too.)
Oh Vikki, I am so relieved you are home and on the mend. What a scary experience. Of course you found the funny side, though!
Thanks, Helene! When you’re that scared, you have to find the funny. It’s the only thing that prevents panic or meltdown, without the side effects of another prescription med. Sometimes it’s hard, but I just start looking around, and lo and behold, someone in the room eventually will do something hilarious. :)
I’m so sorry you had to go through all that Vikki. But, glad you’re getting better. The things a woman has to do to get a story. Sheesh! Lol
I agree, Rebecca. Sometimes we’re like journalists. We’re going to get that story or die trying (literally). Be careful what you wish for, as they say! :)
Wow, Vikki. What an incredible story. Happy to hear you’re feeling better and on the mend. I’m always shocked at how hospitals don’t let you sleep, something so important in recovery. One of life’s great mysteries. Welcome back.
Thanks, Laurie! I’m with you. The docs tell you that rest or sleep is your number one priority, then the staff comes in at 3 a.m. and hits all the lights. I don’t normally sleep with all my bedroom lights, and they sure as hell not florescent. :)
Whoa, that is one terrifying tale, Vikki! So glad you are on the mend, and that your sense of humor is intact. xo
Thanks, Liane! My family and friends will tell you that I can make fun of almost anything in life (which hasn’t always been at exactly the appropriate moment), but some days, that’s all I’ve got. :)
Wow! Glad to hear you are recovering. Yikes! What an experience. 0.o
Girl! You are amazing. Truly. And hey, you can have ALL my cookies and ice cream that I shouldn’t be eating! Fatten up girl and GET WELL SOON!
We are so happy you are finally on the mend and entertaining everyone again. We are all so lucky that you are so tough and we love you so much!!!
Thanks, you two! And thank you for the incredible flowers (wow!) and the beautiful book. Carol, how did you know I love inspirational books? Trying to finally get well before Kenny keels over from stress… :)
Thank goodness you are on the mend. Best wishes.
Thanks, Mac! It’s good to be back. :)
So happy you are on the mend. Can’t imagine how frightening. My friend had sepsis in September from an unindentified infection and was in intensive care for a good while. She lost most of her fingers and toes and is just learning to walk. So scary but she has found the grace to handle it with strength. Just like you. Y’all have no real idea how inspiring this is to other people. Big hug,
Thank you, Lisa! I feel bad for your friend. These are the types of experiences that get us to understand that we are not immortal. Things happen, and they’re not always good. I like her attitude, though. Hugs back!
Glad you’re still with us !! You may not have laughed through the pain, but you have us laughing after it. Great job!!
Thanks, Paul! And you’re right. I was NOT a happy monkey in the hospital (hard to make jokes when you’re writhing in pain on the floor, and they keep telling you “It’s not quite time yet for your medication.” Give me that damn morphine or I’ll punch you in the face and steal your medicart. But now we’re home and healing, and loving mankind again. :)
The moral of this story : keep your husband. Oh, and be prepared to answer questions about your “trauma diet” and how others can lose weight your easy way. Gaaaaaaahh!!
Vikki, so glad you made it! Omg. One of the things that scares me the most is how you took your time in getting to the doctor both times. I really think I would’ve done the same thing. I’m healthy and I would just assume it would go away. Why that scares me is because I don’t know when it’s time to get your ass to the doctor. Thank God for hubs in so many ways. again so happy you’re fine!
OH golly, we missed you so much! Welcome back, big hug, and…
…it’s going to make an awesome next book, my dear!
xo
So glad you are doing better, and thanks for sharing even this scary story in a way that made me laugh. Take care of yourself and enjoy those delicious fattening foods!