We were supposed to be camping this weekend. Molly and I had made our lists and were finalizing the menu.
Maisie had been complaining of a tummy ache since Monday, which we attributed to some swallowed river water or stomach bug.
When her pain didn't go away and became more localized, I decided to take her to the walk-in clinic before the weekend hit. After all, it could be her appendix.
Even if it was her appendix, Dr's have been taking those things out for ages, so no bigs.
We went home without knowing the exact problem but would check back with the doctor the next day if things got worse.
That night was rough, so I took her back to the clinic the minute they re-opened in the morning.
They sent us to the ER for a CT scan which we didn't realize would take 2 hours to prep for. It's all about this orange drink that makes your insides light up. 3/4 cup every 30 minutes. But even after that, we had to wait for a surgeon at Mercy to read the results and call back with a diagnosis and plan.
Appendicitis is was.
I asked if I could transport her to Mercy Des Moines myself, but due to her IV and other legal mumbo jumbo, they frowned upon my idea.
And for the record, I beat the ambulance to the hospital. I didn't even speed.
Once I parked I could see the EMT unloading her in the hospital garage. Naturally, I made a beeline through the parking lot in cracked sandals trying to meet up to her. Just as I reached the doors, they began shutting and I didn't want to risk getting trapped in the hospital ambulance garage by ducking in.
I can't even imagine what the landscaping lady trimming the rose bushes thought as I trudged through the landscaping rocks and bushes to make it to the legit ER entrance.
If only I had driven her to Mercy in the morning instead of the dang walk-in clinic. Hindsight.
Maisie was actually excited about the adventure. The room service, ambulance ride, heated blankets, and wheelchair rides were all quite luxurious.
Her pain had subsided by this point, which was great for her, but made everyone else a little concerned.
With appendixes, they call this the 'honeymoon stage,' usually meaning the appendix has ruptured.
She talked to Molly, Jayson, and Grandma on the phone and I could hear Jayson saying, "I hope you don't DIE" through the phone.
In the pre-op room, we learned the surgeon thought it was "busted."
I looked at Mike, 'Wait, did he say 'Busted'? (I couldn't be sure as he had a thick Indian accent). Then he said it again. Regardless of the severity of this potential outcome, I giggled at the word, 'busted.' To hear it in a pre-op room, from an experienced and respected surgeon, and in a strong accent caught me off guard. Perhaps when your listening to a doctor tell you this could be a 4-6 week in-the-hospital situation if it's "busted," your mind looks for humor?
That's about the time they tell you it's time for hugs and kisses before they take her. Cue enormous ball in throat while holding it together at all costs. This was nowhere near the severity of Ross' pre-op setting where Mike and I huddled around him praying prior to 'hugs and kisses time' but lack of sleep the night before and that darn "potential risk" speech from the surgeon didn't help.
And when a 30-60 minute surgery takes 80+ minutes, you have plenty of time to wonder why the human brain is capable of playing such nasty tricks on a person.
Surgery was a success and the appendix was not "busted," just enlarged, inflamed and angry.
Currently, her only pain is the incisions.
Mainly the one in her belly button.
She asked me if they made a hole through it, to which I said 'probably.'
So basically it's like I got my belly button pierced?
Yes Maisie, basically.
'
No comments:
Post a Comment