illustration by Artitcom / dreamstime
I’ve walked the streets of this planet for 26 years now, without an appendix. Let me tell you, I do not miss that little monster. Not after the way it treated me back in April 1998. But I learned some lessons during and after my lone bout with appendicitis. Lessons that may bring some comfort (or maybe a chuckle) when you need them most.
◗ When discomfort becomes pain, tell someone.
I arrived at work on a Tuesday morning with mild discomfort in my lower right abdomen. Perhaps a bad bowl of cereal? The Memphis Redbirds had just begun their inaugural season. Could over-excitement cause pain in the midsection? By mid-morning, the level had risen from one or two on that fabled scale (to 10) to a solid five, maybe even six. Worth a trip to see my general-care doc. Rule out some nasty stuff and maybe get a pain killer.
◗ When your doctor looks scared, it’s time to get to the emergency room.
After an uncomfortable wait to see my doctor, it didn’t take him long to identify what I was suffering, and the look on his face told me he was afraid the suffering would worsen (read: my appendix would burst) in his exam room. He urged me to head straight to the ER at Methodist Hospital. Looking back, my sole Herculean act of that episode was driving myself the two miles to Methodist, parking my car, and getting into the facility. (At the time, my wife and I had a single car. No cell phones in 1998, either.) By the time I sat down in front of a triage nurse at Methodist, the pain level was 8 and seemed to be climbing. I recall considering how painful a “trip behind the woodshed” could really be? Walking hurt. Breathing hurt. Sitting hurt. Less than a year from my 30th birthday, I had my first medical crisis.
illustration by Artitcom / dreamstime
◗ Don’t be afraid of anesthesia. It’s your best friend when surgeons begin circling.
While I welcomed the urgency of the nurses — and my surgeon, to say the least — as I was prepped for an appendectomy, I didn’t welcome the fine print (read aloud) of the document I signed before “going under.” You could die. Time out! I drove here to relieve agony, not all the rest. Could we fine-tune that one line? You could be in danger, but professionals are here to rescue you. So don’t fret. I signed the document.
Two things about anesthesia (at least from my experience): You dream heavily (I was in left field at Busch Stadium in St. Louis, realizing my big-league dreams; Willie McGee reassured me from center field that all would be fine) and you “sleep fast” (upon waking up, I felt like I’d been asleep no more than 15 minutes). Anesthesiologists earn every dime they make.
◗ Let recovery be your guide, not the other way around.
I had my surgery on a Tuesday, and returned to work on Friday. When you’re 29, health ailments are merely hurdles to be leapt. Surgery was merely my latest ailment. About three hours after arriving at my office, I needed a ride home. Utterly exhausted. Turns out three days weren’t enough for my body to turn its attention back to performance. Surgery of any kind is an invasion our bodies recognize as Priority One. Muscles and tissues must heal, organs must return to full power, and all of this at the expense of energy. So take it easy, post-surgery, even if you’re a twenty-something titan.
◗ You can travel with scars.
My wife and I traveled to Hawaii the month after my appendectomy. I came to appreciate the little monster making its exit when it did — and not as we drove Maui’s Hana Highway — and accepted a small scar being a guest for the pics we’d take on a few of the world’s most beautiful beaches. There was zero lingering pain (and zero chance that form of pain would ever return). I’m not one to show off scars, but the one I have near my waist line (barely visible today) has been a nice reminder of modern healthcare’s place in all our lives. A human body is extraordinary, but it sometimes malfunctions, and more often than not when you least expect it. If you’re lucky enough to walk away with merely a scar, count your blessings for little monsters and the giants in white coats who keep them at bay.
