Over the last few days, I have debated whether I should write this post, trying to determine the value of revisiting the obviously personal events of the last two weeks. While I am certainly prone to speak my mind (and put words to paper as it were), I still value a certain level of personal privacy. Additionally, while I certainly do not want to over-dramatize my health scare, at the same time I would be remiss if I tried to minimalize its seriousness and severity. I am skeptical that there is much therapeutic value to retelling the story, although I must acknowledge the presence of some deep seated emotions that I'm still processing. In the end, I've decided to press through, if only to free up my mind to re-engage with outward-oriented topics.
My wife and I had been planning an anniversary getaway aboard the Disney Dream, a new cruise ship that would take us to the Bahamas the first week of March. My folks would come to watch the boys while we enjoyed some long overdue alone time together. It was not to be. Four days before departure, I came home from work with some discomfort in my gut. At the time, I figured it was simply some sort of a stomach bug or intestinal distress. Hours later though, what was discomfort crossed the boundary into substantial pain. Having had a friend recently go through emergency gall bladder surgery, I somewhat grudgingly decided that a trip to the ER was necessary. The attendants were nice, and the care was adequate. After an ultrasound and a number of other tests, the gall bladder, kidneys and whatever else they checked all came back negative, so they sent me home. Turns out, they missed something.
I ended up sleeping all day the next day. The discomfort did not decrease, nor did the pain. In fact, by evening, the pain became excruciating. I usually have a fairly high pain quotient - I may grunt a little bit, and my face may not hide how I feel, but in this case it was all I could do not to cry out - and I probably did. The epicenter of my agony had localized, and we made the call shortly before midnight to head back to the ER.
We found the same crew at the ER as we'd had the night before. Not only did they remember me, but I think it stands as my all-time minimum wait at the ER. In fact, after signing in, I never saw the waiting room again. They gave me some painkiller, and eventually wheeled me up for a CT scan. I remember very little after that, and what happened was related to me after the fact.
In short, sometime between ER visits, my appendix ruptured. The ultrasound didn't catch it. Even the CT scan was initially inconclusive until reviewed by the on-call surgeon. That surgeon put me at the front of the line, ahead of all the planned surgeries for the next day. The CT scan occurred around 2:30 am, with results by 3:30. I was on my way to surgery shortly after 5 am. According to the surgeon, who I saw every morning for the next 5 days, he not only had to remove my tattered appendix, but he had to clean up half a liter of gangrenous infection that had spilled out into my gut. While I do wonder if he was just trying to scare me into strict obedience to his recovery orders, he took pains to remind me every day of just how bad it was. I can only take his word for it.
I won't dwell much on the in-hospital stay. The first few days were very rough, but got better with each passing day. The care I received was more than adequate (lets face it, while not everybody has the same bedside matter, I have little to complain about regarding the care I received). I came home one week to the day of my first trip to the ER.
Recovery has been slow but steady. I'm still not up to full strength, and I get winded easily. I have not spent much time dwelling on all the negatives, though I do have to fight off those thoughts more frequently than I would like. My younger son seemed to absorb it all okay, but my oldest did struggle more than he originally let on. As I shared with him, (and thus counseled myself), the worst did NOT happen, God is always, always in control, and that while it's okay to be scared and even to cry, we can rejoice in the mercy, grace and healing that the Lord is providing even now.
I can only imagine if my appendix had ruptured while we were on the boat. But it didn't. My parents were already in route, and their timely arrival provided much relief to my wife. My in-laws were also nearby, ready to assist. We had trip insurance, so we didn't lose the money we paid for the cruise. So aside from the fact that I ended up burning a ton of vacation time for a decidedly non-vacation break, it is not an understatement to suggest that if this was going to happen, I am incredibly blessed to have had it happen when and where it did.
This is not to suggest that I'm clear of some of the more negative emotions. I'm still dealing with the after effects of fear and shock, as well as a bit of associated anger and bitterness. I regret deeply the scare I gave my family and my kids. I hate knowing that I'm heading back to work soon without desperately needed R&R. And my enthusiasm for returning to work is undoubtedly muted. I won't go so far as to say that this is one of those life-changing, perspective-altering events that precipitates some sort of intellectual or emotional crisis. But something is different. Maybe it'll pass once I get back to routine. We'll just have to see. In the end, I am well and getting better with each passing day. It is a far better thing to look forward, to be sure. And look forward, I will.
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