|I had an appendectomy on May 16th [that's a Saturday].
||[May. 23rd, 2009|08:31 pm]
When I woke up at midnight on Saturday, I felt immense physical pain in my lower abdomen.|
When I woke my mom up a few minutes later in hopes that she could give me a cure, I felt guilty for waking her.
When I continued to cry, and my mom eventually sighed and asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital at 12:30, I wanted to say no, and wondered why she jumped to such an extremity before trying anything else.
When she asked again and I nodded yes, and she went into her room saying she'll go get dressed, I felt remorse for making her do this on an hour of sleep.
When I knew I had the strength to speak and grab my iPod on the way out the door, I felt embarrassed that my mom might think I was over-exaggerating the pain.
When the pain started going down on the way to the hospital, I felt desperation and prayed that going to the hospital would be worth it.
When my mom rubbed my leg my leg as we were waiting in the emergency room to be called in, I felt like maybe she finally cared about what was happening to me.
When my mom joked to the nurse about how I was in a bed and she was in a chair, and I got two hours of sleep while she only had one before we left, I felt nothing.
When my mom left to go sleep in the car and I called her 15 minutes later because I started having an attack of pain in my chest and needed her to call the nurse for me, I felt nothing.
When my mom joked to the nurses about how sleeping in the car didn't work, I felt unloved.
When the doctor came in at 3 AM after doing blood tests and told us my white blood cell count was high, I felt like thanking God that something was wrong and wanted to turn to my mom and say, "Told you so".
When I heard a group of nurses and doctors having fun and laughing outside my open door in the early, slow hours of the hospital, I felt safe.
When a nurse caught my eye while I was leaving the bathroom and smiled at me, I felt cared for.
When a doctor came in at 7 AM to tell me that he and an off-site radiologist looked at my CT scan results and they determined it was suspicious for early appendicitis, I felt sad that they were making it seem that unimportant.
When that same doctor came in at 9 AM to tell me that the on-site radiologist came in and looked at it with more people, and they determined it was appendicitis, I felt a little better that it was that important.
When my mom left to get breakfast in the cafeteria and we had to call her back in just 10 minutes later so the surgeon resident could talk to us, I felt guilty for not telling her she should just wait a few more minutes before leaving.
When the surgeon told me that they were going to operate and take out the appendix even if it wasn't infected, just to be safe, I felt like they were making too big a deal out of it to make me feel better about myself and hoped that it really would be inflamed.
When I was taken to another room in the pediatrics ward, I loved having nurses who treated me like I was as young as the other patients in that ward, and took care of me.
When I was told I would stay overnight in the hospital after the surgery so they could keep an eye on me, I felt happy to not have to deal with my family for a whole night.
When I was being prepped up for the surgery and my hospital gown slipped off my shoulder and my chest was exposed, I felt secure enough that only doctors were seeing it.
When I was told I couldn't eat solid foods until the next day, I felt relieved that something bad finally happened to me and I had a reason to relax and let someone take care of me.
When my mom finally left at 7:40 PM to go home for the night, I felt like a chain was being cut and looked forward to being on my own for the rest of the night.
When my IV slipped out of my vein in the middle of the night and I let the fluid swell up in my arm for 3 hours while I slept, I felt disgusted with myself for tossing around so much and letting it happen.
When my night nurse was gentle and loving about the IV incident and explained to me that I didn't really need the IV for anything anymore, I felt like that mistake could be erased.
When I realized I could get up and go to the bathroom without having to unplug the apparatus the IV was hooked up to, and take it with me, I felt sad that I was slowly evolving out of the get-treated-like-a-baby phase of my hospital stay.
When the surgeon resident came in the next morning to tell me that he talked to me after the surgery but I didn't remember it because I was still "out of it" from the anesthesia, I felt pathetic that I couldn't remember what the doctors were saying to me.
When I was on the phone when my Sunday nurse came in and he left quickly, I felt pissed off at myself for cutting his visit short.
When the surgeon wrote that I could be excused from school for a week and was confined to "limited duty" until the day before school ended, I felt relieved that I was given time to work with.
When I insisted on going to school the very next day, I felt cocky and loved how everyone admired me for it.
When one friend told me that he was proud of me for not "being a whiny little bitch" like another student was when he had appendicitis a few years prior, I felt strong and loved that was proud of me.
When that student told me how much worse his appendicitis situation actually was than mine, and how long he ignored the pain for, that amazing feeling went away.
When I had to leave math class a few minutes early for my follow-up appointment on Thursday, and my teacher asked me on the way out the door if something was wrong or if it was just a check-up, I felt loved and thanked him for the concern.
When the doctor who was doing the follow-up told me that test results showed my appendix was infected, I felt pretty awesome.
When I'm at home at night listening to music, playing Solitaire, reminiscing on my hospital stay, I feel depressed that I'm not still in the hospital.
When I'm reminiscing about the hospital stay, and remembering details instead of just vague happenings, making me feel like I haven't forgotten anything, I feel like I want to write them all down and hold onto them forever.
When I realize that I never once day-dreamed about any moment between 9 PM on Friday night and 1 PM on Sunday afternoon, I feel satisfied that there was finally an experience in my life that I enjoyed so much, that I didn't want to play with and trick my memory into believing it happened any other way.
I think I'm real messed up.