College> College Life> Appendix Betrayal

i'm not feeling so good...

by Teddy S.

Appendix Betrayal

     The following relates my experience from a ruptured appendix and the impossible academic recovery after surgery at a university. If, due to surgery, school has become an increasingly difficult workload to manage, I wholeheartidly recommend a hardship withdrawal from the quarter or semester. Here’s why: 

**** 

      It was the dreaded awakening at two in the afternoon on cram sunday. I was once again aware of the inevitable crunch time of going into a four exam, twenty credit hour, college week. Squinting in bed, I figured I probabIy should get up, go downstairs, and eat some breakfast. Of course, once I had made it downstairs, and achieved my goal of making it downstairs, procrastination appealed to me. I decided to lay on the couch before I ate breakfast, and nap just a little longer.

      At this time, I began to notice a slight dull ache in the center of my abdomen. Some minutes rolled by, I continued to lay down on the couch, and decided it was ok to rest up a little bit more. Proceeding to rest...over an hour passed, laying down had resulted in more than an hour wasted, not studying. Something was different, however, my belly felt worse. “Crap,” I thought to myself, “am I getting sick?” But it was only a stomache-ache. I was not concerned, and was ready to bite the bullet even if I were sick. So I got up, my gut hurt noticeably worse. I mentioned it to my house mates and thought I was coming down with the stomach flu or something. The ache made me feel like I needed to eat. Naturally, I grabbed some toast and slapped some butter on it. I put it to my mouth, took one bite, and it was like chewing a bad tootsie roll. I tried to eat more, I needed to eat. I couldn’t. My appetite was non-existent, having had no breakfast, I felt hungry. However, my ache began to outweight my hunger as it started to feel painful. I told my housemates once again I was feeling sick. I then went upstairs and laid down on my bed in the fetal position.

      The ache began to overwhelm my focus and had expanded into nausea. The toilet became attractive. I made a run for it and let loose with some force a few times. “Damn, I’m sick,” I thought.

      For the next twelve hours I threw up in pain, repeatedly drinking water and trying to eat rice and bread to avoid dry-heaves. My home became the bathroom floor. I laid down on the tile floor wrapped in my bathrobe and towels. The taste in my mouth was awful. I kept brushing my teeth after I threw up, until I no longer cared. It was now four in the morning, I had to get up in four more hours. “I just need an hour and a half of strength for this exam,” I figured. Realizing my current appearance, I weaseled off my clothes and slipped into the shower to get cleaned up - but it hurt to much to stand. So I laid there, pathetically, in the bathtub, as hot water pattered against my nude carcass.

      Once all the hot water was gone, I pulled myself up using the emergency handle for old people who can no longer balance there own weight. The pain became killer, it felt like a screwdriver was being thrust into the now right side of my abdomen. Forcefully, I put on some clothes, and laid back down in bed. I couldn’t fall asleep, and had to throw up again. It was now five thirty in the morning and I emailed my economics professor saying, “I can barely make it out of the bathroom.” Annoyed, I threw up again a few times, showered, laid down and repeated for the next seven and a half hours. Somewhere along the line, my ache momentarily got better, and then got worse, fast.

      Fortunately, it was now around noon the next day and one of my housemate buds was also ill at the time, and was going to a doctor. He asked me if I would “like to come.” I felt out of it and not wanting to go anywhere, but agreed. He called up his doctor's secretary and then relayed to me that “they were no longer accepting patients but a walk-in hospital was available.”  He asked me if I would like to go with him, or if I wanted him to come back, and then drive me to the walk-in clinic. I chose the latter. After he came back from his appointment, he gave me a ride to the walk-in clinic.

      Once we arrived, we walked-in, and I gave it my best not to hurl over everything. After filling out the paper work, I waited for about forty-five minutes doggedly. To my relief, I was then called to be checked up on. The nurse scribbled down some notes asking me questions I can’t remember, and then brought in a doctor. He said I likely had “appendicitis or a kidney stone.” He said something along the lines of me “needing to go get a catscan.” The nurse came back in and said she made an appointment for one, but also mentioned that it would be another hour or so before they could fit me in. She asked me if I wanted to lay in a room. I nodded. The nurse and the doctor left, the nurse only to come back later saying, they were overfilled and needed me to leave. It sucked, but she was very nice, and tipped me off saying if I went early for a catscan they might  fit me in early, and concluded by wishing me good luck - she was cool.

      I then walked back to my friend's car slowly in pain after telling him the news that we needed to head down the street. Once arriving, entering, and filling out some more paperwork at another clinic, I waited another half an hour and got an early and thankful catscan. I was then told to go back again to the walk-in clinic.

      I once again walked in to the walk-in clinic, but was now escorted rather quickly. As I walked into the doctors room, I was hoping for a kidney stone. I knew they hurt, but at least I wouldn’t require surgery. The doctor followed up my desire by telling me I had appendicitis, with a possible rupture. He said I had to go to the E.R.

      It was now around two or three oclock in the afternoon--I can’t exactly remember--when I made it to the E.R. I walked in and sat down with my patient and loyal housemate. This time my name was called right away. I walked over and talked to another nice and compassionate female nurse. She, being so nice by escorting me to the front of the line that, incited the wrath of an angry bit**, who told the nurse she could go f*** herself because she was sick of waiting, as people like me got to cut. I thought about puking all over her and crookedly smiled to myself. The bit** left. The nurse asked me what number I’d rank the pain one through ten, ten being unbearable. I said, “eight.” It must have been a good answer because I got to ride in an oversized wheelchair (although i’m a twig) into a patient room. The nurse then came in, asked me some questions and was followed by a surgeon still dressed in casual clothes. He said I had “gangrene of the appendix or a rupture and needed immediate surgery” (I can’t exactly remember) I was then put on the drug of drugs, morphine.

      After this, I became more out of it, although I remember at the time feeling like it all made sense. Somewhere along the line, I was moved onto a mobile bed and then wheeled into a surgery prep room. I was then introduced to the surgeons and an anethesiologist. They asked me if I had any questions. I asked them, “How long does recovery take?” My surgeon replied by telling me “Approximately 1-2 months.”

      “FU**!!” I yelled in my head. I was then told by a nurse not to be surprised when I wake up and my underwear has vanished. I muttered something I can’t remember. I was then wheeled by another nurse into the main surgery room and bumped through a bunch of doors in my bed at waist level. The doors seemed familiar, like the ones you may have seen on medical shows. I mentioned to my housemate bud that “I never thought i’d have this view,” as he trailed by my side. As we reached my destination, he was then led out by the nurse. I was now in the fateful surgery room with the surgeons. It was cold. I reasoned that it didn’t matter however, because soon I was going to be out cold anyway.

      I didn’t give a crap about surgery. “1-2 months. How can I do this?” The recovery time is what I really cared about. My anger and resentment began to mix in with the pain and  euphoric morphine. The anethesiologist then told me to “take in a few deep breaths.” Having never been put under, I was curious. Suddenly, as I inhaled, I couldn't remember a thing, except my eyelids feeling crooked.

      I later woke up the next day in immobilizing pain. Missing: my boxers, my appendix and some of my pubic hair. Although on the brightside, I was still acquainted with morphine running into my bloodstream by a simple click of a button, and reacquainted with friends and family, and, some good ol’ hospital scrambled eggs. 

**** 

      A couple of days passed, I was bumped off of morphine (favored) to Vicadin and Percoset (loathed) and had surreal hallucinations when I closed my eyes. I would see doctors and nurses morphed into dead animals in a kaleidoscope of madness when my eyelids were shut. I knew it wasn’t real, yet I was still seeing things! I wanted off. I told my nurse to put me on “something else.” She said, “We only have lighter drugs.” I choose them, and stopped seeing creatures out of a Rob Zombie movie, thankfully.

      Still in the hospital, I was weak, in worse pain than before and was worst of all, bored out of my mind. I had so much to do, yet had no concentration and no physical ability to do anything. I had now missed my second test for another economics class and was wondering what to do about my classes... 

      If you find yourself or someone you know at this point, encourage looking into a hardship withdrawal from college for the quarter or semester. Recovery from a ruptured appendix takes time. It has now been over one month from my surgery. To reinforce the idea of a hardship withdrawal, realize that if you are intubated during surgery you may: experience spontaneous loss of voice for over a month, have heavy pain for  two weeks, pain for the third week, residual infection, sleepless sweaty nights, stay in the hospital for a week, experience heavy loss of appetite/energy, pill-popping side affects, weight-loss, encounter drinking 900ml of barium juice (a nalgene bottle of awful white, yet “drinkable” glue goop) for a CAT-scan, have a tube be put down your nostril to inspect vocal cords, or a needle inserted in your abdomen to withdraw infectious puss. You will for certain endure (perhaps what I now hate the most) multiple visits to the doctor. This appendicitis situation is a nuisance, but it passes if treated, just make sure you don’t have to think about school to top it off. 

Want to discuss this article? Or have a question for the author? Share it in our forums!

-Back to top-