The Angry Appendix and You . . .

Last night I dreamt I was attached to a cable and swung giddily through the air; exhilarating! The night before I dreamt of fish-cats swimming around in a pond. But, Friday night, I also had this weird brain thing happen to where when I’d close my eyes to sleep, I’d “dream” I was still reading my book; I saw the words on the page and my brain kept trying to read further in my book; it was freaky and one of the reasons I don’t trust anesthesia *shudder*. I told the anesthesiologist to please don’t let me be one of those patients who is “asleep” but actually feels everything—he laughed and said, “Oh that hardly ever happens . . .” (hardly ever? Good gawd! *pant pant*)



Unfortunately, my appetite is wonky, as in I don't feel like eating and couldn't finish my regular two cups of coffee! What gives with that? huhn. GMR finally enticed me with breakfast. I'm annoyed that I seem to have a setback in my fatigue and all and am back in bed with my laptop to work on Secret Graces. Of course, I’m babbling here right now…teehee... but I'm tired of feeling like a weakling.

I do want to tell/warn you all—if you have stomach pains that last more than a few hours especially if they grow worse and you may be nauseated, don't do like I did and suck it up for almost two days. There's a bad side to those of us with high pain tolerance--you tend to push through things you shouldn't. I think I've had something going on with my appendix since late spring and it finally just became really pissed off at me ignoring it. (I’m picturing Glen Close telling Michael Douglas “I won’t be IGNORED Dan!....and she’s all freaky mad crazy looking-that was my appendix!)Ignoring pain and then having to go to the emergency room at 2:30 AM wasn't smart --- I writhed in bed for hours before finally waking poor GMR: "I think I need to go to the hospital -moooaannnn....I think I'm going to be sick . . . ohhhmoooannnn....I think something is really wrong.....mooann....this kind of hurts bad...moooannnn...." Then while waiting for GMR to get dressed and get his keys, squatting doubled over in the hallway by the stairs, "find a bucket or something just in case ...mooannn...I think I gotta vomit, don't wanna mess up your car....mooannnn....I'm sorry . . . moan....maybe it's just gas....moan (laughing)." Bless him, GMR knows me, and if I say something is bad wrong, he knows something is bad wrong.

After being in the ER several hours and no doc had yet come to see me, a nurse took pity on me and he sent me to x-ray. There’s nothing like puking up your guts into an ER puke-bag in the x-ray room while two techs patiently wait for you to stop hurling. And you don't even care if your gown is open in the back and if they can see your little undies, or worse. (Which reminds me: when you wake up from surgery, you DO NOT HAVE YOUR PANTIES ON. It's a little unnerving. Who took them off? Who all was in the room? Erk. And, you wake up sore or raw in places that aren’t the areas where they punched holes in you – just what all was going on while you slept? Geez! I imagine surgery room games: Can this fit in there? Yes! ...no wait, shoot, I lose; your turn.)



But geez! What the Helvetica? Four and a half hours after arriving at the ER, finally an ER doc checks on me! And the funny thing, by that time, I'd somehow just sucked it up again. Puking up my guts had relieved some of the pressure I guess.


So, ER doc says, "What’s the problem?" And I smile sweetly up at him where I'm still curled in a cute little ball and say, "Well, I have a stomachache and am kind of nauseated . . . Maybe it's gas..." *laughing* -- Good god! Gas? Kat! Geez! DER-DUH-heeyuck.


The blood work told the tale though, since my white count "concerned him." I shudder to think if he’d have just sent me home then without blood work showing that bad white count…oh oh! All because I’m tough and don’t scream and whine and holler. Well, maybe sometimes we toughies should do that so we don’t get ourselves in trouble. Ask my right leg where I have nerve damage from years ago when I ruptured my disc and walked around with it for far too long going, "Geez, this really kind of hurts bad . . . huhn. . ." DUH KAT! Lawd!

Note that my pain was all over the abdomen from the bellybutton down, and even when the ER doc pressed on the right side and asked if that hurt, I said, "Yeah, it's more tender than the other side, but then again, I really have to pee, so maybe that's what it is." I saw the ER doc grinning from my peripheral vision. KAT! *rolling my eyes at myself* you have to pee? *sigh*


The ER doc said I had to have a CAT scan since x-rays don't show soft tissue stuff. . . the party never ends! haw! So, even though you are about half exhausted, you have to drink this stuff over the course of an hour; it makes your insides show things on the CAT scan (and meanwhile, that ole appendix is getting more and more pissed off…. “I’m going to boil your bunny, Dan!”). Finally, you have the scan and by that time you've been in the ER over eight hours.

The ER doc comes in and says, "Well, you have acute appendicitis - it's got to come out." (Then there’s all the jokes about my “cute” appendix – teehee. But oh, I saw it, I saw the horror—it was NOT cute…. Imagine that scene were Glen Close shows up in the mirror wielding a knife at Dan’s wife …. I’ll stab you my pretty muwahahahaha – eeekkkk!) And at that point, what does stupid ole Kat ask? She asks, "Well, dang. I don't have time for that. Can I still do my booksigning Saturday?" The doc laughed - um, he thought I meant AFTER the surgery - -oh no, Kat meant can she do the booksigning BEFORE the surgery, then come back in and have the appendix out later....uh....I don't think so, Miz Kat. That thangs gonna BLOW any MINUTE (Dan, I stole your daughter and am taking her on the roller coaster and buying her cotton candyyyyyyyyy!, muwahahahaha). . . DUH KAT!


The big mystery is: what woman was I talking about when I woke from my anesthesia? My first words were: “Hey! Where’d that woman go? Where is that woman?” . . . I’d been dreaming or something profound, I just know it. Dang anesthesia! As I said, they did show me my appendix, as I’d asked them to before they put me under. It looked really pissed off (like Glen Close when she came back out of the tub after everyone thought she was dead and she’s all weird freaky wild pissed off mad crazy! AUUGHHHH I’m not really DEAD ARGG AUUUGHH! –eeek! Eek! Eeekkk! The horror! The Hoorrroorrrr!)


You all have been so wonderful and I appreciate your comments and friendship and for allowing me to babble today. It’s taken my mind off my frustrating lack of energy!

Now, on to work on Secret Graces . . .

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