For Twenty FourtIAN I have a plan, to make it everything that ThirtIAN wasn't (in other words, not shit), to be somewhat fruitful, progressive and fulfilling. I'd hopefully see new places and people, experience things I hadn't before and begin to develop the path that my would take. I didn't know or care where it would take me, I just knew that it had to be somewhere different.
It didn't take long, just over two weeks in fact.
It was in the early hours of Saturday morning and I awoke to find myself in a dark room full of strangers, high as a kite on drugs and half naked, with my bare arse hanging out. That didn't take long. A pretty lady dressed in blue approached me and gently caressed my head and arm before filling my veins with something to make me feel good and ease into a deep sleep. I had no idea what was going on, but it was certainly ... different.
I dreamt that perhaps I was in some sort of hedonistic, drug cult warehouse of sorts, in Brazil or somewhere like that - you know the one. . Not being involved in any of this kind of thing before, I couldn't be sure. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case, instead I was on ward 13 in Durham hospital, wearing a backless gown, tubes piercing my left hand and some weird, yellowy-brown substance smeared allover my lower sternum (which thankfully wasn't the result of any night accident). My belly was purple, bloody, swollen and bloated with three large plasters covering it, if I didn't know any better I'd have guessed that I was unwillingly impregnated with some sort of an alien being and it was trying to get out by the looks of ... but I think that was just the morphine talking. I hope.
I had my appendix removed, which is not quite the exciting start to Twenty FourtIan that I had hoped for, but it was a unique start none the less. For most of the past year I had suffered from pains in my right side, which varied in severity. The first time I had them, around March or April, the pains were awful, I broke into a fever and couldn't sleep, I managed to see a doctor a week later only to be told that it may be Cholic or IBS. The pain died down and became manageable, but I could always feel something there, whatever it was, and numerous doctors appointments produced different answers each time and with little help. It appeared to flare up around the same point each month, again varying in severity, sometimes excruciatingly painful (one time, around October, I passed out on my bedroom floor - but woke up feeling amazing) to just annoying uncomfortable. I figured out how to manage it for the most part, including having a painful attack during a job interview and also a three day lingering issue when I was on holiday in Malaga. I just made sure to put plenty of heat on it and kept believing that it was just mind over matter and from around October it never really become any worse than manageable, which lead me to believe that it was on the mend. I should have listened to my cousin Darren, the medical expert in the family, he nailed it on day one. I wish I had.
Fast forward to two Thursdays ago, I was getting ready for a few very important days, I was starting a trial at a great job and was about to start a teaching course, which I was looking forward to ... and then, pop. I felt it in my side and the pain gradually increased by the day, to the point where I decided to go to bed at half eight and just sleep it off. That never happened, after a few hours the pain grew throughout my side and under my rib cage, and nothing was helping, I even lay on the hard living room floor by the radiator hoping to keep warm and pass out again. I was later persuaded to call an NHS helpline and was told to check into the nearest hospital, which I thought was ridiculous, it was probably just a really bad case of trapped gas.
My Dad drove me to the hospital at around one in the morning and we were checked in straight away, but left to wait for about an hour as I writhed on an A&E bed and began to spew my guts up everywhere - including on my new LA Lakers shirt - the pain had never been this bad. I had blood tests and X-rays and was told that it might be appendicitis, but they were going to keep me drugged and monitored until the morning. At around four in the morning I burnt up and began to convulse, all I remember is shaking and losing control of my body as my dad and a nurse held me down as something was injected into my arm. I then woke up a few hours later and was told that my fever was so bad they wanted to put me into surgery later in the day and see what was wrong.
I've never been into surgery, or at least not anything more serious than having my lip sewed up and definitely have never had to be in the hospital for more than an hour, and it surprised me how much I was kept in the dark before my surgery - literally at one point, I was moved into a dark room for 15 minutes without any explanation, only to be moved back into my original A&E room.
At around 1pm on the Friday I was finally moved up to a pre-op ward and underwent numerous checks and was forced to strip naked and put on a gown. My sister was there with me, even though she wasn't supposed to be, the rebel - they kicked her out eventually. Being wheeled into the op ward was eye opening, seeing surgeons in their scrubs getting ready as I was talked through the stages and told to sign a waiver in case they accidentally snipped something inside of me during the operation. I thought I was in a film, I wasn't scared, but I felt slightly uneasy, especially when I was transferred to the op room and plugged into the heart monitor and given an oxygen mask. I was told to expect the taste of cheese and onion crisps, and the last thing I remember saying was 'oh, there it is.'
I woke up on a recovery ward with nurses starring at me, it was like watching a film with a misty fisheye filter, I don't remember much of it because I was so high on the anesthetic, but I was so confused and felt as if I was having an out of body experience. I then woke up again on ward 13 (sounds like the title of a horror film, no?) as my family stood over me, I don't remember much of that either, other than my dad eating a bag or wine gums that my mam had bought for me - some things don't change. They seemed to find my confusion funny, the gits.
I slept on and off that night, sharing the ward with three other gentlemen, one of which snored like a fog horn. I tried to get up a few times and soon discovered how much I under appreciate the ability to pee whenever I fancy or just having control of my stomach muscles. I felt sick, both physically and mentally, the whole thing was a whirlwind and for some reason I felt violated and imprisoned, I was bouncing off the walls, no matter how lovely the nurses and porters were - or some of them, anyway. The doctor came by in the morning and told me, in passing, that my appendix was about to explode so they removed it by filling my stomach with gas, inserting a camera and then prodding around until the thing was out, so I have three lovely scars now.
The guys on the ward, George, Ted and Billy kept me in high spirits as I waddled around the room and poked at the alien inside of me. My parents popped in when they could and some of the nurses looked after me, but I couldn't shake the feeling of dread and worthlessness that had overcome me. I had put a lot of effort into building up my confidence over the last few months and was worried that it would be undone by one rebel appendix. We'll soon see, I'm still over thinking. Regardless, this was definitely a unique experience.
I was cut off from the world for almost 48 hours and had no idea if anyone outside of my family knew I was in there, so when I finally managed to get an internet connection I was overwhelmed by the out pouring of well wishes and support. I know I wasn't in there for anything serious, but it was challenging and the messages and love I received from my friends and family, even after I was out of the hospital got me through it and really meant a lot. It's kind of a strange comedown not having that kind of attention anymore.
I was out and back home late Saturday night, although I was told that I should have been in there a few days longer, but I'm recovering well now. I'm finally moving easily on my feet, if not still a bit restricted and pregnant looking, I've never wanted to go for a run or do any kind of exercise in my life, but forcefully sitting on your arse for over a week gives you a strange motivation to do it. I can't wait until I can move faster than a crawl and not feel like my insides are going to explode. A word of warning for anyone who is going to get an appendectomy, watch out for sneezing, I never knew I'd ever fear something as much as I fear sneezing.
I wasn't able to attend my trial or start my first day on the teaching course, and it remains to be seen what kind of impact and setback that will have, and as I said, I feel as if I need to rebuild my confidence once again, which sucks, but hopefully all of that is behind me now and it's a long, long time until I see a hospital again.
My mother referred to it as the worst week of my life, but I disagree, I counter that at least it included an element of getting better and hopefully the side issue is cleared up. This had reason and purpose, things have happened to me, and everyone else, which just seem so pointless and unforgiving, so yeah, health wise this may have been the worst of my life so far (although I've been quite fortunate there), but I've seen and felt worse. I think a lot of that has to do with the support I received from my friends and family, and I can't thank them enough for helping me through it. And yes, Darren was right!
It certainly gave me something to write about anyway.
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