Last week at this time, I was starting to shake off the anesthesia from the previous night’s emergency surgery. I’d been waking up up every now and then since about 2 a.m., when I first had a few minutes of consciousness in the post-op area. It was still too hard to keep my wits about me then, but by morning I was feeling normal again. You know, except for that sharp pain where they cut through my abdominal wall to get at my appendix.
The doctors all agreed that they cut me open in the nick of time. It seems that any more delays and my appendix would have ruptured, with all the resulting hilariousness of that. The real thing that saved me then, was that I happened to score a last-minute appointment with my doctor the day before, thinking that maybe the previous day’s two-hour cramp with the stabbing pain and the vomiting might be more serious than a reaction to some bad leftovers. I thought it would be a good idea to act early in case last year’s mystery stomach issues were returning, but the doctor was pretty sure that I should just walk myself over to the emergency and plan not go home that night. If I hadn’t gotten an opening in his normally tight schedule, I probably would have stayed home chugging Tylenol and Pepto Bismol, waiting for the pain to go away until I keeled over or something.
I’ll admit that I received excellent care from everyone at the hospital, but overall the system is pretty screwed up, especially in the emergency room. As a general rule, all the nurses there were jaded gossips who were easier to find clucking away in a huddle at the desk, rather than — let’s say — noticing the patients piling up around them. When I first got there, the triage nurse disappeared for about 20 minutes, leaving me wondering who was supposed to check me in and read the “I have appendicitis so look at me immediately” note from my doctor. The staff of young internists and residents, though, were all amazingly friendly and helpful, and as attentive as their workload could allow. Interestingly enough, they were all movie-star good-looking, so I can’t roll my eyes when I see the casts of TV medical dramas anymore. Apparently, young doctors are dazzlingly beautiful these days. Who knew?
I was in the hospital for just over a day, and then went upstate for a few days to recuperate under my sister’s watchful eye. I came home last Sunday, and have been slowly getting back to normal. I taught a little this week, ran an errand or two, checked in with the surgeon, and generally felt more like myself again. I can handle a few hours of activity a day, and then I’m forced back to the couch to wonder, “Wow, they cut right through me, didn’t they! Hmmm, that smarts. And itches.”
Isn’t it about time to limit Wolverine’s appearances to only, maybe, 40 or 50 books instead of the current million or so that currently feature him? I know the fanboys can’t get enough of all that testosterone he radiates, but hasn’t it gotten a little out of hand yet? (Wow, considering recent events, that’s one shitty pun, eh?) If there’s an