Bout With Appendicitis, December 2003, by John Gerard Tetel

From MemoryArchive

Who: John Gerard Tetel
What: Appendicitis
When: December 2003
Where: Washington, DC

I had a rough time fall semester of my sophomore year at American University. My neighbors in the dorms were assholes that kept me up hours later than I should have been, and rarely turned off their alarm clocks and woke me up before I needed to. This, compiled with a hard academic workload and busy extracurricular activity schedule, took enough sleep away from my body that I was sick from October to December. Sure, I would drink Nyquil from time to time, but I never took the time out to fully take care of myself. The Thursday before finals week, I felt a pain in my side.

I had just finished three huge projects that I stayed up most of the night for. As I was finishing my last class for the day, I felt a pain in the right side of my stomach. I figured it was due to skipping breakfast that morning and not getting enough sleep. So afterwards, I went to the cafeteria, The Terrace Dinning Room (TDR) and helped myself to as much food as I could eat. During the meal, I joked with my friends that I thought I had a hernia, but didn’t think much of it. My loud neighbors kept me from sleeping, but I managed to rest while watching TV. I still felt the twinge and it was growing. I had some Pepto-Bismol and kept trying to rest. Around 10 o’clock I ran to the bathroom to throw up. After that I asked a friend to bring me some warm milk because it usually soothed my stomach and helped me sleep. Unfortunately, about an hour later, I couldn’t even make it to the bathroom, and it came up as cottage cheese in the lounge sink.

At this point I should have realized I was suffering from something serious, but I was convinced that all I needed was some sleep. I had some more Pepto-Bismol and lay back down in my bed. Perhaps I could have received some much needed sleep had there not been an arsonist in the dorms. A week before finals and some nut decided they would set fires in the dorms every couple hour. This meant that everyone would have to leave their rooms for the fire alarm, but my roommate and I rarely followed these orders during bedtime. We figured that the fires, if any, are never serious, and even if this time a real fire broke out and it was serious, we were on the ground floor and could easily slip out our window if need be.

Usually when the alarms would go off, people would leave their rooms for a half an hour while the firemen examined the situation and deemed it safe to come back in. It might repeat one more if there was some glitch in the system, but was merely an inconvenience. This time it lasted all night. As my roommate and I stayed in the room, we could not leave it for two reasons. First, if we were caught inside the dorms during an alarm, it would be an offence to the dorm contract and would be fined. Second, since there was a legitimate arsonist, we would be suspect and possibly get into a lot more trouble. That being said, I really had to pee, but could not leave my room for the bathroom. I didn’t know how much longer I could wait, nor could I guess how long this ordeal would last. The only thing I could think of was to ask my roommate not to watch as I relieved myself into a Big Gulp cup from 7-Eleven. That would not be the last action that cup saw that morning.

Eventually the dorms quieted down and the residents were allowed back in. TDR was opening back up and since I stayed up all night I was starving. Still convinced all I needed was food and rest, I decided to get ready to go there. As I was getting dressed, the Big Gulp cup came to my rescue again, but this time I vomited in it. Needless to say, after pouring its contents out, I threw that cup away, never to be used again.

I couldn’t leave the dorms without throwing up one last time. Sadly, while running to the lounge sink again, I could quite make it, and as the warm liquid spilled out of my mouth, I couldn’t prevent some of it from splashing against a fellow, bitter resident who was reading the newspaper after the night from hell. I cleaned up my mess and headed towards the Eagle’s Nest, a campus convenience store that sold the pink soothing cream Pepto-Bismol.

During the night, snow had fallen, making my arduous journey that much harder for fear of slipping causing more pain to my body. I was hunched over (due to the pain), sleep deprived and starving. I must have been looking very rough for a public safety officer at AU to approach me and advise me to drink some cola because the fizz would help. I told him I would when I got to TDR. I bought my bottle and headed towards TDR.

When I got in, I served myself hot tea, since it was cold and snowy out, milk and coke (following the public safety officers suggestion) to sooth my belly and plopped the Pepto next to my cups. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to eat any solid food because the pain was too great. I must have been delirious to think this would help. It may have been the worst combination of substances I have ever put into my body. Now knowing I had to go to the health center, I took one last swig of milk and induced everything to come back up, filling one of the plastic cups to the brim. I was quite please with myself that I didn’t spill any of my refuse over the brim, but the pink frothy substance was un appetizing, and I hope I never drank from that cup again from future visits to TDR. As I walked out of the doors into the quad to begin my journey across campus to the health center, I decided that with the newly fallen snow, and my physical agony, I would never make it. Instead, I chose to seek the aide of my friend, Nick Banovetz (Bano), who worked just one building over at Bender Library. I couldn’t even make it there without stopping once to hunch over and gather more strength. When I walked inside its warm walls and asked if he or one of his co-workers could drive me to the [health center, he apologized that he could not, but that he would walk me there.

We tried to make it, but alas I could not muster the strength to reach my destination. We had to stop at least once before retreating from the elements to Ward Circle building. We called the health center, explained the situation, and they called an Ambulance to take me to Sibley Memorial Hospital. As I was being wheeled down in a stretcher by the EMTs, who did I see? None other than that public safety officer who had given me the terrific advice. He pointed at me and asked, “Didn’t I see you earlier this morning?” All I could do was nod as the EMTs shut the ambulance doors.

I wanted to hear the sirens blaring as we cruised down to the road, but it would cost more money to sound them. Also, there was no need since there was no one on the road. It would be unsafe to drive fast because there was snow and ice on the road. Despite my strongest wishes of being operated on and getting on the road to recovery, we took our time making it to the hospital.

Once we finally arrived at Sibley, I was rushed to the emergency room. I met with doctors, who asked how I felt and if I had, how many times I threw up. They also asked for my insurance information. Bano called my parents for me and explained the situation before handing the phone over to me. We talked for a bit and they said they would come up from Durham, NC first thing tomorrow morning. After puking one last time, the doctors told me they were 80% sure it was appendicitis and if I gave my consent they would use arthroscopy surgery to remove my appendix. This would mean making three cuts, one in my belly button for the knife, one in my lower abdomen for the camera and one even lower for the tube to suck out the refuse. I didn’t really care what they did; I just wanted the pain to go away, so I said that I trust them.

I remember being wheeled into the operating room and having the sleeping gas mask put over my nose and mouth. Being so sleep deprived from the weeks and especially the night before, when they asked me to count backwards from ten to one, I don’t even remember saying the T in ten before passing out. I awoke in new room with oxygen tubes in my nose and coughing up blood. Apparently, before waking up, I tried breathing in with my mouth closed. Instead of breathing in air, my lungs sucked up all the fluids surrounding them. The oxygen count in my blood was lower than what they wanted before they moved me to my individual room so they wanted me to keep coughing to bring the count up. They also informed me that they had been pumping me full of diuretics for the several hours through my IV. I was not allowed to get up to go to the bathroom before my count had gone up, but each cough hurt my bladder even more. For some reason, I could not pee while sitting in the chair coughing either. The count eventually raised the sufficient amount to move me to my room. Once there, the first thing I did was rush to my own bathroom. They had to analyze it, so I could tell by the markings on the bottle that I had urinated over a liter!

The rest of the afternoon and evening was pretty peaceful. I wasn’t allowed to eat, even though I was starving because they didn’t want me vomiting anymore. But, they did let me drink juice. Bano was nice enough to keep me company until bedtime. I kept coughing throughout the day, but once Bano left, I bagan vomiting again. It became a night of firsts and hopefully lasts.

The nurses were not happy with my vomiting. My body had already endured enough traumas to with the surgery and coughing that they need to stop me vomiting because it was system overload. Around 2:30 am, I received a suppository since I couldn’t take anything orally (I would puke again). I also had my stomach pumped. This may have been more painful than the actual appendicitis. They lubed up the front of the tube, shoved it up my nose and down my throat. I was away from friends and family, alone and a dark place. As I coughed and gagged and with tears and mucus streaming down my poor face, all the nurse could do to comfort me as she was forcing this foreign object down my sensitive esophagus was rub my back and whisper “I know baby, I know.”

I fell asleep and woke up just prior to a group of friends coming in to see me. They were shocked to see me in my condition. Here I was a strapping young buck, bedridden, with a plastic tube coming up my throat and out my nose which would periodically suck out a disgusting green liquid, otherwise known as my stomach acid. It was nice to know they were concerned for me, but even nice to be able to joke around with them. They left in time to give me rest before my parents showed up.

My parents came in and gave me much needed hugs and general love and affection that I had missed the previous night. We talked and I rested. No more drama happened that weekend. Sure, I had a tube hanging out of my nose, and every time I had to use the bathroom, it had to be unhooked. One time the contents of it spilled into my lap. It was gross, but ultimately not painful. I was upset that I couldn’t eat, but the constant flow from the IV and bed rest kept me going.

I wasn’t allowed to leave until I had defecated. Monday was the day the doctors and nurses allowed me to leave. They pulled out the tube and I was free to leave. Unfortunately, leaving the hospital marks the time of which I like to say that I was regularly irregular. Every hour, on the hour. My dad and I took a cab to The Georgetown Inn on Wisconsin Ave. This was a very difficult trip for me because the taxi drove speedily, as taxis tend to do, down Wisconsin Ave. The problem with this was that, at the time, Wisconsin Ave was undergoing heavy construction and every steel plate and pothole we hit made my already loose bowels have to work harder to stay together. Fortunately I was able to make it to the lobby bathroom as my dad paid the driver before any serious damage had occurred.

I stayed a five days at the hotel with my dad (my mom had gone back home to work). He took care of me, buying me my medicine and juices. I still couldn’t really eat solid food. I lived primarily off of juice. Once or twice I had chicken noodle soup. I stayed in bed and watched a lot of TV. Even though I would run to the bathroom every hour, it was still a relaxing time.

For some reason I still wanted to see what finals I could take. Friday, my dad went back home and I headed back to the dorms. My friends were all very sympathetic and shocked when they saw me back on campus. A lot asked to see my scars. I showed two out of the three without hesitation. I was reluctant to show my third scar because it was just above my private parts. But with a little prodding and with the confidence of being recently shaven, I gave them a little show. Aside from asking me questions they went out of their way to help me. My roommate, Moises, gave me lots of time to rest. Bano came by with food and the movie The Goonies. I walked slowly everywhere, which my friends were patient about, especially considering it was freezing out. At TDR, my friends couldn’t believe how little I was eating. Normally I would go through three to five plates of food, but I could only muster putting in one or two. It’s not that I didn’t want to eat. I simply couldn’t.

Another incident occurred at TDR. A Frisbee teammate who had just finished his study abroad didn’t realize that I had just come out of surgery a week before. Thinking that I had fully recuperated, as he greeted me, he reached out his hand squeezed the area where my organ used to reside and yelled “How’s that appendix treating you?!” I couldn’t believe it, nor could any of my other friends and teammates. He apologized profusely. He meant it to be funny, and while others give a little chuckle as I retell the story, I can’t bring myself to laugh.

Tuesday night, I felt a familiar pain in my right side again. Moises called the hospital and explained the situation to them over the phone. They said they couldn’t say what was happening. Moises suggested we head over there, but left it entirely my decision. I preferred to try to go to sleep and if the pain was still bad in an hour, we should go. Fifteen minutes later we went back to Sibley.

Since I was not as critical as the other patients, I had to wait in the waiting room while others were being treated. I was eventually given something and the pain subsided. They determined I had an abscess. I was one of the lucky five percent that develop them after a major surgery. I drank some sort of barium drink which allowed them to see my intestines so that when they administered the surgery, they wouldn’t cut anything inappropriate, like my colon. The liquid needed time to settle, so the operation didn’t take place until the following afternoon.

While I waiting outside the room, the doctors (all male) introduced themselves and described the procedure to me. They told me they would have to inject a needle through my rear to reach the pocket of fluid. I asked why they couldn’t just come from the front, but they said it was safer to come from behind. I was in no state to argue and deferred to their professional opinions.

I went into the operating room. I lay stomach down on the bed with my bare butt for all to see. They wanted me to stay conscious because it was safer even though I asked to be put under. As I was about to be pushed into the machine that would allow them to see my insides, a woman comes from around the corner and with no introduction exclaims, “I hope you don’t mind that we’re about to put a needle through your butt!” I was thinking, “Hi, I’m Gerard. Who are you?” I later learned that she was helping administer the operation, but I would have liked to have met her earlier.

The procedure was horribly painful. I don’t think that the morphine they gave me did any good. I didn’t shed a tear like I did with the stomach pump, but the experience was equally as intolerable. Clenching my buttocks only made it worse, so I tried with all my might to only flex my arms to deal with the pain. It only hurt the skin and muscle though. Once, inside, the tube grazing against my organs didn’t so much hurt, as just feel foreign and strange. At the end of the day, they succeeded in literally tearing me a new asshole.