It was April 4th, and as I looked into the blinding lights over my head, I anxiously waited for the anesthetics to take hold of me. The sooner I’m knocked out, the sooner I’ll wake up, and the sooner I can get out of here. I blinked and realized that the masked men above me had begun to spin in and out of eyesight, so I allowed the drugs to sweep me away as I tried to hold on to the vision of friends, and track meets, and the sweet sixteen soon to come. I vaguely wondered if my sisters had arrived at the hospital yet, and whether or not Mr. Zinnel would give me an extension on the Of Mice and Men worksheet due tomorrow. I woke up hoping against rationality that I was still in my bed at home; however, the bright lights penetrating my closed eyes and the stiff sheets under my
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They took x-rays, tested my blood, and gave me morphine. Okay, after that I got pretty happy, but I know there was more.
Doctor came in, said some things, I was distracted by his clipboard, but he talked about white blood cell count, abdominal pain, and then…appendix! He said I had appendicitis! No, he didn’t say I had appendicitis. He said I had most, but not all, of the symptoms of appendicitis, and then he said… “‘When in doubt, take it out.’ That’s what he said! Why did he operate on me if there was nothing wrong with my appendix?!” I looked at my family for an answer, but they were as dumbfounded as I was.
~
It was April 5th, and it turns out I was in for a longer recovery than I had planned on. Because my surgeon had found it necessary to locate my misplaced appendix without a decisive ultrasound, I was carelessly carved open like a disregarded animal; in the process of solving this medical-mystery, my scalpel-happy surgeons thoughtlessly tore through my abdominal muscles, rendering me useless for my track team for the remainder of the season. Also, after receiving such a deep incision, and having air pushed into my body to be slowly absorbed, I was bedridden for two
They took x-rays, tested my blood, and gave me morphine. Okay, after that I got pretty happy, but I know there was more.
Doctor came in, said some things, I was distracted by his clipboard, but he talked about white blood cell count, abdominal pain, and then…appendix! He said I had appendicitis! No, he didn’t say I had appendicitis. He said I had most, but not all, of the symptoms of appendicitis, and then he said… “‘When in doubt, take it out.’ That’s what he said! Why did he operate on me if there was nothing wrong with my appendix?!” I looked at my family for an answer, but they were as dumbfounded as I was.
~
It was April 5th, and it turns out I was in for a longer recovery than I had planned on. Because my surgeon had found it necessary to locate my misplaced appendix without a decisive ultrasound, I was carelessly carved open like a disregarded animal; in the process of solving this medical-mystery, my scalpel-happy surgeons thoughtlessly tore through my abdominal muscles, rendering me useless for my track team for the remainder of the season. Also, after receiving such a deep incision, and having air pushed into my body to be slowly absorbed, I was bedridden for two