Wow.  What seemed like the flu Sunday through Tuesday took a turn for the worse.  I had pretty intense intestinal cramps that had migrated from my middle section to the right side.

Of course, I wasn’t about to go anywhere near a doctor, but a quick Google showed that pain to be precisely where appendicitis is located.  Damn - that would certainly put a wrinkle in my tough-guy persona.  Forget about high tolerance and mental management of pain, I am no match for a ruptured appendix.  Not something you can ‘will’ away.

But, my fever had broken so that was a good thing.  Jul had called up an accupuncturist thinking that eastern medicine might have a better solution and he advised that if the fever came back, it would strongly suggest appendicitis - maybe even a rupture.

So, when my fever came back last night, our thoughts started to creep and the last thing we need with a baby due any day now is stress or crisis.  So off to the emergency room.  As it became certain this was going to be a long process, I sent Jul home with the sleeping kids rather than wait in the car or come into the ER.

You know, if you want to be a sociologist - which is really what I do - you need to visit a hospital.  What a great, candid look at people - and relationships.

The first lady who came into the ‘room’ next to me sounded older and kept talking about her son.  From what I gathered, she was diabetic and had an episode - it sounded as if she had run out of medication and couldn’t buy more.  She started crying about being depressed and I think pulled her IV out.  When her son arrived, she showered him with drama. Something about how he always saves her.  He wasn’t very talkative and wasn’t very patient with her.

Then a lady came in with kidney stones.  She was a few curtains down so I couldn’t paint the full picture.  He was chatty Kathy almost in a nervous, don’t let her die kind of way.  And she calm and never let on that she was even in any pain.

But the next guy was brash and cocky.  He apparently had an ear infection.  Said he worked for Dell and had insurance but as they came in to do his registration, he was now unemployed and had no insurance.  I was listening intently when the registration attendant asked for his next of kin.  He had been on his cell phone when she walked in and was pretty high strung during the conversation - in fact, he was rude.  He cut his call short when she walked in.  Turn’s out his next of kin was his mother - same address.  Now, I had already done the math on his 1964 birthday and, though the trend of 30 and 40-something back living at home is alarmingly high, it still blows me away to find somebody in that position.  Bold and cocky and living at home.  Hmmm…Oedipus?

Hospitals - the great social microscope.

During my observations, I was instructed by a nurse to drink 3 glasses of ‘lemonade’ flavored dye for my CT scan.  Oh what joy.  Lemonade my ass.  While it did have a hint of lemonade, it was a bad disguise.  So, as I do when I manage my own pain, I made it a challenge.  She said I had to drink one cup every 30 minutes - I could down it or drink it slowly.  Challenge.  I am going to pound these things.

First cup gone - not without a lot of grimacing and techniques from holding my breath to trying to suck the straw with my tongue and tastebuds on the opposite side of my mouth - no easy task by the way.  Apparently, the tongue is the reason we can even use a straw.  No problem though.

Second cup wasn’t so easy, but I held back the gagging reflex and took it like a man.  Third cup - oi.  By now, my nausea is back and I’m feeling pretty full.  And this lemonade flavored drink now tastes like a mixed alcoholic beverage and my nausea is telling me I’ve had too much alcohol and that if I don’t know my limits, my reflexes are going to remind me.  So, I get about 3 drinks beyond what my body wants, which is about 3 large gulps from finishing, and I did what every person probably does with this stuff - I poured equal parts back into the first 2 cups with melting, leftover ice that I drank dry and hoped no one would notice. :)

As the CT Scan guy wheeled me down the hall, he said ‘how were your drinks?’ to which I replied, ‘a great treat’.  He quickly countered with, ‘yeah, that last cup’s the toughest one isn’t it?’  I just smiled.

When the doctor came in with the results, he said I have good news and bad news.  The good news is it’s not your appendix.  The bad news is you will probably wish that it was.  At least with appendicitis, you’d been done with the pain immediately after surgery.  Apparently, the license plate of the truck that hit me this weekend read ‘diverticulitis’.  Now I had no idea what that was, still don’t really.  And if you don’t, I wouldn’t Google it anywhere around meal time.  It’s not a pretty topic.

But, at least I now know why it feels like a loaded cement truck ran over my abdomen.  Now I just need to educate myself as to why I had this and how to keep it from returning.

I took a cab home so Jul wouldn’t have to wake up or get the kids loaded.  So, of course, as soon as I showered and climbed into bed, I hit the perfect ‘oh, maybe I can finally sleep’ position and she started having major contractions and giving me bad signals.  Alas, they subsided and we all rested for the first time in 3 days.  Ahhhh.