An unpleasant diversion

On Monday, I began to feel a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. I chalked it up to possibly pulling something while packing and moving heavy boxes into my PODS unit on Sunday. But on Monday evening when I went to bed, I could not get warm -- tossing and turning with the chills. Now, I've had about as many pulled muscles in my life as I've had athletic accomplishments, but I'm pretty sure that pulled muscles don't result in a fever.

On Tuesday, the pain was sharp and somewhat debilitating, making it difficult to stand up and even to walk. I tried to get in to my doctor, but he wasn't available until Wednesday morning. So, I decided to suck it up and ride out the pain until then.

Amanda, however, had other plans. On Tuesday night, she convinced me that I needed to go to the ER. She consulted with her father (a veterinarian) about my symptoms and he, too, recommended the same action plan. The likely diagnosis? Appendicitis.

So, around 7:30 pm, Amanda picked me up and off we went to Memorial Hermann Northwest on the north 610 Loop.

The only other time I had been to an ER was in October 1989 after I fell asleep at the wheel on I-45 north of Huntsville and rolled over. I was a little out of it, to say the least, so I do not have many memories of it -- other than the Codeine-enhanced ride home to Baytown with Mom and Dad. (Yummy!)

While Amanda ooh-ed and aah-ed over the sick babies, I did my best to sit still and not be mistaken for one. I'll confess right up front that I am a baby when I'm sick. A big ol' baby who just wants to curl up under the covers and call it a day. Granted, that's not a good look on a man -- especially when that man still felt a sense of responsibility to protect his woman from the ne'er-do-wells in the ER. It wasn't time for me to let my guard down ... yet.

The good folks in the ER checked me in, drew my blood, and took a ... um ... sample in a cup. Fortunately, the sample cup came with written instructions. Detailed instructions. VERY detailed instructions -- with diagrams, too. That there are people in this world who need step-by-step help in order to pee in a cup troubles me greatly.

Around 9:00 pm, the real waiting began. During our temporary residence in the holding area, I stayed warm under a sheet provided by a nurse and Amanda resolved to pay more attention to the 2008 presidential election. She was convinced that she was witnessing first-hand all that is wrong with the American healthcare system. Finally, at 11:45 pm, my name was called.

I'll spare you the long story, but after two vanilla-flavored barium drinks, a CT scan, and IVs with pain killers and antibiotics, I dodged a bullet. The doctor was able to rule out appendicitis -- a potential outcome that would have required me to check-in to the hospital and possibly have surgery within a few hours. (When he said surgery was a possibility, I asked if he could do a little liposuction while he was down there.) Instead, he determined that I had acute diverticulitis.

To be honest with you, I think Amanda and I were both a little disappointed at the diagnosis.

For me, I knew that having surgery for appendicitis would have made for a better blog entry. Diverticulitis may be a little too personal, and certainly not a pleasant topic of conversation. For her, she missed out on getting a kiss -- something she promised (threatened?) to give me before they took me into the operating room if it came to that. "Just in case I never see you again!" Thanks for the encouragement, sweetheart! =)

My next reaction? Praise the Lord it's nothing more serious! A prescription for some antibiotics and pain killers was all I took home with me that night -- no scars or bandages. The only thing I left at the hospital that night was a little bit of my pride. In addition to the medications, the doctor told me to use Metamucil every day -- from now on.

The trauma of being prescribed Metamucil was compounded by the fact that when I received the orders, I was wearing my hospital gown with my black dress socks. Not only was I facing an "old man's" medical condition and being told to add an "old man's" supplement to my diet, but I was dressed like an "old man," too.

The good news? Amanda witnessed it all and she still wants to marry me.


EXTRA BONUS STORY!
For those of you who have read this entire post, here's an added bonus. The ER nurse shared a story with us about a relative of hers who has to have a colonoscopy every year. The relative also has a neighbor with a yapping, barking, high-energy little dog who often gets into their backyard.

One year, while this relative was preparing for the procedure the next day by drinking "Go Lightly" (a "bowel prep liquid") to clear out his system, he decided that he had had enough. So, the next morning, he soaked a biscuit in the remaining few sips of the "Go Lightly" liquid and placed it by the hole where the annoying dog entered their yard.

When he came home from work that afternoon, he looked over the fence to see the results of his scheme. I won't go into details here like the nurse did with us, but rest assured that that dog never came through that hole in their fence again. It learned its lesson!