And long story short, I had my appendix taken out.
Here's what happened.
I sprained my thumb playing volleyball in Iraq. We had a barbecue for our company and a fellow company. Lots of food, fake beer and people trying to have fun in one of the most desolate places on the planet. We started a volleyball tournament, and in the first game, I jumped up to block the ball. The problem was, the guy on the other side of the net was a LOT bigger than me, and slammed it down into my hand.
It hurt.
A few days later, I wasn't feeling so good, and my thumb had started to turn a little purple. So, I told my boss that I was going to the med center to have them check out my thumb.
When I get there, they take a look at it and tell me that there's nothing they can really do. I have to just let it heal. But, they COULD give me ibuprofen. Like I don't have enough of that already. They wouldn't do a scan or even check the mobility of it to see if it was broken.
While checking out my thumb, they noticed I was holding my stomach. "Is your belly OK? You seem to be holding it." I told them that it had been hurting a little bit for a day or two. The nurse, a Specialist, says she's gonna get the doc.
The doctor is a 1st Lieutenant, and had a great bedside manner. The whole time I was there, we were laughing and joking. He asks me to lay down, so he can examine my abdomen. I do, and he starts prodding, starting with the lower left quadrant, and moving counter-clockwise.
He finally gets to the lower right quadrant, and pushes in. "Does it hurt here?" "Fuck yes it does!" Then, he says, "Does it hurt more when I push in..." ( I swear he was trying to touch my spine) "Or when I release?" When he let go, it felt like he had reached into me, grabbed some organs, and tried to rip them out, while simultaneously, someone hit me in the back of that area with a pickaxe.
I shot up off the exam table, and almost threw a punch at the doc. It was a good thing he was an officer and a nice guy. Otherwise, I would have hit him really hard. Ok, I would have used some very harsh language.
He tells me to lay back down and then explains, "Ok, we're going to get an IV in you, give you some Morphine, and get you on the first MEDIVAC flight out of here. You have Appendicitis, and you need to get that thing removed as soon as possible.
Holding up my hand, staring at my thumb. Then the doc. Then my thumb. Then the doc. "I came in to have my thumb looked at!" "Well, your thumb will heal. Your appendix will kill you." "Well, okay then."
One of my buddies brought me a backpack with a couple changes of clothes, a couple packs of cigarettes, and a crossword puzzle book. Apparently, the med center staff called my unit, and told them that I was getting a MEDIVAC, and to have someone bring me some essentials. However, they didn't explain why I was leaving. Everyone knew I was going to the Med center to get my thumb checked out, and suddenly, I'm being flown out like a medical emergency. I gained a lot of respect for that.
An hour later, I'm on a helicopter, flying to the nearest hospital, which is 100 miles away. They put me in the ICU and give me 2 CT scans. Just after the CT scans, the doctor comes to talk to me. He tells me, "Well, your appendix is just about the size where we could take it out, but you don't seem like you're in A LOT of pain. If you were here on this base, I'd just send you back to your unit, and have you come back if it gets worse. But, since you aren't, and it would be such an ordeal to get you back here, we'll just go ahead and get that thing out of you." Which I was very enthusiastic about. Seriously. I haven't had a real surgery since I was 2.
So, they took it out of me, and I had one of the nurses take pictures. Pablo looks angry. That's right, I named it. I wanted to take it home, too, but they wouldn't. The bastards. I woke up in the ICU recovery room, completely whacked out on Morphine, and babbling my ass off. Apparently, morphine makes me very talkative. Problem is, I was speaking gibberish. I must have made up 10 new words. When I finally came to, I went quiet for a minute. The nurses were concerned, because they thought I might have had an adverse reaction to the anesthesia, and might vomit. I called one over.
You okay?
I have a question. Problem. A problem, question.
All right?
Where are my underpants?
That's your question?
No, that's my problem. Where are my underpants? I went into surgery wearing them, and don't have them now.
Oh, they're under the gurney.
...
...
...
Okay. Here's my question:
I'm doped to the gills, I hurt from the belly button down, and for some reason, my genitals are wet. I feel like a sex crime victim. What did you guys DO to me while I was under?
All the nurses started laughing, and some of the doctors who just happened to be walking by started laughing, too. I'm glad that I can make people laugh. Even after surgery, I still have a sense of humor. Once they moved me to ICU, they put another IV in me, and wouldn't let me eat or drink. I hadn't eaten since before I went to the med clinic 2 1/2 days earlier. They wouldn't even let me have water. They were afraid I was going to vomit it back up. So, I had an IV in me for the next 2 days, until I convinced them that I was well enough to eat. I think I lost about 20 pounds while I was there.
Since I could hardly stand, let alone walk, I wasn't able to smoke, and could barely get around. I wanted a wheelchair, but they didn't have any that were available. (I think they lied to me. They always do that.) Hell, I couldn't even shower, and I was starting to get ripe since I hadn't taken one for about 5 days. So, I kept asking everyone to give me a sponge bath. EVERYONE. Officers, enlisted, nurses, men, women, the LTC who did my surgery. I just kept saying, "Don't be shy! Grab a sponge!" They didn't. Where is their bedside manner?
After a couple days, I was well enough to walk, and got a ride to the airfield to try and catch a flight back to my base. Took 3 days. Finally, I catch a chopper and head back. I got put on light duty for a month, and was given Percocet for the pain. Which was wonderful. Not as good as the morphine, mind you, but good enough. It kept me from weeping every time I had to take a shit.
Oh, by the way, the entire time I was gone, 10 days, I didn't have access to a computer, or any contact numbers for my command back at my base. So, I couldn't let them know when I was coming back, or give them updates as to my condition. They basically just heard that I went to have my thumb checked out, and then I became a medical emergency. I had to explain it all to them, because the Med center wouldn't tell them anything.
Once I was back on base, I was showing everyone my scar, when my buddy Bill come walking up. He had just gotten back from R&R. As he was walking up, we yelled hello at him, and waved him over. My partner in crime, Tiger, leans over, and whispers, "You got stabbed at the pumphouse." Gotcha. The two of us were intelligent and bored. So, we always had to fuck with people's heads. Bill usually didn't fall for our stuff, but this time he did. Hook, line and sinker.
When Bill got over to us, I showed him the scar, and told him that I was out on mission at the water pumping station, and got into a tussle with one of the Iraqi Army guys, who was apparently up in the tower looking for one of our female soldiers. I told him to get down, he wouldn't, we started wrestling, and he ended up at the bottom of the ladder well. I, however, was stabbed in the abdomen. The Medics got me in a truck, and brought me back to base.
"Dude! Really!"
"Yeah, bro. I'll tell you this. That guy disappeared. We haven't seen him since."
Here's what happened.
I sprained my thumb playing volleyball in Iraq. We had a barbecue for our company and a fellow company. Lots of food, fake beer and people trying to have fun in one of the most desolate places on the planet. We started a volleyball tournament, and in the first game, I jumped up to block the ball. The problem was, the guy on the other side of the net was a LOT bigger than me, and slammed it down into my hand.
It hurt.
A few days later, I wasn't feeling so good, and my thumb had started to turn a little purple. So, I told my boss that I was going to the med center to have them check out my thumb.
When I get there, they take a look at it and tell me that there's nothing they can really do. I have to just let it heal. But, they COULD give me ibuprofen. Like I don't have enough of that already. They wouldn't do a scan or even check the mobility of it to see if it was broken.
While checking out my thumb, they noticed I was holding my stomach. "Is your belly OK? You seem to be holding it." I told them that it had been hurting a little bit for a day or two. The nurse, a Specialist, says she's gonna get the doc.
The doctor is a 1st Lieutenant, and had a great bedside manner. The whole time I was there, we were laughing and joking. He asks me to lay down, so he can examine my abdomen. I do, and he starts prodding, starting with the lower left quadrant, and moving counter-clockwise.
He finally gets to the lower right quadrant, and pushes in. "Does it hurt here?" "Fuck yes it does!" Then, he says, "Does it hurt more when I push in..." ( I swear he was trying to touch my spine) "Or when I release?" When he let go, it felt like he had reached into me, grabbed some organs, and tried to rip them out, while simultaneously, someone hit me in the back of that area with a pickaxe.
I shot up off the exam table, and almost threw a punch at the doc. It was a good thing he was an officer and a nice guy. Otherwise, I would have hit him really hard. Ok, I would have used some very harsh language.
He tells me to lay back down and then explains, "Ok, we're going to get an IV in you, give you some Morphine, and get you on the first MEDIVAC flight out of here. You have Appendicitis, and you need to get that thing removed as soon as possible.
Holding up my hand, staring at my thumb. Then the doc. Then my thumb. Then the doc. "I came in to have my thumb looked at!" "Well, your thumb will heal. Your appendix will kill you." "Well, okay then."
One of my buddies brought me a backpack with a couple changes of clothes, a couple packs of cigarettes, and a crossword puzzle book. Apparently, the med center staff called my unit, and told them that I was getting a MEDIVAC, and to have someone bring me some essentials. However, they didn't explain why I was leaving. Everyone knew I was going to the Med center to get my thumb checked out, and suddenly, I'm being flown out like a medical emergency. I gained a lot of respect for that.
An hour later, I'm on a helicopter, flying to the nearest hospital, which is 100 miles away. They put me in the ICU and give me 2 CT scans. Just after the CT scans, the doctor comes to talk to me. He tells me, "Well, your appendix is just about the size where we could take it out, but you don't seem like you're in A LOT of pain. If you were here on this base, I'd just send you back to your unit, and have you come back if it gets worse. But, since you aren't, and it would be such an ordeal to get you back here, we'll just go ahead and get that thing out of you." Which I was very enthusiastic about. Seriously. I haven't had a real surgery since I was 2.
So, they took it out of me, and I had one of the nurses take pictures. Pablo looks angry. That's right, I named it. I wanted to take it home, too, but they wouldn't. The bastards. I woke up in the ICU recovery room, completely whacked out on Morphine, and babbling my ass off. Apparently, morphine makes me very talkative. Problem is, I was speaking gibberish. I must have made up 10 new words. When I finally came to, I went quiet for a minute. The nurses were concerned, because they thought I might have had an adverse reaction to the anesthesia, and might vomit. I called one over.
You okay?
I have a question. Problem. A problem, question.
All right?
Where are my underpants?
That's your question?
No, that's my problem. Where are my underpants? I went into surgery wearing them, and don't have them now.
Oh, they're under the gurney.
...
...
...
Okay. Here's my question:
I'm doped to the gills, I hurt from the belly button down, and for some reason, my genitals are wet. I feel like a sex crime victim. What did you guys DO to me while I was under?
All the nurses started laughing, and some of the doctors who just happened to be walking by started laughing, too. I'm glad that I can make people laugh. Even after surgery, I still have a sense of humor. Once they moved me to ICU, they put another IV in me, and wouldn't let me eat or drink. I hadn't eaten since before I went to the med clinic 2 1/2 days earlier. They wouldn't even let me have water. They were afraid I was going to vomit it back up. So, I had an IV in me for the next 2 days, until I convinced them that I was well enough to eat. I think I lost about 20 pounds while I was there.
Since I could hardly stand, let alone walk, I wasn't able to smoke, and could barely get around. I wanted a wheelchair, but they didn't have any that were available. (I think they lied to me. They always do that.) Hell, I couldn't even shower, and I was starting to get ripe since I hadn't taken one for about 5 days. So, I kept asking everyone to give me a sponge bath. EVERYONE. Officers, enlisted, nurses, men, women, the LTC who did my surgery. I just kept saying, "Don't be shy! Grab a sponge!" They didn't. Where is their bedside manner?
After a couple days, I was well enough to walk, and got a ride to the airfield to try and catch a flight back to my base. Took 3 days. Finally, I catch a chopper and head back. I got put on light duty for a month, and was given Percocet for the pain. Which was wonderful. Not as good as the morphine, mind you, but good enough. It kept me from weeping every time I had to take a shit.
Oh, by the way, the entire time I was gone, 10 days, I didn't have access to a computer, or any contact numbers for my command back at my base. So, I couldn't let them know when I was coming back, or give them updates as to my condition. They basically just heard that I went to have my thumb checked out, and then I became a medical emergency. I had to explain it all to them, because the Med center wouldn't tell them anything.
Once I was back on base, I was showing everyone my scar, when my buddy Bill come walking up. He had just gotten back from R&R. As he was walking up, we yelled hello at him, and waved him over. My partner in crime, Tiger, leans over, and whispers, "You got stabbed at the pumphouse." Gotcha. The two of us were intelligent and bored. So, we always had to fuck with people's heads. Bill usually didn't fall for our stuff, but this time he did. Hook, line and sinker.
When Bill got over to us, I showed him the scar, and told him that I was out on mission at the water pumping station, and got into a tussle with one of the Iraqi Army guys, who was apparently up in the tower looking for one of our female soldiers. I told him to get down, he wouldn't, we started wrestling, and he ended up at the bottom of the ladder well. I, however, was stabbed in the abdomen. The Medics got me in a truck, and brought me back to base.
"Dude! Really!"
"Yeah, bro. I'll tell you this. That guy disappeared. We haven't seen him since."
Love this story every time I hear it Ray ... lol
ReplyDelete