Today, Two Years Ago

On Valentine's Day 2010, I was still dating Josh and because he had to work we decided not to celebrate. Instead, we went out the night before to see some of his housemates play a show in downtown Lansing. Valentine's Day morning (which happened to be a Sunday) I woke up with some pain in my stomach. Josh was already up getting ready for work and when I expressed my concerns he reminded me of the beer quantity I consumed the night before.

"You usually don't drink beer, babe. So it's probably the beer digesting. Just lay back down, relax, and sleep in."

He was right. At that time, I didn't drink much beer, so those four Bell's Two Hearted IPA's could very well be the cause of my tummy pain. As he rushed out the door, I laid back with my laptop and proceeded to watch the second season of Sex in the City. And with each episode the pain kept getting worse and worse. At one point it became unbearable and I knew that beer was not the issue. I picked up the phone and called Josh at work.

"This isn't getting any better. I don't know what to do." I cried in desperation.

"Well, I'm not sure what you want me to do. Do you want me to leave work?" he answers with a slight annoyance.

Screw this. I don't need help. I can figure this out on my own.

"No. Don't worry about it. I will figure it out." I reply and proceed to hang up.

Now for those of you who know me, know that I am stubborn and I never like counting on anyone for anything. I like to do things on my own. Sometimes it's a blessing and testament to my independence, but other times (such as in this case two years ago), it's just plain foolish, stupid, and unnecessary.

After hanging up, I get dressed and proceed to drive myself to an emergency clinic. At this point the pain is reaching a whole new level. I begin to slightly shake and moan in pain. At the clinic, after finally getting called to an examination room, they begin to poke me in places one should never be poked and give me a pregnancy test.  After the first pregnancy test came out negative, they proceed to give me another one "just to make sure."  I'm ready to kill while screaming "this isn't an episode of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant! Now figure out what's wrong with me!" But they didn't. Instead they told me to go to the emergency room.

The pain is now unbearable. I don't know what to do. But somehow I manage to get in the car and drive myself to the emergency room. Stupid, I know. But I wasn't thinking quite clearly at this point, suffocated and clouded by the throbbing pain in my stomach. When I got to the emergency room, I thought I would pass out from the pain. It was bad. Even thinking about it now, two years later, makes me grimace. I sign-in and make my way towards the waiting area where I proceed to rock back and forth shaking violently in hopes that it would distract me from the pain. No such luck. A bit later I was called to an examination room where a nurse took my stats. After she was done she told me to go back to the waiting area.

Wait! What?! Isn't this the point where a doctor comes in and figures out what's wrong with me?

"Umm...ma'am? How much longer will I have to wait before seeing a doctor?" I ask with tears in my eyes.

"At least another 2-3 hours," she replies indifferently.

Stunned, I walk back to the waiting area where I proceed to lose it. I start sobbing and shaking. My body just kind of did it's own thing. I'm pretty sure I was going into shock from the pain. Roughly five minutes after sitting down, a police officer approached me with a box of Kleenex.

"You're really in a lot of pain, aren't you sweetheart?" He asks.

He doesn't even wait for my answer. He takes me by the arm straight through the doors where he finds a nurse to help me. I will never forget that cop; my knight in shining armor. The nurse takes one look at me and immediately requests more help. They lay me down on a hospital bed where one nurse draws blood from one arm and the other gets an IV going in the other arm. And then comes the morphine. It doesn't work! So then came the dilaudid. Finally! Relief!

Shortly after my mother, my best friend (who also happened to be my college roommate), and her boyfriend showed up. I don't even remember calling them. They all cancelled their Valentine's Day plans to be with me. Sweet souls. Josh didn't show up till after work...(I'm still a little bitter, can you tell?)

A few cups of nasty fluids and a CT scan later, it was determined that my appendix was on the verge of bursting. More pain medicine, an anti anxiety from the anesthesiologist (I get really nervous around doctors and hospitals), and a surgery later, I was appendix free and recovering. The first person I saw after surgery? My mama. The second person I saw after surgery? My best friend.

Moral of the story: Make sure you give your mama and your best friends the same amount of attention you give your significant other this Valentine's Day, because there might come a Valentine's Day when they'll be the only one's there for you. Also, I though this was a pretty funny story. I mean, appendicitis on Valentine's Day?! Welcome to my life. It's a good one, I swear!

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone! Hope you feel the love!