The Operation.

Well that appendix thing was ready to blow and it was covered in a nice thick layer of fat and nastiness so the darn thing never showed up on the bazillion ultrasound pictures or MRI pictures that the techs took. It was all just very inconclusive, just like the doctors opinions on it:
Dr.1- You could have appendicitis, but we can't say one way or another. (Have a nice day).
Dr.2-I would tend to think that it is appendicitis, but with you being pregnant, we need to wait and see. (Go home, call me later if it gets worse).
Dr. 3: (my favorite, I love this man so much I just want to nominate him for Dr. Of The Century Award): You have been having this pain for a week? And you're starving? That's not appendicitis. I definitely would not operate. Oh and that MRI that you just paid $3400 is worthless for seeing appendicitis, just so you know. (Get out of my ER you lazy pregnant woman).
We walked the white shiny hallways out of the ER after a full day of IV's, blood tests, three urine samples (one extracted with a catheter, that was ordered by Dr. 3 who was convinced I had a urinary infection. Did I mention how much I love him?)a vaginal ultrasound, a regular ultrasound (the kind tech said she couldn't say anything but at the last minute pointed to a blue X on the machine and said that's the heartbeat and I cried) and an MRI that was so scary and loud and I just kept thinking about all those magnetic waves hitting my little fetus. They convinced me they had to do it, that it was the next step, but you have to understand with Ethan I would not let him go near AN ULTRASOUND MACHINE because of the "unknown" of the sound waves. It was the worst twenty or thirty minutes of my life, in this space tube with loud BUZZ'es and BEEP's every couple of seconds. The worst of it was in a gracious moment I let them keep the radio station on The Bandit, some horrible rock station, and in between 80's guitar rifts and men's voices that should never sing that high, came the tech's little voice, "Now, take a deep breath in and hold it..." and then I would have to hold my breath for a good twelve to twenty seconds, which hurt like a mo fo with my appendix about ready to pop and all, and then his little voice again, like the man behind the curtain at the Wizard of Oz, "OK, you can breath now." Thirty minutes of this. Oh and your arms are above your head, so they are numb from lack of blood flow not to mention aching from where that darn IV tube is still stuck in your vein.
And the techs were just in the best mood when they pulled me out, joking with each other, joking with me and then they slipped me back on the ER bed (you never know what they see with those over sized flowy gowns), and I decided as they wheeled me back into the ER that I really didn't like them at all.
So we left that day with the weight of the impending hospital bills on our shoulders, all $7000 of it, and no diagnosis.
That night was Vietnam in my innards. I can't even remember it, just that it was bad.
I woke up the next morning and the pain was gone, so I got in the shower, still scared, but just figuring this was all just really whacked out prego pain. I got one leg shaved and then had to turn the water off. I sat on the toilet to keep myself from falling on the floor and scaring Joey, or making a bigger deal out of this than it really was, but I felt weak, like I was ready to faint. I called for him. I think then I barfed. He turned to call the doctor and told him to wait, that I felt better now.
He still called (Dr. 2), handed me the phone as I sat on the toilet taking a poo, and I explained everything that had happened since coming home. His advice was to still wait. I was in no pain.
Great.
Ten minutes later he called back and said the tech's had missed something on the ultrasound or some other BS and also something about if we were in a courtroom, he needs to have recommended an operation by this point...at least he was honest. Joey said we were going. I drug my feet, took my time to get ready, put make-up on, jewelry, high heeled boots.
Once we got to the hospital, things went especially quick. They were waiting for us at the ER, got us right into the surgical center, paper work, I asked how much an appendicitis cost (bad idea), I had a melt down and said I wanted to go home (another bad idea), they took us to the operating wing, stripped me down and strapped me up with leg massagers and was about ready to stick me with the IV and roll me away when they asked if I had had any food and of course I had. Hello? Pregnant? And that put the big kabash on everything. So Joey and I waited in that nice quiet room for two and a half hours. He was mostly on the phone, trying desperately to find us insurance, and finally playing Go Fish and then Poker with me.
And then finally they came. A nice new nurse named Sharin (the original two were scary, one named Freida and one that looked like one of those Holland opera ladies way back in the day that wore bowl hats with horns sticking out of them. Her eyes were also very thin). But Sharin was great, telling me about her own appendicitis and her son's, which was also removed by Dr. 2. The anesthesiologist was also a sweet man, with a pregnant wife. They were very good to me.
They wheeled me into that big cold room with lots of lights and made me all nice and cozy as if I was about ready to have a facial or massage, and then the IV stung like hell and I felt better then I had felt in a very long time.
The operation took forty minutes longer then Dr. 2 had anticipated, my appendix was dead in parts and had an absess on it so they had to rupture the darn thing in there and then rinse me out.
We stayed an hour over our allowed twenty three hour observation period, but they didn't charge us. We have been home for three days now, and today I feel very depressed. I want to be all better, and I feel like a real wussy because this surgery is supposed to be no big deal. Joey is sick of being at home taking care of me and Ethan, and I am absolutely useless. The pain has subsided and I don't need the pain meds anymore, but I still feel very sick.
Friends and family are calling, but talking just makes me want to vomit. Or maybe talking about it makes me want to vomit. I know things are getting better, they are just taking their sweet time. I think the hardest part in all of this is not being able to take care of and play with Ethan. He's so sweet and he asks me all the time now, "Mama, are you sad?" He lays his head on my shoulder and tells me that he will take care of me.
And then also this poor little baby inside of me. I haven't eaten for three or four days, all though that is getting better with Lucky Charms, Cup 'O Noodles, and Kettle Corn. The poor little guy has been exposed to so much, all at such crucial times. I will never feel guilty for missing a a prenatal vitamin again.