Appropriate, isn’t it? I’d been home in Brisbane for about 36 hours and I’d already had two serves of my dad’s own caught crabs. First, a simple boiled sand crab and then on Sunday night, my dad’s chilli crabs. I said I could die happy, but I’ve now learnt to be careful what I say.
Because less than 24 hours later, I was hurtled away in a screeching ambulance.
On Monday morning, my abdomen and bowels decided to call mutiny on their captain and by Monday afternoon, they were eminating indescribable pains from all around – my left ab, my sternum, bottom right – long sharp agonising pains and short sharp stabs. I was rolling around the floor cluchting myself in agony and with one last shot of mutiny, my body subjected me to the most violent act of vomiting I’ve ever committed. Like vomit out your nose kind. Sorry, TMI I know.
My parents called the ambulance, who I have to say took their sweet time to arrive (30mins) but when they did, the paramedics were specacular, dosing me up on the strongest pain killers they had. Even my eyeballs were happy. I survived through ER triage and eventually at about 9pm Monday night, I was admitted into Prince Charles Hospital in Brisbane.
Even after addimission into ER, they still didn’t know what was wrong with me. Signs indicated that it wasn’t my appendix, because the pain came from all over my abdomen. Usually appendix-related issues causes appendix-area pain, simple things that the are. So the tests began.
I had 7 blood tests (which turned out to be a drop in the ocean compared to what they would take from me over the next few days), at least 4 urine tests, a stool test (oh goodbye dignity), an abdominal ultrasound, an abdominal xray, a pelvic ultrasound, a pelvic exam and a pelvic scan – all three of which are quite different procedures, for those of you playing doctors and nurses at home (and not like that).
The tests still didnt conclude why I was hurting all over, but it did show one thing – my itty bitty useless appendix had swollen to twice of its normal size and was threatening to burst and we all know a burst appendix could mean DEATH, right? Sorry to sensitive readers but basically, yes. So without really discovering the cause of my other pain I was rushed into have my appendix removed.
The procedure to remove an appendix is usually very simple. Three keyhole incisions, they snip the thing off and voila! you’re back home the next day. I wish mine was so simple. It was only during the procedure that surgeons noticed something awry. Not only had my appendix gorged in size, it had extended its infection across to my large intestines, leaving much of it heaving with bacterial ungoodness. Along with that, it’d also gotten itself stuck under my bowels. 
So with me unconscious, the wise consulting surgeon made the decision to rid me of all of this, and at the same time remove not only my appendix but 1/3 of my large intestines. Yep. My surgery evolved from what was to be a simple keyhole procedure to a major surgery instead – a right-hemicolectomy on my little body. I now have two keyhole piercings and one mother incision which runs from my belly button all across my right side, cutting deep through my abdominal muscles. Incidentally, my dad (I am clearly his daughter) describes it as cutting through pork belly.
Right…
It’s now been exactly a week and recovery has been slow, steady and painful. Who knew we used our abs for everything? Talking, laughing, walking, lifting, sitting, sneezing, coughing – omg the coughing KILLS! – I’m gaining new respect for my abs everyday.
I’m also infinitely grateful that all this happened while I’m in Brisbane, where my parents live and they’ve been nothing but amazing in helping me along, from visiting me three times a day in hospital to now giving up their bed for me, because their room is on the ground floor. And not to mention mum’s healing culinary remedies…
Anyway, on a side note, all the while this was happening, I was comparing myself to James Franco in 127 Hours – which if you haven’t seen, it is a brilliant movie and I’m not just saying it because I’m utterly in lust with the guy. But seriously. James Franco was nothing like me! He was an actor FFS who was paid billions to later host the Oscars high (was this ever confirmed? I was a little busy in pain…) but Aron Ralston on the other hand, now he an international hero. But whatever, I did 159 hours of pain, bitches.
So that’s me people! Guess I’m not eating anything exciting for the next few weeks, but hope y’all will stay with me for my road to recovery anyway. I’ve already taken photos of my mum’s chicken soup 