Interlude: My Insides Exploded

I excitedly launched my business Friday, January 20, fully anticipating spending at least a few hours a day working on networking, writing, and blogging. On Monday, January 23, I had very stressful day, but my husband and I still made it that night to see R.L. Stine and Nnedi Okorafor speak in downtown Richmond. Writing about that event was meant to be my next blog post.

The powers of the universe, for several years, have really enjoyed making sure I know better than to rely too heavily on "plans" (I am sure this is true for many of us). Around lunch time on Tuesday I started having bad stomach pains, and I couldn't hold down any food. This happened three times over the last year but never while I was pregnant. Typically, the pain would be severe for a day or two and then gradually dissipate. I have always had a problematic stomach, so I just figured this was a new gastrointestinal issue. I did not know what triggered it, though I supposed stress could do it. I was completely down on Tuesday, but Wednesday and Thursday I managed to function somewhat. I did laundry, ate a little, and even took a neighbor for cataract surgery. By Thursday night I was weary of the pain, but still assumed I would be better in a few days.

Friday morning, still hurting, I refused bacon at breakfast. Rowan, my two-year-old, said it was because my tummy hurt and that I should go to the doctor. Someone asked him if he wanted to go to the doctor, and he said, "No, me scared!" After breakfast I had an important call that went well. Then an hour later, I was completely struck down with debilitating pain. I do not know what being stabbed in the gut with two butcher knives actually feels like, but if I had to guess, I'd imagine it felt something like what I was feeling.

I have always avoided going to the hospital at all costs. I have only ever been once before in my life and that was only for a few hours (and after an urgent care turned me away). But I knew in that moment that one of us - me or my baby - was dying. I told my mom to call my husband's work and asked my step-dad for a ride to the hospital. Every bump in the road hurt. I stood in line at the ER check-in trembling and breathing heavily. The woman in front of me was asking where she could take some clothes. There were no wheelchairs or seats available. I did not know how I would be able to stand a long wait, but as soon as I told them I was 23 weeks pregnant and in severe abdominal pain, they kicked someone out of a wheelchair and rushed me to Labor and Delivery.

I was in the hospital for almost a week: from Friday morning to Thursday afternoon. For the last few weeks I have thought a lot about how much and what to post here. As a writer, when big events happen in my life I usually have to write them down in some capacity. It helps me process what happened and remember it more clearly down the road. This was quite the experience, and I could write a great deal about it. It took twelve hours, an ultrasound, and an MRI for them to figure out what was wrong with me. It took a day and a half for them to take my appendix out. It was the weekend, I am pregnant, and they wanted a certain doctor to do the surgery. I felt my care was good overall, but I do think a day and a half is too long to sit with a ruptured appendix. I ended up with a large internal abscess. My appendix was described, in my medical report, as "disrupted, torn and tattered" with "a somewhat necrotic dusky mucosa." Other notes say that I had gangrene. I was extremely dehydrated (I had no idea), and my potassium was so low I was on potassium the entire week. My insides were in bad, bad shape. The pain was truly excruciating. I would give unmedicated childbirth five more times rather than experience that pain again. I am NOT kidding.

After my surgery I spent another five days in the hospital due to ileus (my intestines not functioning or contracting like they are supposed to). I had a drainage tube for nine days due to my abscess. There is a lot to be said about long hospital nights. My back was wrecked trying to get comfortable (I'll reiterate here: I'm also PREGNANT). I had five IVs and over a dozen needle pricks. The discomfort of the IVs added insult to injury. I was limited in the pain medicine I could take or stomach. I felt when my intestines started up; there was a new rolling pain as they started working again.

Over the last few days I have started to feel more like myself (if pretty pregnant). The ache where my appendix once was has finally subsided, and the cuts in my abdomen are healing well. I am still not supposed to lift more than 20 pounds in case of a hernia (my surgeon said hernias are "no big deal, just another surgery" which is a really easy thing for a surgeon, who will never be pregnant, to say). I am weak and out of shape. I have a new understanding of my body and its strength, but perhaps even more importantly, I have a special understanding of the strength of my baby. I was told, when they discovered my appendix issue, that the chance of fetal loss was 5%. However, that was assuming uncomplicated appendicitis. With the added complications of rupture, abscess, gangrene, and a few days of sitting with that, the chance of fetal loss was actually as high as 36%. Just a few weeks before all of this happened, I told my husband that this baby is an especially strong one. He asked why I thought so. I told him I just knew; there is a special strength to him. I am even more confident in the truth of that now. He was generally unfazed by the whole affair, reassuring me with steady heartbeats and kicks to my sore insides. This experience made me feel more connected to him. This little babe was there with me throughout this whole long, complicated process, including surgery and sedation.

Truthfully, I learned a lot over the last few weeks, and that is really what I wanted to share here. I have never experienced anything like this before. Hospital stays are foreign to me: I gave birth to Rowan in a birth center - a lovely home with a large bathtub and gentle lighting - with midwives. I have experienced unmedicated childbirth and plenty of discomfort in my life, but never the kind of pain I felt when my appendix ruptured...and then sat there inside of me, leaking fluid and rotting. I came to understand how I deal with pain in a new way. I am not a moaner or extremely vocal complainer (I heard some of those while admitted), but I cannot do much when in that level of pain. I have always told myself to take a book everywhere I go. You never know when there will be an emergency, and if you end up in the hospital you will have a lot of down time. Yes, I thought about that before! Even that Friday, when I knew something in me was dying, I grabbed a book and shoved it in my bag. Books have always been my escape from the pain of reality. However, I was unable to read the entire time I was in the hospital. The first few days I could not even focus on the TV. All I could do was lay in my hospital bed, willing the pain to subside and watching the clock. A day or so after my surgery I could kind of watch TV, but I was still uncomfortable and in pain (7/10 rather than a 10/10). I was not resting well between interruptions and an inability to get comfortable in my hospital bed. I just could not focus on the written word at all. It wasn't until I came home and was able to sleep a little better, that I could escape into a good book.

I learned what a person in severe pain does and does not need to hear. I know many of us do not always know what to say to someone who is suffering in a way we have never experienced. I am sure I have struggled with that in the past. I found that people saying things like "wait and see" or "it'll pass" or "just take it easy" did not help me. It felt borderline dismissive and minimizing. All I could do was wait, and I knew that. My care was completely out of my control. My body has told me to take it easy; there is only so much I can do. And the fact that the pain will not last forever does not help. In that moment the pain is almost all there is. The statements that really helped me were those that acknowledged and validated my pain, such as "I'm so sorry, I have heard that is so painful" or "That sounds horrible!" or even "OMG that sucks!!!" Those statements make you and your agony feel seen. My surgeon seemed so nonchalant before my surgery, and I could not understand why it took them so long to get that painful little bugger out of me. The next day however, he acknowledged: "You were in bad shape." I needed to hear that, because boy did I FEEL that.

When something like this happens, you also discover who shows up for you and how. My parents helped considerably with looking after Rowan; we had never been apart from each other for so long, and it was difficult for both of us. Rowan even spent a few nights sleeping with my mom. People sent flowers, a fruit bouquet, and a teddy bear. My sister brought me my favorite meal after I got home (Vietnamese vermicelli with spring rolls, if you are curious) and spent a day helping around the house. My dad and step-mom visited me in the hospital. My dad even cancelled plans with friends one day to come sit with me, because he couldn't go hang out and have fun with me laid up in a hospital bed. My sister-in-law also visited. Some people called and texted regularly to see how I was doing. Another friend brought me a card and a gift card for food. All of that support really meant a lot. When suffering in that way and stuck in the hospital, you do feel very isolated. Little gifts and hellos went a long way in brightening my days and distracting me from my predicament.

My husband, Dominic, stepped up in a special way. He took over so many of my duties at home even after I was home, including cosleeping with Rowan (which is very difficult for him to do, as such a light sleeper). He used up vacation time and spent hours upon hours with me in the hospital. On some days I told him to take Rowan to the park or to my dad's, and he did all of that readily. He took great care of me too. He brought me food when I asked for it, helped me shower, helped me change the bandages around my drain, and took me to the doctor when I didn't feel comfortable driving yet. He did it all without a single complaint. He was exactly the reliable steady presence I needed. He was there before my surgery and right after. He waited with me for all my tests and witnessed my frustration with things like poorly inserted IVs and bad hospital food. He never questioned my experience, feelings, or requests. I am so thankful to have him, and this experience only solidified what I have known for 15 years: I have a better life partner than I could have ever asked for. Thank goodness for that too...soon we will have a toddler AND an infant...that will take all the teamwork we can muster!

If you have read this far, thank you for sticking with me. My next post will be more in line with what I originally intended. It will focus on the R.L. Stine and Nnedi Okorafor event. I just could not go off the web and without a post for so long without this discussion. Consider it one of my "thinking" themed posts.

If you have questions or topic suggestions, I am open to those too. Thank you for reading!