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On Saturday morning, the surgical resident came into my hospital room before the sun (as usual) during her rounds. As she did her normal check, she mentioned, “We’re hoping you get to go home today.”

Music to my ears!

I still had to go through all of what had become my morning routine—meds, blood draw, additional stops in from OB docs—but several hours later, I got official word that yes, I was going to be sprung from the hospital. Finally.

The on-call doctor from my OB practice came in to double check that I was ready to go home—that I felt ready—and of course, I said yes. He said that at this point, there wasn’t anything they could do for me at the hospital that I couldn’t do at home, so he agreed to discharge me to finish recovery in my own house, with my family.

Oh, and after persistent begging from me and persistent asking from my OB doctors and nurses, the surgical team finally agreed to let my staples come out. HOORAY! The OB resident removed them for me right before I got dressed to leave. My incision immediately felt better.

Michael and Nora were already at the hospital with me to have breakfast together, so we immediately started packing everything up and getting ready to go. Once I had discharge papers and instructions in place, and transport came to get me with a wheelchair, we were on our way. I was happy to bid farewell to my hospital room, that’s for sure. I hope to not be back up there until it is for a much more joyful reason—to welcome our baby.

At home, I promptly climbed into bed for a solid three-hour nap with no interruptions. Yessssss.

Nora was excited to have me home. It’s a little hard for her to understand that I can’t do everything I normally do—and that I have to lie around a lot—but she’s a good sport. On Saturday night, Michael took her up to get her ready for bed. I ventured upstairs while he was reading her books, and as I walked in her bedroom door, Nora looked up with a smile and simply said, “Mommy’s back.”

Best feeling ever.

I had been home all day, but there was something about reinserting myself into her bedtime routine that was clearly very meaningful to her. I eased myself into her bed to lie with her as Michael finished the book, and Nora repeatedly leaned over to give me hugs and kisses out of nowhere. And when she wasn’t hugging me, she insisted on holding my hand while she listened to the story. It gives me tears to think about it, even still.

Since then, recovery at home has been OK. I am still pretty sore, but I’m getting better at getting around with each day. I’m pretty cooped up—it’s not easy, nor do I really have the energy, to go on errands or anything—but it’s obviously worlds better than being stuck in a hospital room. I can’t drive since I’m still on pain meds. And, the doctors pulled me from work for this week, too, so my only “job” right now is to heal. I have a follow-up doctor’s appointment on Friday and I expect to be cleared to resume most normal activities at that point.

My stomach has been getting better, too. On Saturday, and even early Sunday, I was still experiencing a lot of pent-up gas pain—I think my stomach was readjusting to handling food after being on a break for eight days! But I’m spending less and less time in discomfort, and the amount of food I’m able to consume is returning to normal levels. I’m still trying to be careful about eating things that are too rich or greasy, but I did have chicken enchiladas that my mother-in-law made us for dinner last night, and I seemed to do fine (and they were GOOD).

Speaking of no food for eight days, I weighed myself on Sunday morning just to see, and I was down about four pounds from the last time I weighed myself at home (Wednesday 4/3, the day before I started experiencing the nausea/vomiting/pain symptoms). Given how long my body was deprived of anything, I was surprised it wasn’t more. Then again, I had already been eating for two days again (so probably had already gained some weight back), and I don’t know if I may still be holding onto extra fluid with my abdominal swelling. So who the heck knows? It’s probably not a very accurate measure. At any rate, it will be interesting to see if I “catch up” at some point or if I’ll be a few pounds behind where I should be for the remainder of the pregnancy. The growth ultrasound showed the baby is fine and growing like it should, so really, it doesn’t much matter.

Looking back at the whole experience, I still can’t believe that this happened to me. It just goes to show that you never truly know what life is going to throw at you. Obviously, in the grand scheme of things, this was minor compared to what some people go through, but holy cow. I’ve been doing some reading about appendicitis and pregnancy, and have since learned that when my appendix ruptured, the risk of death for our baby increased from 3% to approximately 20%. That is terrifying, and I’m so glad that we didn’t know that second statistic at the time.

Going into surgery, I was in excruciating pain and had been doped up on drugs, but I still remember being acutely aware of the fact that I didn’t know how this was going to turn out. I listened to them monitor the baby’s heart rate right before I was put under, and then, as I was brought out of anesthesia, I listened to them try to find the baby’s heartbeat again. What relief I felt when I heard that sweet sound.

I’m thankful for whoever was watching over us that day. I’m glad that although I didn’t have the easiest go of things during the process, I still ended up falling into the majority who have positive outcomes. The alternative is unimaginable. I’m counting my blessings and praying that they continue!