I want to take a quick minute to thank all of you for your positive thoughts and prayers for me this week. It means a lot. It’s been taxing emotionally, physically, mentally… so I’ve appreciated all of the support from family, friends, coworkers, and even all of you whom I have never met before!

In case you’re somehow starting at this post, I’ll give my quick recap: I was diagnosed with acute appendicitis at 22 weeks, 3 days pregnant. Before the doctors could get me into surgery, my appendix ruptured, and all hell broke loose. As a result of the rupture, the recovery has been long. My surgery was a week ago today, and I’m still in the hospital! Here is a recap of my experience over the last few days. (See previous posts for updates from earlier this week.)

THURSDAY
I was awakened by one of the OB doctors around 1 a.m. on Thursday morning, which was out of the ordinary. To my surprise, she told me that the trauma surgery team (who had performed my appendectomy) had ordered an MRI of my abdomen, and that I would be taken down within the next few hours. Yes, in the middle of the night. I had a bad day on Wednesday—physically, I was in a lot more pain again, and mentally, I was losing my sanity from being here at the hospital. So the doctors were concerned about things: my ileus (temporary paralysis of my intestines), and also that I might be developing a “pocket” of infection as a result of all of the gunk that was released into my belly when my appendix ruptured. The MRI would give them answers.

Half asleep, I was asked some pre-screening MRI questions, and then I dozed back off. An hour later, I was being awakened by my nurse, who told me that transport was here to take me downstairs for the MRI. It was sort of creepy, being wheeled through the halls of the hospital and taken downstairs in the basement in the middle of the night like that. It was quiet, and I was out of it, so looking back on it all now, it almost seems like the whole thing was a dream.

I’ve never had an MRI before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had heard that some people have a hard time with them because they are claustrophobic. But once I was prepped and they pushed me into the machine, I kept my eyes closed and was able to relax—so much so that I was very close to sleeping in there, despite the loud noises the machine makes (they at least gave me ear plugs). It was funny, because as soon as the loud noises started, the baby started jumping all over inside of my belly. He/she was probably wondering what the heck was going on!

All in all, the process took a little over an hour. I was back in my room shortly after 3 a.m. After another round of meds and a vitals check, I was back to sleep. But not for long—at 4 a.m., I was awakened again by a surgical resident, who was there on her morning rounds. WTF? She said she wanted to let me know that the team had ordered an MRI to check on things. I stopped her and said, “I know. I already went down for the MRI at 2 a.m.” She seemed surprised they had taken me down so quickly, and said, “Oh, so you’ve been up all night. And here I am waking you up again. I’m sorry. We’ll be by to see you later this morning to talk about the results.”

Just for the record? I never saw anyone from the trauma surgery team yesterday. At all. That particular team’s level of care? I’m not impressed.

In the morning—at a much more reasonable hour—I heard through my OB doctors and nurses that the MRI results came back fine. There weren’t any signs of infection, just confirmation of the ileus. They concluded that the increased pain I had experienced Wednesday was likely due to the ileus, too. As a next step, the team decided to step up “Operation: Wake Up Bowels” with additional medications.

I’ll just cut to the chase here and say that several hours later? It worked.

Things were definitely looking up after that. They pretty much immediately put me back on the “clears” diet (water, juice, Jell-O, popsicles, broth, etc.). If all went well, they said, I’d get to eat FOOD soon.

The other highlight of the day? They sent a sonographer to do a growth ultrasound on the baby. Given that it had been a week since I’d eaten, they wanted to double check and make sure that the baby was still getting what it needs. She was by far the friendliest sonographer I’ve ever had—she “ooh”ed and “ahh”ed over our sweet baby and its fingers, toes, nose and lips. It was also so comfortable, me lounging in my hospital bed, her sitting on the edge of the bed with the portable machine pulled up in a way so I could see everything. After the day that I had on Wednesday, this was a welcome “treat.” She printed off a dozen photos for me to have, and burned us a CD, too! So nice.

And the good news? Everything looks great with the baby. Plenty of fluid, the size measurements were within normal range, and baby was moving everywhere. It’s good to know that with all of the pain and suffering I’ve been through, our little one is basically unaffected. The baby had its feet up in its face for almost the entire ultrasound, which was hilarious—flexibility FTW! The sonographer spent more time than she probably should have trying to get a good 4D shot of his/her face. At the last minute, the baby moved its feet long enough to get the shot above. Not bad, right? :)

I was also seen by a nutritionist on Thursday afternoon. My doctors were starting to get concerned with how I had not eaten in a week. Although I was getting fluid and electrolytes through my IV fluids, I wasn’t getting nutrition. There was talk about my possibly needing a PICC line (also known as a central line) through which to provide nutrition. The nutritionist asked questions about my height and pre-pregnancy weight, as well as my general eating habits and whether I have any dietary restrictions. It was a short conversation—she said that she was willing to give me another day or two for my bowels to get things in order before seriously discussing the PICC line. And thankfully, as I already told you, by afternoon, things had progressed so that this no longer seems like it will be necessary. Yay!

The rest of the day’s events were pretty standard. A lot of lying around, walking the floor, visiting with Michael, Nora, and my mom. The staples in my incision really started to bother me (they’re pulling, ouch!) so I begged to have them removed but the surgeons said no. I planned to revisit the subject with the surgical resident during his rounds in the morning.

It was certainly a good day to help counteract the one I had on Wednesday.

FRIDAY
Officially one week post-surgery. I can’t believe I’m still here, but it is what it is.

I didn’t sleep very well last night. No reason in particular—I just woke up frequently. The surgical resident shocked me by not coming by until between 5:30-6 a.m. (they’ve routinely been coming by between 4-4:30 a.m. all week, brutal). I had a conversation with him about my “victory” from yesterday, and also pleaded my case for having my staples removed. He still refused to remove them, but said he would check with the attending. He was happy to hear of my progress and recommended I continue with the “clears diet” today. I was disappointed to hear that (I’m not much a fan of the clears these days! I want FOOD!), but he gave me a glimmer of hope by saying that if the morning went well, maybe they’d graduate me to food in the afternoon.

I was able to go back to sleep until 7:30 or so, then started texting Michael and my family with updates. To my surprise, my nurse soon came in and handed me a menu—she said I had been cleared to EAT! I was so excited. I poured over the menu for several minutes, trying to figure out what my first meal was going to be. They had warned me to start slow, so although pancakes and home fries sounded incredible, I took a few steps back and ordered cereal and a blueberry muffin. And it’s a good thing I did, because I ate only a small handful of cereal and 1/3-1/2 of the muffin before I was STUFFED. I guess my stomach needs to learn how to handle normal amounts of food again! The good news is that aside from feeling a little bit uncomfortable from being full, I tolerated the food. None of it came back up. Score!

I continued to make “progress” in the intestinal department, if you know what I mean, so things were good. And, my pain was pretty under control today as well, so things are definitely looking up. I felt like I was in a little bit of “a mood” for a few hours in the middle of the day, for no reason other than I’m sick of being here. But it was nothing like the down-in-the-dumps feeling I had on Wednesday, so I bounced back.

I relaxed all morning, just watching junk on TV. It was one of the first times that I felt like I was really just lying around and relaxing. Of course, I’ve been doing that all week, but I felt so sick and in so much pain that it never really felt RELAXING, if that makes sense. Today? As long as I didn’t make any sudden or big movements (which cause me pain), you could’ve fooled me that I was maybe just having a lazy day in bed for no reason. :)

For lunch, I ordered a turkey sandwich on 12-grain bread. I ate just about half of it and again was too full. But hey, I was EATING, and I was happy about it.

My grandma and aunt came to visit in the late afternoon, while Michael ran home for a bit and then to pick up Nora. When Nora arrived tonight, she was in a great mood, and I just felt… happy. I’d be happier if I could go home, of course, but this was much more like it. I ordered some spaghetti and meatballs with a side of broccoli for dinner, and instead of eating the dinner that Michael had brought for her, Nora insisted on sharing with me. Perfectly fine, given that I knew I couldn’t come close to eating all of it anyway! She made a mess of my bed, haha, but it was fun to sit right next to my girl and share a plate of spaghetti together.

Just a funny side note: We’ve been way more lenient with “treats” for Nora this week than we normally are. At home, “dessert” consists of fruit or applesauce. But here at the hospital with me, when she’s eaten good meals, we’ve let her have something special—popsicles, for instance. Tonight, we wanted to get her going so Michael could get home and get her to bed at a more decent hour than what has been happening, so I suggested grabbing a pudding out of the patient fridge instead. Michael brought it and I opened it up. She must’ve been hoping for another popsicle, because as soon as Nora saw it, she said, “Yucky!” I said, “Nora, this is NOT yucky. Believe me. You don’t even know what this is, do you?” It occurred to me that she’s never had pudding before. We told her it’s like ice cream, so she opened up her mouth cautiously, with a funny look on her face. A second later? She was grabbing the spoon from me and gobbling it up, refusing to share. THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT, KID. What a goof.

Anyway… today, they also transitioned me from the IV antibiotics to an oral form. AND, once I started eating solids and made it through a few meals, they disconnected me from the IV fluids, too. I still have the IV inserted in my arm just in case, but even just being disconnected from the tubes makes me feel so much more FREE! And because my pain is better today than it has been, I’ve been able to get out of bed (mostly) by myself. As a result, I’ve been up more frequently, which means I haven’t had to wear my compression stockings all day. Woot woot! GOOD DAY INDEED.

Call me crazy, but I think they’re gearing up to let me go home. I’m optimistic that will happen by Sunday. When my OB came by to see me this morning, she told me that she’s not on call this weekend, so she won’t be back until Monday morning. She said, “I hope I don’t see you.”

Me too. ME TOO.

Here I sit, still in the hospital, chronicling the road to recovery from acute appendicitis (that ended up rupturing) at 22 weeks pregnant. In case it hasn’t been clear already: Appendicitis during pregnancy? I do not recommend it.

TUESDAY
I woke up on Tuesday morning feeling like a bit of a new woman. I had SLEPT. Of course, I had been awakened a few times throughout the night for vitals, medication, and to pee, but I had easily fallen back to sleep each time. And after being up for a bit between 7-8 a.m., I fell back asleep until nearly 10:00. It was really nice, and felt wonderful.

I saw the OB and surgical residents in the morning. They were happy with the decision from Monday night to go back to NPO (nothing by mouth), agreeing that was the best bet to getting my intestines back in the game. Both the doctors and nurses continued to stress the importance of getting up and walking, so I took it as a personal challenge for the day.

My feelings of nausea, heartburn, reflux, and my headache all seemed to subside—probably from going back to eating nothing. In fact, I felt GOOD on Tuesday. My pain was manageable. On the pain scale, I was even sometimes giving numbers as low as 2 and 3. I was able to get up out of bed to get to the bathroom by myself. I walked the floor without assistance, even advancing my previous high of three laps to four. I even started finding myself really wanting/craving food again. On one of my walks, I saw someone else’s food tray sitting out with a couple of peanut butter cookies and a salad. I very nearly stole it and ran.

I had to have my IV replaced on Tuesday, since my first one had “expired.” I was disappointed to learn such info—to me, it means I’ve been here way too long!

Michael brought Nora up to visit at dinnertime again, and while it was once again torture to have them eat in front of me, it was good to have that time to spend with her. She was really cute and seemed to be extra snuggly, giving me multiple hugs and kisses without prompting. I’d say she misses her mama! At one point we were listening to her Disney music on my phone and I started mouthing along with the words. She looked at me and said, “No, Mama, TALK! No whisper!” Haha! She wanted me to sing out loud!

I went to bed on Tuesday night thinking that everything was coming together. I was in great shape with my healing. All I needed was the last piece to fall into place—the elusive gas.

WEDNESDAY
Tuesday into Wednesday, I again slept pretty well, although not as well as Monday night. But when I woke up in the morning, things did not seem to be as peachy as they were on Tuesday. My pain was back, and it was bad. I now had excruciating pains shooting through my entire right side—not only when I moved, but randomly. All of the movement and progress that I had made on Tuesday? It now seemed gone. And to top it off, I still didn’t feel any closer to getting my intestines to cooperate. The doctors gave me the same “Maybe today will be the day!” speech in the morning, and I found myself sinking low, then even lower.

By the time my nurse came in to give me my meds mid-morning, I took one look at her and burst into tears. It was the first time (since the day of surgery anyway) that I had allowed myself to feel really sorry for myself. It felt like I was fighting a neverending battle and that I would NEVER get out of here. I missed my daughter. I missed being home with my husband. I missed normal life.

Because of the increased pain, I spent the vast majority of the day in bed. Getting up to pee was horrible, and walking was hard again. I did it a few times anyway, but when the afternoon rolled around, my nurse assured me, “You’ve done enough walking for the day,” and shuffled me back to my bed.

The weather outside matched my mood. Dark, dreary, cold, rainy. At least I knew that I wasn’t missing anything out there.

One of the OB doctors came to check up on me when she heard I was having a hard day. When she heard that I hadn’t seen the surgical team since Sunday (aside from the quick 60-second check-ins by a resident during rounds at 4 a.m.), she became kind of angry and said that she was going to call them. She said that they are treating me because I’m pregnant, but that the surgeons needed to step it up—THEY are the ones that performed the surgery, and this is THEIR specialty. She insisted that one of them come up and give me an actual examination. This was around 11 a.m. I was told the surgeon would be here at 4 p.m.

The baby continues to do well. I feel him/her kicking periodically throughout the day, and they check the heartbeat via doppler multiple times per day as well. The heartbeat has always sounded and measured strong, ranging from about 135-160 beats per minute.

It should be noted that through all of this, my coworkers are awesome. One of them called Michael today to let him know that they had coordinated meals for us. Well, more for him and Nora at this point, but some of them freeze well so we can keep them on hand for when I finally get home from the hospital. When he told me, I cried. I guess you can say it was just an emotional day all around!

I also got a surprise visit during the afternoon—from a patient advocate. She wanted to know if I was happy with the quality of care I had been receiving. The poor woman, she probably had no idea I was about to unload on her for 20 minutes, crying my eyes out, about my experience. My treatment has been mostly fine—the maternity doctors and nurses have been really great—but I can’t get over what happened on Friday (the day of my surgery). Why was I left to sit for so long before going to surgery, knowing my appendix was a ticking time bomb? Why, after my appendix ruptured, did it take them an hour and a half to find me any relief and get me back for surgery already?? I’ve found myself feeling bitter today—like this didn’t need to be this way. My appendix didn’t need to rupture. And if it hadn’t, I likely would’ve been back at home with my family days ago.

Around 4:00, my nurse came in and said she wanted to give me some Phenergan—an anti-nausea med to be given via IV—to go along with my pain meds. She said it would help my pain meds work better, but that it would also make me super drowsy. I talked to Michael and we agreed that he wouldn’t bring Nora up that night. Of course I wanted to see her, but I was also in bad shape—physically and emotionally—so the sleep sounded really good. And sleep I did. That Phenergan laid me out from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. And it was good, deep sleep. When I woke up, I felt better, and my pain was better, too.

Michael came back up to the hospital after Nora went to bed. And guess who decided to show up while he was here, around 9:00? The surgeon. Finally. And truthfully, he didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. He didn’t tell us anything we wanted to hear. It was a disappointing visit. He did, however, set some more realistic expectations in terms of how long I might be here. He said that it can take up to TWO WEEKS for the bowels to “wake up” after a surgery like this. He said that all of my intestines are inflamed due to the ruptured appendix, so my pain is a result of that inflammation. He said that he and the “surgical team” would be back to see me on Thursday.

I’m not holding my breath.

Here, I’m continuing catching up by recapping the days following my appendectomy at 22 weeks pregnant. My appendix had ruptured, which is STILL causing all sorts of fun complications. See post-op days 1 & 2 (Friday night and Saturday). Here are Sunday and Monday!

SUNDAY
Saturday night into Sunday was just about as terrible as the night before. I started to feel like I would never catch up on sleep. In the middle of the night, though, they started to get concerned about my pain ratings and decided to bump up the dose of my Dilaudid pump. I could still only hit it every six minutes, but it was more medication each time.

I was told by the surgical resident rounding at the wee hours of the morning that I could now graduate to solid food. Basically anything I wanted, but he recommended starting slow. I was cool with that, given that I couldn’t imagine eating 90% of the things on the hospital’s menu. I ordered several random things, in the hopes that I’d be able to sample and figure out what exactly I could actually eat. A piece of dry wheat toast. A side of peanut butter. A blueberry muffin. A cup of applesauce. A cup of fresh grapes.

Michael and Nora came up pretty early in the morning again. This time, Michael brought her breakfast, so she chowed down on a blueberry muffin AND half a bagel while she was here. I was jealous. While they ate their delicious treats, I started in on my toast. It was not appetizing, so I only ate about half of it. Then I ate the applesauce and a couple of grapes, but none of it was going down easily. I didn’t force anything else.

A little while later, while Michael and Nora were still there, the surgical attending (the doctor who performed my surgery) and two of his residents came in to examine me. During the exam, he asked the question that I’ve now become all too familiar with: “Have you passed gas yet?” These people are obsessed with passing gas. Since I hadn’t, he said that I shouldn’t be eating any solids. Um, oops. I told him I already had—but very little—and he told me fine, but no more. So, back to the “clears” diet I went.

Nora was also there when I had to get up to go to the bathroom and do one of my walks, so my little helper came along for the (slow, not-at-all-fun) ride.

I was in a decent amount of pain through the day. In the late afternoon, they decided to switch me over to oral pain meds—Percocet. They said that although it is slower to take effect, they’ve found that it generally ends up helping more with this post-surgical type of pain. I took it, and agreed that yes, it did help with the pain more… but it also made me feel quite sick.

Visitors? My mom again, and my brother, Tyler, and Marie and Bryce.

OH! I almost forgot about the highlight of my day: A SHOWER. I hadn’t showered since Thursday morning, so it felt like heaven. Nevermind that my mom had to help me. She actually had to shave my legs for me, you guys. Moms are amazing like that. I kept thinking, Hell, I’d do this for Nora. So as a mama, I understand now. :) Being showered for the first time in 3.5 days felt pretty incredible. Clean hair? Ahhhhh.

By the end of the day, I was really feeling wiped. The combination of lack of sleep, plus the drowsiness/loopiness/sickness caused by the Percocet was a lot to handle. And although it still took me quite some time to fall asleep, once I did? I SLEPT. I SLEPT, people. Now, you must understand my standards were low. I got an hour and a half stretch at first, then a couple of similar stretches afterward, and it was glorious.

MONDAY
Although Monday started off decently, things seemed to go downhill throughout the day. I kept feeling a little worse, a little worse, a little worse. And now it wasn’t even my incision/appendix pain necessarily. It was lightheadedness, dizziness, nausea. I was also feeling increasing pressure in my abdomen. And you should see how big it is. It looks like the baby has grown exponentially in a few short days, but really it’s excess gas build-up that my body still will not let go of.

This was the first “work day,” so Michael got Nora up and took her back to daycare to return to her routine, and did a few hours of work himself before coming up to the hospital. Meanwhile I slept in… because I was finally able to get comfortable enough to sleep more than 5-20 minute stretches! Michael came up to hang out with me for a few hours in the afternoon, and by the time he left I was really feeling it.

One of the residents came in to talk to me about my condition, and she suspected that the sickening feelings I was experiencing had to do with the switch to Percocet. In other words, they were drug side effects. She suggested that, if I could, I should try to go longer between doses and see if that helped my symptoms at all.

All day, I kept trying to keep up with my fluids. Juice, water, etc. I was trying to drink them, but they kept causing me discomfort in the form of heartburn/reflux. It wasn’t even worth it.

Two highlights of the day were that I received a bed upgrade. Instead of the standard hospital gurney-type mattress, I now have an air mattress. It’s still firm—don’t think it’s something crazy comfortable!—but it is more supportive and contours to the body so that there are less painful pressure points put on the areas I’m forced to rest on. I also received a beautiful bouquet of flowers from work.

Michael brought Nora up to the hospital for another visit, during dinner. They ate spaghetti while I sat here in my misery. I’m not even hungry, and was experiencing awful reflux/heartburn at the time, but still… I can’t wait to be able to eat (and enjoy it) again.

My mom showed up a while later with Minute Maid popsicles–some of my favorite–and Nora was happy to sit and enjoy one with her mama. I couldn’t even finish mine (Nora was happy to help), and I was feeling lousier and lousier. Not good.

Late on Monday night, a resident came to see me and examine me. Knowing that cutting back on the oral pain meds did nothing for improvement of my symptoms—in fact, I just kept getting worse—she determined that my symptoms are actually being caused by the inactivity in my intestines. In other words, it all comes back to gas. Until I can get things moving in my abdomen, I’m not going anywhere. It could be a long haul.

Basically, when the intestines are manipulated in any way, they are sensitive to it. So during abdominal surgeries, it’s not uncommon for intestines to “shut down” afterward. What I’m experiencing now is a bowel obstruction—but without a physical obstruction. The doctors call it an “ileus,” and it just means that my intestines are (temporarily) paralyzed. They are not working.

The new instructions as of 11 p.m. last night? I’m back to NPO—I can have nothing by mouth except a very limited amount of ice chips. I’m back to being hooked up to the IV 24 hours a day, receiving fluids that way. The hope is that by giving my intestines another period of “complete rest,” it might finally decide to start its job again.

Fingers crossed. And praying for… gas.

It seems that since my surgery on Friday, all I’ve really had is time on my hands. Unfortunately, for a lot of that time, I haven’t felt very well. I’ve also had a lot of visitors—Michael and Nora, my mom, my brothers and their families, my in-laws, my grandma—to keep me company for good stretches of time.

The best way to recap the days following my surgery seems to be to break them down one by one. They’ve been mostly boring, so hopefully I don’t need to ramble on too much, but a daily recap hitting on some of the highlights seems best, starting with Friday night.

Oh, and in case you’re just tuning in—or landing on this page via a Google search—I was diagnosed with acute appendicitis in my second trimester of pregnancy (at 22 weeks). Before they could get me in for surgery, my appendix ended up rupturing. And things have been not-so-good (or at the very least, very-slow-going) since then.

FRIDAY NIGHT
Pain management following surgery started with them setting me up with a pump. The medication of choice was—I was sad to learn—Dilaudid. It had done nothing for me leading up to the surgery, but the doctors felt it was the best option. They set me up with a button that allowed me to administer my own meds (through my IV) as often as every six minutes, if I needed. I spent a lot of that first night pressing that button.

As far as diet, my nurse initially told me that I could eat and drink whatever I felt comfortable with. She set me up with some water and cranberry-apple juice, which was freaking amazing for me, since my mouth was literally cotton-dry prior to the surgery and I was begging them for ice chips. The water alone was great, but the juice, with FLAVOR? Yay.

But after a little bit of all of that, my dreams were dashed when I eventually found out that I was actually supposed to be NPO—meaning that I could have nothing by mouth, not even water (just ice chips). The thing about L&D is that they’re used to dealing with c-section patients, who apparently rarely have any dietary restrictions after surgery. Not the case for me, boohoo. Honestly, I wasn’t even hungry, so it wasn’t a big deal.

Michael and my mom left between 9-10ish p.m. and I tried to settle in to finally get some (much needed) rest. It would not be so easy to come by, however. My sleep on Friday night really sucked. I just could not get comfortable, and was still in a tremendous amount of pain. I would nod off, but wake up shortly after—5 minutes, 10 minutes, 20 minutes later. I think my longest stretch was 30 minutes. Um, yay?

SATURDAY
By the time Saturday morning came around, I had pretty much been up all night. Starting around 5:30, doctors started pouring into my room on their rounds, so there was really no hope in getting back to sleep. Overnight, I had gotten up to pee a few times (with a lot of help), and also to take a lap around the nurses’ station. Walking is important, yo.

I had visitors on Saturday—starting with Michael and Nora in the morning. Nora came in and curiously looked at me, what with the tubes attached to me and all. I explained that the tube in my arm gives me medicine, and that the tube in my nose helped me breathe. She was so sweet. “Mommy sick?” she asked. When we told her yes, Mommy is sick, and here at the hospital in order to get better, she replied, “Better.” (Mommy’s better.) We wish, sweet girl. We wish. She also brought her doctor kit (which we coincidentally just gave her in her Easter basket) and proceeded to give me a checkup of her own. She was fascinated when the nurse came in to do my vitals. But it wasn’t long until she got restless and wanted to go, so Michael took her home.

Other visitors included my brother, Trevor, as well as Kara and Hunter. My mom came by, too, and then Michael returned on both Saturday afternoon and night to spend more time with me.

As far as meds were concerned, I continued all day with the IV pump with Dilaudid. I still didn’t really feel the difference between taking it and not taking it, but that didn’t stop me from pushing the button often.

Food? I was graduated to a “clears” diet on Saturday afternoon. I could eat/drink basically anything that is see-through. Water, juice, tea, broth, Jell-O, popsicles, Italian ice. I had a small cup of Jell-O and half a container of orange Italian ice for dinner. Yum (not).

The remainder of my day consisted of several assisted trips to the bathroom, and walks around the floor.

This is my life right now.

On Friday, I wrote a post about my appendicitis—at 22 weeks pregnant—as I was lying in my hospital bed, waiting for my impending surgery. It had been a hell of a 30 hours, but I was OK. As long as I was lying completely still, the pain wasn’t that bad. And when I did have to move, it hurt like hell, but I could still move. I could take myself to the bathroom. I was looking forward to my surgery to give me relief.

I had no idea that instead, things were about to get much, much worse.

Around noon, the doctors told me that I’d probably be brought down to surgery around 2 p.m. Then I was told by someone else that it might be 5-6 hours. But lo and behold, around 2:15, my nurse came in and said that they would be sending a transport team for me very shortly in order to take me down to pre-op. She prepared me by asking me to take off jewelry, and then it occurred to me that I was still wearing a bra. I asked if I should take it off, and she said yes. So I sat up in bed to do so. And I was sitting there, something went wrong. Very, very wrong.

I commented that suddenly, things felt different. Things were hurting a lot more. With every passing minute, I was in more and more agony. The pain was now not only on my right side, by radiating across my entire abdomen. I was lying back down, trying to breathe, trying to talk myself through it. Michael and my mom were doing what they could to support me, but we were all helpless.

The transport team came to get me to take me downstairs, but there was one problem: They couldn’t take me on the stretcher I was on, and I literally could not move to get myself onto the other one. The pain was too much. So the doctors in L&D triage scrambled to get me some pain meds. In went one dose. No relief. In went another. Again, nothing. My mom and my nurse looked at each other and the nurse said, “I’m afraid it’s ruptured.” My OB stopped by to check on me and come with me to surgery, and she told my mom the same thing. There was really no other explanation for my pain having increased so much, so quickly.

Ultimately, they decided they NEEDED to get me downstairs, and that they would just have to move me on their own. So they moved the stretchers as close together as possible and then lifted me from one onto the other. I cannot even describe to you the pain. CANNOT.DESCRIBE.

Once downstairs, we all thought I’d be taken into surgery very quickly, but unfortunately, that was not the case. The surgical team—particularly the anesthesiologist—were taking their sweet time. Similarly to when I was in the late stages of labor with Nora, I was BEGGING people to put me out of my misery. I BEGGED them to take me to the O.R., PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. My poor pre-op nurse, she felt so badly for me, but she could not light a fire under the asses of the necessary people. They just would.not.move.faster. She paged/called the anesthesiologist FIVE TIMES.

And then we had the pleasure of meeting my surgeon. O.M.G. He came into the curtain area and stared at me as I was writhing around in and very openly vocalizing my pain. He spoke slowly, but not in a way that was comforting… it was awkward. He never said anything reassuring. Nothing kind. After saying something about who I was and what I was having done today, he looked at me and goes, “Do you think you’re in labor?”

DUDE. WHAT THE F*CK.

First of all, I am the patient. I really have no idea what the hell is happening to me right now, other than the pain I have coursing all throughout my middle. Secondly, WHY would you say such a thing?? I am 22 weeks pregnant, and the last thing I want someone to suggest to me—especially with no evidence—is that I may be in labor.

I was freaking out. I was scared about the pain I was feeling, because in addition to my entire abdomen under fire, I actually began to think I was feeling pressure down below. The pain was too much to bear—I’d argue it was even worse than labor and natural childbirth, if you can believe it. I hit a point where I couldn’t even breathe and I knew I was minutes (maybe seconds) away from hyperventilating. Which would have been awful. And Michael? Michael was pacing back and forth, ready to gut someone.

In the meantime, the pre-op team had been giving me additional doses of the meds I had upstairs (Dilaudid), but no matter how much they gave me, it was not TOUCHING the pain. Finally, they tried something else—Fentanyl—and although I could still feel a TON of pain, it finally took enough of the edge off so that I was in that “It hurts like hell but I don’t give a crap” state of mind. I felt my breathing ease and my mind relax. Michael and my mom said that my eyes were rolling back in my head.

The anesthesiologist FINALLY came to talk to me but unfortunately for him, he was very late, so I was basically incapable of communicating any longer. I heard him explain the risks of the anesthesia and surgery to my mom and Michael. They included death—of the baby, of myself—which was scary to hear, even though I couldn’t really express myself. Of course, all warnings before surgery usually include the chance of death, but this was scarier than normal given the circumstances.

I was taken back to surgery and very painfully moved from the stretcher to the operating table. Someone from L&D came in and listened to the baby’s heartbeat with a doppler, and after a few more minutes of torture, I was finally put out.

Before I knew it, they were waking me up, saying it was all over. I knew right away that surgery wasn’t the magic fix that I had hoped it would be. I was still in a tremendous amount of pain. I spent an hour in post-op with a not-friendly nurse. She wasn’t terrible, but she just wasn’t that nice. I asked if it had been confirmed that my appendix had burst, and she said she didn’t know. She wasn’t conversational, didn’t try to keep me company. It was annoying. But soon I was transported back up to L&D.

The nurse who took me back up was someone who volunteered to go—not my post-op nurse, she wouldn’t have volunteered for anything—and she was very nice. She talked to me more in 10 minutes than the post-op nurse had talked to me in an hour. As this nurse was wheeling me into the elevator on my stretcher, these two guys rushed to help her and helped push me in. But they didn’t know to be careful and pushed me too hard, banging my stretcher against the back of the elevator. OH.EM.GEE. At that point, I was wondering if I was the subject of a bad reality show or something. So many things that were so wrong.

Once upstairs, I did learn through the L&D nurse grapevine that my appendix had, in fact, ruptured. I knew as much—there was no other explanation for that pain—but now it was officially confirmed.

This was all on Friday afternoon/evening, and it’s Monday night now. I’m still in the hospital. My stay has been prolonged for a number of reasons, many of which I’ll try to tell you about in more detail tomorrow. I’m too weak/sick to continue sitting up like this, plus this post has already grown long and all I’ve done so far is update you on what happened Friday!

It has been a lot more difficult than anticipated. More tomorrow.