Mother (aka justwritemelanie.blogpost.com) and I are having a fantastic, ultimate, mother-daughter weekend. We are in Ann Arbor, Michigan, visiting U of M to decide whether or not it is the place for me to go this coming fall. We thought it would be super clever of us to both write about the same story today, but from our different perspectives. It is the story of my appendix removal. I’m sorry in advance for the length, but I really could not cut much from it! Mom and I decided that I would emphasize certain parts and she would emphasize other certain parts so everyone could get as much as possible from both sides.
I am a very dramatic person. I grew up in theatrical productions and some part of me believes that the world is my stage. This means that my parents do not take me very seriously all the time because I am known to whine for days when I stub my toe. I suppose this story is a bit like the girl who cried wolf.
In October 2011 when I was a sophomore in high school, I woke up one morning to find that my stomach did not feel good. It actually felt very, very bad. I told my mom I absolutely refused to go to school today and after a lot of pleading and a lot of begging and quite a bit of “Larkin, you are such a drama queen,” she finally relented and I lay in bed moaning all day. Drama is my middle name. You either go big or you go home. When my mom came home from work that afternoon and I still hadn’t gotten sick, she just shook her head at me. I could tell that she did not have faith in my claimed pain levels. “Have you tried to go to the bathroom?”
I groaned and nodded. She smirked knowingly and went downstairs to get me some ginger ale. My moaning continued. There was no way I was drinking that ginger ale. I had refused all day to put any substance inside my body except for the occasional sip of water so I didn’t die from dehydration.
By seven o’clock that night I still had not thrown up. My situation was not looking good and I knew it. I was looking more than a little bit dramatic. However, finally, at eight o’clock the gods were in my favor and I dramatically raced to the bathroom to be sick. When my mom came over to see how I was doing, I just looked up at her with forlorn eyes and said sadly, “Now do you believe me?”
By four o’clock in the morning I had finally finished and I was not feeling too hot. Mom had stayed up all night to calm me down because, being the drama queen that I am, being sick puts me into hysterics and tears. When at five am I hadn’t gotten sick in a whole hour and still felt awful, Mom started to get a little bit worried and I resorted to zombie-walking around the entire house because for some strange reason that was made me feel better. I knew something was up. My stomach felt like it was tied in knots and it’s a known fact that once you throw up you’re supposed to feel great and rejuvenated and 100000x better. I felt even worse.
Mom left me home for my second sick day in a row with lots of ginger ale–which I did not touch–some inappropriate movies and my grandmother. I got through one half of Bridesmaids (which I watched standing up and pacing) before I began screaming and throwing pillows at the television and calling down to LC (my grandmother) that this was the absolute worst movie I had ever seen in my entire life. She yelled back up that I shouldn’t give up on it because all of her friends thought it was hilarious which just made me even angrier. How dare she tell me what to do?! Being the drama queen that I am, I turned off the TV and at that point began stomping through the house. Walking made my stomach feel better and stomping made me less angry. My stomping did not please LC, however. Instead, it made her worried. She called upstairs, loud enough so I could hear her over my muttering and stomping feet, “That’s it, Larkin. I am taking you to the doctor. Put on something semi-presentable and we will go.”
At that point, I was fuming. I hate the doctor. The doctor means sick babies and shots; not really my idea of a good time. But instead of bringing out the sass, I stomped into my room, stomped into some yoga pants and my biggest, comfiest sweatshirt and stomped myself into the car. LC hadn’t seen me all morning and when she saw my face, it wasn’t the good type of surprised. Instead, it was the ‘oh my goodness you look awful’ type of surprise, which, naturally, made me even crankier about the entire situation. “Larkin,” she said as she started the car and handed my a throw up bucket that she had grabbed from the basement, “I don’t think you’re done throwing up. Your face is green.”
I muttered something indecipherable and probably not very nice and we were on our way.
As soon as the doctor saw me I was ushered into his room. At least looking really awful has some perks. I lay on his terrible crinkly examining table and tried to look as annoyed as possible as he poked and prodded my stomach and asked my what hurt and what didn’t. Within five minutes he looked gravely at LC and said, “I cannot diagnose anything, but I am nearly positive she has appendicitis. Take her to the emergency room immediately and they’ll take her from there.”
This entire conversation, naturally, made me quite agitated because not only was this lunatic of a doctor telling me I quite possibly needed surgery, but he also decided to convey all this information to my grandmother and not me, the actual patient. I mean, hello, I was 15 aka almost an adult aka worthy of receiving information about my health.
LC is not a fast driver, but for this occasion she actually sped a little and we made it to the emergency room in record time, where I was admitted on the spot and was told that I was to have an MRI. LC called Mom, who also made it to the hospital in record breaking time and she and LC stood next to me as a doctor wheeled me into the MRI room (even though I told them it felt better to be walking they insisted on a wheelchair) and showed the three of us the fluid all over the right side of my stomach that used to be inside my appendix. “The appendix has been ruptured for about 24 hours so we will get her into the operating room as soon as possible,” the doctor explained and my stomach did about ten nervous flips which didn’t feel too great with all that extra fluid floating around.
Mom looked at me and shook her head as we sat there waiting for my operation, “Well, Larkin, you really showed all of us this time, didn’t you.”
I managed a slight smile. “I told you so.”