Appendexcited. Part UNGH.

So remember how I have the worst airplane luck out of anyone in the universe?  Well... the Universe does not like to disappoint.  Well, maybe it does usually, but not in the case of making traveling by aircraft as hard as possible for me.  There was no trip in the rift so to speak this time, because THIS time, friends, I got for real and true sick while driving the eleventy hundred hour drive to the airport from FarFarAway, Northern Canada so that I could go home to Nicehome Cityland, where I live, Canada.     (I know, I told you where I live.  Now you're going to steal my identity.  Well you can have it because my identity comes with surgeries, an unreasonable ex and a healthy amount of debt.  Yeah.  Think twice, identity stealers.  Maybe we could trade identities, though.  All reasonable offers will be considered. )  

So off I went, to end my summer long visit, get on an airplane and go home- when I started to get a wee tummy ache.  Then a worse tummy ache.  Then a stabby sort of pain that made me yell "GETITOUTGETITOUTGETITOUT" before I even knew what was wrong and made my mother drive through a road construction crew to get to the hospital.

That's right.  A HOSPITAL.  This is something that I am not good with.  I generally do not go to the doctor as a general life rule, unless I am in actual labor or unconscious and someone puts me in the scary, time consuming, BORING doctory place against my will because my legs are broken and I can't kick them away and insist that I'm fine.

Anyhow, it turns out that my appendix was ruptured.  I was supposed to be on an airplane home the following day, but instead I was in a hospital across from West Edmonton Mall, drinking a gallon of radioactive fluid so that I could get CT scans, enduring a deep pelvic ultrasound while the ever so charming ultrasound technician expertly flirted with his student and impressed her to pieces.   Also?  Just for the record, the same ultrasound tech picked up MY undies from the base of the table and put them under my head.  I just want to put that out there because I'm pretty sure the sleazy ultrasound tech was not supposed to touch my undies... however I was busy willing the morphine in my system to reproduce itself like a virus and attach itself on an atomic level to every single brain cell I've got left.  So I let it slide until later when I was having an emotional breakdown at the moron nurse who dug holes under my skin because she was sure she would be the magician who could make veins appear in my arms and refused to put my IV in my hand (where it ended up having to go after SEVEN attempts).  I have small, collapsible veins.  They're like teeeeeeeny tiiiiiny soaker hoses.

Anyhow, I was wheeled into surgery and the last thing I remember telling the surgeon was that I was actually there for a tummy tuck when they were confirming with me that I knew why I was getting surgery.

Surgeon:  What is your name?
Me:  Michelle
Surgeon:  do you know why you're here?
Me:  For a tummy tuck *wink wink wink*
Surgeon:  Guess again.
Me:  *sigh*  Appendi*mumblemumble*
Surgeon:  Pardon?
Me:  GAWD, if you you don't know why I'm here, I should at least get to tell you the surgeries I really want.
Surgeon:  Time to start the sedation
Me:  Wait!  I'm not finished!  I also want the girls picked up a little if you know what I mean. *eyebrow waggle*
Surgeon:  I'm not a plastic surgeon and your appendix is about to hit the ceiling...
Me:  Well I'll take what I can get.  Can you do that booby thing with your laproscope?  I trust you doc.
Surgeon:  Count backwards from ten
Me:  Nope,  I put the sexy in dyslex.....  *ZONK*

Then I woke up sans appendix.  This was a great blog.  

The next installment will be about my crazy 500 year old hospital roommate, Irene and her adventures in smoking while using an oxygen tank.