Although I know in hindsight when this whole story begins, I didn’t really realize it at the time. Two weeks ago, on Saturday the 8th, I started to come down with something. I thought it was the flu. By that Sunday, I had retreated to my bed with a fever that peaked at 101.6. I also had some severe abdominal pains, but I assumed they were related to the flu. The pain was not constant, but when it hit, I would find myself clutching onto nearby objects to distract myself and crying out in pain. Unfortunately, Leah and Sarah were off in France, and I was all alone at the house by my miserable self. I stayed in bed the next day, and by Tuesday I was feeling somewhat better. However, by Friday, my fever had come back, and so had the abdominal pains. Sunday, reaching the point where it had been a week since I had moved my bowels (yuck, sorry), I realized something might be wrong. My doctor told me to go to the ER and get a CT scan.
Somewhat pessimistically, somewhat pragmatically, I took my pajamas, toothbrush, and several books with me. Pragmatism rewarded: I did not go home that night. The CT scan showed that I had a diverticular abscess -- a gross, pus-filled infection in my sigmoid colon. Good thing it didn’t burst, or I’d probably have gotten septic shock. On Monday, I went back to radiology, where an interventionist radiologist drained the abscess laproscopically. I spent Tuesday and Wednesday recovering, pumped full of antibiotics. On Tuesday, they took out the catheter, which made it easier to walk around and slightly easier to sleep (I like to toss and turn). On Wednesday, they disconnected me from the IV, except for when they were administering drugs. That was great, because then I could get dressed and wander around the hospital. I had lunch in the cafeteria with Henry and Nitza. That night, I went out for coffee with Paul Eldrenkamp. Even if I wasn't in great shape, I was looking better by then.
It is crazy how hospitals are designed to prevent you from sleeping. Not only do you get woken at least twice during the night to have your vitals checked, but there are doctors trying to talk to you at 11:30 at night and at 6:30 in the morning. Doing the math, I'd say it's impossible to sleep eight hours a night in a world like that.
On Thursday morning, we did another CT scan to see if the infection had been brought under control (it had) and if there were any other pockets of infection (there weren’t). Since my temperature and white blood cell counts were normal, and since I was making some progress with my bowels, they said I could go home. Finally I was happy.
There is some chance I might still have to have surgery to remove some damaged intestine. Right now it's still constricted where the infection was, and my bowels aren't exactly back to normal. But we’re going to wait a couple of weeks until I have finished with my antibiotics, and then had some more imaging, before we decide what to do. CT scan, colonoscopy, who cares.
Here’s what I learned from all this: the next time I’m having abdominal cramps that are severe enough to make me cry out loud in pain, I’m not going to wait a week before dealing with it. I dodged a bullet this time. In the future, an older, wiser version of me will avoid even getting in this situation. I hope.
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