Open Writing

It had been a perfect evening - until now.

What more pleasant way to spend an evening than by a comfortable fireside with two old friends, watching some old family videos, with a cat or two on our laps, lots of laughter and one or two drinks thrown in for good measure.

Our host's suggestion, 'How about a coffee and some cheese and bikkies before you head off?' was received with enthusiasm. 'Just discovered this cheese,' he continued. 'Tell me what you think of it.'

The cheese was great, as was the coffee.

Arriving home, we told each other what a perfect evening it had been.

'I feel a bit uncomfortable though,' I remarked, rubbing my stomach. 'My mother always told me not to eat cheese late at night.'

Suddenly, I was gripped with severe pain in my side and doubled up. I gasped and waited for it to pass, but it just gripped tighter and moved around to fill my whole abdomen.

'Call an ambulance,' I whispered, unable to speak any louder.

My husband didn't believe me. My distrust of doctors was legendary. I grabbed at his knees from my position curled up on the floor, and he got the message.

The trip to the hospital in the ambulance was agony. Every slightest bump or hole in the road shot a knife of pain through me. They carried me on the stretcher into Emergency and I was put onto a trolley.

'What's your name? Your address? Phone number? Do you have private health insurance?'

My mind was cotton wool and refused to function. I guess my husband dealt with all that. I closed my eyes, and tried to meditate, to remove myself from where I was and be anywhere else, but somehow the sunny beach or starlit night refused to come into focus, and I remained tightly coiled in a ball of pain and fear.

There are times in your life when time does truly stand still - in the labour ward of the maternity hospital, or when you have been given the worst news possible about someone you love, or lying on a trolley in the Casualty Department of a hospital. Dimly I heard voices and cries from neighbouring cubicles. Other sounds, best not identified. Once, incredibly, someone laughing. I sensed a nurse standing near me, feeling my pulse.

'Could I have some painkillers?' I pleaded weakly.

'Sorry, love, 'she replied breezily. 'Not till a doctor has seen you.'

It could have been ten minutes or ten hours, before I heard a man's voice. 'Roll over, please,' he said.

I tried, but it hurt too much. He pressed my stomach, and I yelped. Then he did it again.

'I have to be sure where the problem is.'

'Don't, don't do that,' my mind screamed, but nothing came out. 'Painkillers now?' I begged.

'Better not. We'll wait till morning and see how it goes.'

Something inside me died.

At 7am, I was 'reassessed'. I'd spent six hours in hell. The doctor returned and poked me again. Real tears this time. 'Off to surgery,' he said cheerfully, and the nurse administered the pre-op sedative. Absolute bliss. I didn't know what they were going to do, nor did I care.

The next thing I knew, I was on a different trolley and a different nurse was bending over me. No pain. I breathed deeply to test it and survived.

'What happened?' I asked, in a nearly normal voice.

'Oh, they took your appendix out. Apparently there wasn't much wrong with it, but it's gone anyway, just in case. You should be fine.'

I was fine, totally fine. The pain of a three-inch cut was nothing. I got out of that hospital as fast as they would let me. I profoundly hope never to return. Did I have appendicitis, or was it really the cheese?

© Wendy Ogbourne

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Wendy writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au