I May Have a High Pain Threshold

When the surgeon says that your appendix is dead, but your body says: “meh”, it is time to consider whether there is something up with your pain threshold.

The Trip

We had a fabulous trip to Heidelberg.” Get paid to play” is a fair description of our 4-day adventure to Germany where we took a laboratory management course. This was an excellent training course that featured fun people, content, and fantastic food. All interactions were well-lubricated with coffee, beer and the occasional glass of wine. The only problems were that I just wasn’t enjoying the food or drink and the realisation that my breath wasn’t that pleasant. My partner pointed this out to me on various occasions during our travels.

One week later, I was at the GP for an emergency appointment. Fever, loss of appetite and, a tender abdomen. The only missing link a healthy level of excruciating pain.

Preliminary diagnosis: appendicitis

I was ok. Not any pain to speak of and, therefore, no panic. The consultant in the hospital wasn’t sure either. After an extensive feel of my abdominal area and an equally elaborate chat that made me feel like a proper poodle, she decided I had to stay in overnight. In my mind, I had accepted that. Fine, pass me the dog food and show me my basket. This doggy is here if anyone wants to play ball. My wife went home.

I got my own little NHS-funded penthouse. It was a beautiful and cosy single room with a television. It also boasted a team of consultant surgeons that regularly came to see me. I was quite comfortable. Arguably more at ease than my partner who was convinced I was suffering appendicitis and wanted to have me cut open as soon as possible.

When the clock had struck 10 (PM), I was starting to wonder whether I was going to get operated on or if ordering a Calzone pizza would be more appropriate. When the next consultant breezed into my room and went about yet another assessment, I decided to pop the big question: “ehhh, excuse me, sir, you think I need an operation?”.

Without looking up from his examination, the consultant stated: “Of course you do, has none of the nurses told you we are operating this evening??”. His words completely took me by surprise.

I had no idea that nurses were roaming this department!

As I mentally removed the “Consultant surgeon access only” sign from the door of my dorm room, I picked up my phone to contact my wife and announce the good news.

“I have appendicitis babe!!” I texted to her along with a couple of smiley faces. “I am not allowed to eat for another 3 hours, but they have nurses here that will come and ask if I need anything else!”. After an impromptu brainstorm session on “things to ask for in a hospital when you are not allowed to eat or drink” I laid back and tried to relax, I had no further requests.

As it turns out and a couple of hours before the operation, nurses came to ask me for my name (3x) D.O.B. (3x), my address (3x) and my signature (lost count). From there, things went quick. A very lovely porter decided it would be a good idea to race me around the hospital literally. The operation was not that urgent, but apparently, high-velocity bed-transport helps to keep one’s mind off other things (am I gonna freakin’ die tonight?!?). I remember that those hospital beds are agile, given the right driver.

The Operation

The antibiotic was ice cold. I could feel it enter my arm and race to my heart, which in turn skipped a beat. The last thing I remember is seeing the anaesthetists connecting another syringe and pushing another liquid (which I now firmly believe was the sedative ) into my system. I was knocked out cold.

When I came out of it, a sense of relief washed over me. Looking around, I licked my lips and tried to swallow. My relief was short lived.

It is hard to describe the feeling. If someone had stuck the calzone pizza I should have ordered in the hot oven for three hours, or wrapped it in sandpaper, and forced it down my throat; I would have felt the same. My throat was bone dry and on fire. Now that is what it feels like when you are fully sedated and get jumped by a team of medical professionals that try to stick a tube through a restricting air pipe! Lovely, I thought.

The trip to the ward was much more pedestrian yet quicker. Or perhaps I just dozed off. I soon found myself awake, realising I lost my lofty room, sharing a ward with two other patients. The guy next to me was in agony, moaning a quiet song of tribulation. I went back to sleep.

Recovery

The next day I was determined to get out. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t in prison, but the ward was less pleasant than the solitary confinement I had experienced the night before.

Early in the afternoon after my nurse visit (yay), and a bed-side lecture on my medical predicament to a group of wannabe doctors, I was discharged. But I wasn’t content as I had not a clue what exactly had happened. After one request, a plea, and a minor tantrum, I got a final update.

My appendix had been taken out. It was infected and removed along with a piece of intestine that had started to turn necrotic. Other than that, all went swimmingly. The conference on my air pipe was a great success, and the team could not find any other issues in my humble temple.

Relieved, I stumbled out of the hospital ward into my wife her arms. It felt good to be back.

Pretty sure my brain got that right.