My Appendix Narrative: A True Story , Essay Example

The little fingerlike, needless pouch on the lower right side of the abdomen goes by the name “appendix.” Little did I know at the first inkling of pain, that mine was about to kill me. I don’t know if it got clogged or became infected. All I know is I woke up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night felt a discomfort that I had never felt before. I knew that something was terribly wrong, but I was powerless to figure out what it was. With every breath I took, the pain grew more intense.

I was 13. “Help,” I managed to yell from my room. “Help,” I shouted in hopes that my parents would hear. They heard me all right. I think I scared them half to death, because they came bounding into my middle school landfill of a room, only to trip over several of the larger objects that booby trapped the entrance to my “Keep Out” corner of our upstairs.

I pointed to my belly. Mom tried to investigate the cause of my concern. Tears were then welling in my baby blues. Dad threw me over his shoulder (I was painfully impressed at his strength) and took me down to the living room sofa. I screamed upon landing. They quickly decided to load me into the car and take me to the hospital emergency room, some five miles down the road.

It seemed like it took a month to get there. Later they told me that they flew, arriving almost immediately after ignition. The folks there were far more concerned about getting all of my name, address, phone number, etc…than they were in solving my problem. If I told one of them where I hurt and what it felt like I told 21. By the time a doctor poked her head in and said, “Are you the young man who is causing all of this fuss tonight?” I thought I was going to vomit. That’s how bad I felt. The ensuing events are at best a blur. I remember them saying something about surgery, and I recall a heavy-set nurse with a stern look on her face.

The next thing I knew, I was in the recovery room. My appendix had almost ruptured. I am not sure that I even knew I had an appendix, so all of the conversation was new and uninspiring to me. How could something that made no difference whatsoever almost ruin my life? That was what was on my mind.

My hospitalization lasted a week. My body was terribly infected, so intravenous antibiotics dripped for a few days longer than they normally are in a case such as this. I got lots of attention and many visits. I received homework updates and get- well cards. I felt like a celebrity, especially on the wheelchair ride out of the front door.

When I returned home, my room was immaculate, my bed sheets were fresh and turned back, and none of my clothes lay in piles in the corners. Was I in the right place?  I chuckled and winced as the point of my laparoscopy tightened. I sat down on the side of the bed. I couldn’t help but wish that I had my appendix in a jar. That would have been cool, and I would have asked for it if I had thought about it at the right time.

It sure felt great to be home, and I felt that, even in my weakened condition, I could get my room back to normal in a matter of days. Losing my appendix was a “soaring experience in my life. Luckily, I will never have to do that again. Once was enough for me anyway.