We don't need no stinkin' appendix

George woke up about 9 last night saying his belly hurt. I sat with him in his room for a while, but when I could see he was very uncomfortable and not going back to sleep, I let him come lay on the couch and watch a cartoon. He was completely absorbed and didn't make a sound while he watched, so I figured it couldn't be too serious, and I put him back in bed. I could hear him squirming and tossing and turning, and after a while he came back out and said his side hurt. I was afraid it could be appendicitis, so I called my mom to come sith with Frank and Elaine. George said he felt like he might throw up, so we took a bowl in the car. My big, wonderful, roll-making bowl. He used it. Alot. We threw it away when we got to the hospital. I'll have to get a new roll bowl. Even though I told Pete on the phone that the vomiting made me certain it was appendicitis, I still was shocked when the cat scan confirmed it. Deep down, I expected it to be a false alarm (we had an appendicitis false alarm with him last summer). He was in a lot of pain, so they kept him on morphine until the surgery this afternoon, and he's basically slept since the surgery.


The OR nurses said they would keep us informed during the surgery and that it wouldn't take too long. About 20 minutes in, the phone rang in the waiting room, and I was sure it was for us. But the old man sitting by the phone answered it, talked very briefly, and hung up. An hour into it, I kept thinking they surely should have contacted us by now. A few minutes after that, Natalie called my cell phone laughing to tell me that a nurse had called her (as the emergency contact) and they were looking for us. I went and knocked on the OR door and a nurse let me in. Turned out, the old man in the waiting room told whoever called that there was no one there but him.