Primary Experience, Abdominal Abscess

Writing primary experience, writing abstract concepts

I tend to write here about abstract concepts. Things like Intellectual Property, or the meaning of innocence. I may make it concrete with examples from primary experience, but I don't generally write simple primary experience. So, I thought I'd give that a try, for a change, and see how it goes. I know I'm capable of avoiding abstraction if I'm telling a story, but do I have a story to tell today?

Today, I went to the hospital again

I have this urge, for some reason, to share my disgusting experience with the world. It's gauche, I know, but I do.

Today, I went to the hospital again. This time I had an appointment. I prefer this to riding, groaning, in the car on the way to the Emergency Room. My appointment was a followup with the surgeons there.

On sunday, more than a week ago, (no matter when anyone says it was) I went to the emergency room and the surgeons decided to stick a tube into my abdomen so that they could drain pus from my abdominal cavity. I got two (2) cat scans: one to diagnose, and the other to perform the insertion. I really don't remember the second one, because the anesthetic was a bit stronger than they told me it would be.

So, for essentially nine (9) days, I've had this tube sticking out of my belly.

The first three days or so were a morphine-blurred haze, and I can't say I really remember them all that well. All I remember is watching the same poker game over and over on ESPN. Since then—once they took away my morphine—it hasn't been what you'd call "pleasant." On saturday, the stupid thing started detaching itself from my body, causing all manner of funny sounds, more pain, and a commotion that led to a return, on sunday, to the emergency room. (Yes, that's two Sundays in a row in the ER.) I had high hopes that they'd remove the tube then, but they waited until today.

At the appointed time, I had already been there five or ten minutes. As it happens, they took their time getting to me. Finally, however, the Resident came in. He was nice. His name tag, badge of official doctordom, had his name as "Timmy." I did not make any jokes, or even say his name in a weird voice. He took off the gauze dressing I had put on last night to keep the pus from going all over the place, and then left to talk to his boss, the Attending.

The Attending came in and sent Tim off for the tube-in-your-abdomen-removal-kit. I should mention that the exam room had a Hard, Wooden Chair. It's the kind that is hard to sit comfortably in for any length of time when you're young, flexible, and in tip-top shape. I couldn't sit up straight in it, since I had a tube in my abdomen, and had gotten tired of the chair by this time, so I was lying on the exam table. Contrary to expectations, while Tim was gone, the Attending just sorta pulled the tube out. That's all it took. I'm sure his years of experience and deft surgeon's manual dexterity meant that he pulled it out in a very skillful way, but basically he just pulled on it. I'm not really sure what the kit was for, or why he sent poor Tim to get it. He opened it to take out the gauze and that's all he used. The rest of it—including two metal tools—went straight into the trash.

I won't hesitate any longer to say that, despite his surgeon's dexterity, this hurt. Not as much as some things, but it hurt. I'm sure if I'd pulled it out myself, it'd have hurt worse. Nevertheless, it hurt. Yes, indeed.

Then, and I don't even know why my body is making so much of this stuff, more pus came out. In fact, I need to change the dressing for the second time since I left the hospital.

And that's all I have to say about that.