‘Life is so precious’
Hinemoa Elder’s ‘excruciating’ dash to hospital ED
Never let the sun go down on pus. This is one of my all-time favourites from Sir Fred Hollows. Brought into focus in the last week or so: I had to get my appendix removed. True to form, my own vestigial organ hadn’t read the text book. Or if it had, I had been oblivious to the warning signs.
Maybe too much going on leading up to Christmas – that’s my excuse anyway. Early Thursday, I woke up with a strange pain in the lower abdomen. I didn’t think much of it. Took paracetamol and carried on, as they say. I was at work at Starship Hospital and the pain was getting worse, localising to the right lower quadrant.
Texted one of my girl friend doctor mates and she just said, get to ED.
From there it was a bit of a blur. I remember the pain getting excruciating – beyond labour pain, which is a big call. At least with birthing pain, it comes and goes and you are pretty sure its going to end with a baby.
This was a deep gnawing pain that wouldn’t let up, even with what felt like a bucket-load of morphine on board. I had thought I was quite staunch when it came to pain – ha!
The CT scan was interesting. The dye they give you intravenously makes you feel hot all over and like you are going to pee yourself. You don’t actually micturate, for future reference. Several of the team mentioned this and I was grateful, because the idea of urinating in the CT machine is not on my to do list. The feeling passes eventually, pardon the pun.
It was getting late and even though it now had the classic look of acute appendicitis, operating in the middle of the night was not a good call in this situation. So the surgeons waited until morning.
By this stage my children and others were ringing for updates from various corners of Te Tai Tokerau and the world.
My oldest friend rocked up with toiletries, and even went home to get a phone charger.
Meanwhile, muggins here was in a bit of a fog. And when someone comes to hold your hand for three hours at midnight, having contended with struggling to get into the hospital and the ward, at that time of the night you know you are in literally in safe hands. Unforgettable.
I’m not afraid to say I was scared. I was scared about what they might find on the CT, and when they looked inside. I cried a bit. Who knows why, letting go, fear, relief, pain, feeling loved. I’ll never know and that is OK too. Bottom line, life is so precious and I’m not ready to go just yet.
So the necrotic appendix has gone. A little thing, a little part of me to which I paid no heed at all until last Thursday. Worst case scenario, a little corner of my being that was poisoning me and could have done me real harm.
Something to ponder. At least one vestige of 2018 gone. Onward 2019, having shed a part of my body which had to be let go.
The recovery has been surprisingly full-on. I have been concerned about passing a motion, to put it in the vernacular. Eventually tried prunes and then a lemon, honey, raw ginger drink prescribed by a wise friend. Bingo. The abdominal distention and discomfort has reduced significantly.
And, yes, I am going to try to take it a bit easy for the next week or so. You will be pleased to know I have some strict caregivers: my son, my international daughter chipping in, wha¯ nau and friends – who would have thought they could be so, well frankly, bossy!
Thank you for all your messages of encouragement via social media your support and care has been overwhelming!
I am getting the little old appendix returned to me, apparently it will be a bit ‘‘mashed up’’ having been through the wringer via various tests.
I will decide where to bury it later. I can then properly say goodbye to it and the insights it has brought to me.
Mostly, I am left feeling embraced by a new appreciation of my friends and also my colleagues in health.
‘‘Ko te hoa tino pono rawa ko te¯ ra¯ e toro ana atu ai to¯ na ringa ki to¯ u, e¯ ngari ka titi kaha ki to¯ u manawa te ko¯ hengihengi. A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand but touches your heart.’’ Na¯ Te Wharehuia Milroy.
Like I said, it’s the little things.
* Child and adolescent psychiatrist Hinemoa Elder PhD is a Fellow of the Royal Australia NZ College of Psychiatrists, and Professor of Indigenous Health Research at Te Whare Wa¯ nanga o Awanuia¯ rangi, and Ma¯ ori strategic leader at Brain Research NZ.
I’m not afraid to say I was scared . . . Bottom line, life is so precious and I’m not ready to go just yet.
Ko te hoa tino pono rawa ko tera e toro ana atu ai tona ringa ki tou, engari ka titi kaha ki tou manawa te kohengihengi. A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand but touches your heart.