I am woman hear me...wimper?

I don't like to think of myself as weak. In fact, I prefer to think of myself as invincible and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. In reality, I can't. I can barely jump up a few stairs in my house. Well, let me tell you, this last week was a struggle.

A week ago almost to the minute actually, I had my appendix removed. Stupid appendix. Who needs it? It succeeded in knocking me down all week and tomorrow, I'm to face the throngs of work for a day before going on a business trip. The thing it taught me was this: I'm human. Shocking, I know but I always thought I could do whatever I wanted or get whatever done that I needed to get done. Not so. Especially when you are wearing one of those darling hospital gowns that serve to flatter no one (my backside in particular). To be so vulnerable and tiny sucked. I couldn't get something to drink. I couldn't shower (no worries, as soon as I could, that was the first thing to happen!). I couldn't even sit up without that oh so comfortable hospital bed (and by comfortable I mean stiff as a board) that crinkled every time I moved. I even had jello for my first "meal". Lime jello no less. The anti-jello. I hate lime jello. Any flavor that is red is what I want.

Now here's the thing. I've never had surgery before besides having my tonsils removed so it was a learning experience. As a person with Celiac disease, I am used to having an endoscopy, waking up, falling asleep, and being fine. I expected this surgery to be the same. Wake up, fall asleep, be fine. No, these scars are actually scars, and there is a pain level on a scale of 1 to 10 associated with them. Right now, about a 2. At it's worse, at 10. Sometimes, the surgery pains were worse than the appendix pain when it was still attached. Stupid appendix. So this whole experience has led me to admit that I am not invincible. Especially if an organ the size of a worm can take me down for a week (gross right? organ. Not a fan of the word). Instead of roaring through the week, I whimpered feebly on the couch, bed, couch, bed, floor, and asked for water. Soaking up all of the sympathy until I felt sorry for the sympathizers.

This whole experience did lead me to one question though. Where is my appendix now? Was it thrown away in a trash heap? Poor appendix. It may have had to be removed from me but that seems a little uncalled for. We spent 31 years together. Least I could've had a moment to say good bye.