Lisa had an emergency appendectomy in Curacao.
Our trip there was plan B with Nat and Frank instead of plan A to Grenada with them and a group of their friends. We went with them two Saturdays ago to one of the ABC islands (I learned that!) for a week of snorkeling and caves and hiking. Things happened.
The Tuesday after arrival ended with unspecified illness that, she and anybody, presumed to be a sundrinkfood-derived virus, especially since we had iguana as part of a balanced lunch. Yet, the rest of use had no iguana-related blech. Illness through the night and stay in the room–best to avoid more trouble–throughout Wednesday. At various points there were discussions about hospitals, but after the intestinal distress at the end of the 2011 Thailand trip (and let’s face it many foreign trips can include an encounter with unfamiliar gut stuff) a hospital after <1 day of illness seemed reactive. Was it overreacting? The rest of us got home from a day’s (Tuesday’s) excursions and Lisa was no-better-and-even-worse. After minor prompting, she agreed to go to the hospital. That translates to: pretty fucking serious.
Frank and I drove her there with growing concern. The feeling of having your wife seriously or even semi-seriously ill–which is what we felt it probably was at this point–is unnerving. Especially if you have to keep verbally checking for back seat consciousness on the ride. Which I guess moves it to the more-than-semi-serious category, but who knows at the time. You’re constantly battling the feeling of overreacting.
Saint Elizabeth Hospital, Curacao
We get to the emergency entrance after some difficulty because of both Google Maps misdirection from construction around the building and the fact that the building is non-hospital looking. (They’re in an old structure that is both creepy, decrepit, and beautiful.) We arrived at around 7 PM and spent the next few hours in the waiting room and then waiting in an examination room and then various protracted periods of being examined and waiting to be examined. That is not to say that the nurses and doctors were lacking: they were, throughout the seven (!) day experience, as skilled as any place we could hope to be stateside. I really can’t emphasize that enough. Blood and pulse and a really unexpected bout of a lot of vomit. They see high levels of “liver enzymes” in her blood and so admit her. Temp high, blood pressure normal, heart rate normal.
Good god don’t judge me but I chose a 3rd class room based on the absurd difference in price and the expectation/hope that this was a one night thing. It was not. I think Frank left while we were in the exam room? And came back with Nat? (These events are all taken from notes that are as inconsistent as my memory.) I decide to stay the night but am told that I can’t for a very specific reason. Third class rooms–and maybe second–are rooms with multiple patients. Her’s had six beds and two other patients IIRC. Either way, they all were female and I am not.
Wait, let’s back up: getting to the room. She’s in a bed in the emergency ward and so they used that bed to roll her to the room. The emergency ward is a little sketchy in quality but maybe not far off from those in any US hospital? I remember regaining consciousness in an Atlanta hospital, after my seizure and subsequent psychotic break, in a room that was decidedly run down and feeling that I was being held prisoner ready for torture. I don’t know how her experiences made her feel, but locational stress is in the eye of the whatever. We travel down late night hallways that are empty, in a decaying almost psych-ward interiored building, molded walls, cracked plaster, through a winding maze, and to a room that is exposed to an open air atrium. Although there was a nice patio, the atrium had several dirt sections and cinder block exposed structures. We’re there at ~1 AM. She’s in pain, a great deal, and unclear on how we are moving forward. And in a foreign country. That’s probably the physical manifestation of a psychotic break and so No Good.
The next day, Thursday, we’re all using our Google degree in medicine along with the hospital’s test results an an ultrasound to diagnose her. For Curacao, the CDC recommended vaccines for: hepatitis A and B, typhoid, meningitis, and zika. We ruled those out. The doctor tentatively looked at cholecystitis, which is inflammation of the bile duct. We liked that one for a while. He also mentioned cholangitis, which is a blocked gall bladder likely because of gallstones. Both are bile-related. A different doctor said she should be sicker if she had either, so no good. We concurred.
Friday brings a CT scan and a quick diagnosis of diverticulosis. We Google-wise individuals had started with that diagnosis so felt vindicated. Vindication left quickly after a furious back-and-forth between the doctor and the radiologists–who had different opinions until they had the same one–ending with appendicitis. Surgery needed As Soon As Possible. Dr. Rodriguez would be performing the surgery (new to us) and Dr. Tim van Elst would assist (he’s been there from the start). She goes in for surgery at 3 and I think they made the decision at maybe 2 so we’re moving along. The night before was very upsetting because all of the diagnosis seemed risky to me. Upsetting is the diplomatic term. When I spoke with her just before they rolled her into the operating room it felt equally risky. And then there was the 3 hours into the surgery when I’ve had no updates. Many things go through your mind, catastrophic, shameful, irrational. In a frustrated state, I talked to a nurse and she sent me up to post-op in case Lisa was out of surgery. She was not, because no one answered the door buzzer. I meditated in the atrium outside of her room.
At 7, four hours after she went into the operating room, the nurse waves me over to the nurses station smiling and tells me that Lisa is coming out of surgery and she is fine.
I walked up with two nurses to the post-op room (which still didn’t answer, so we went to a different room, no answer, so we went back and finally had success) where they rolled her out, groggy. I have two instances of going under: brain surgery in college and carpel tunnel surgery a few years ago. For me, coming out is a pleasant, goof-ball experience that kinda makes me laugh. She was pretty freaked out. Nat says everyone reacts differently.
The following days were painful physically because of the surgery and then uncomfortable because of the surroundings. The room, if I haven’t said, had six beds and a basic shower/toilet room with a garden-type hose for the shower. Some power outlets had exposed wires, some were hanging from the wall, some just empty. Above a couple of the beds were working fans, broken ones over others, and a single small A/C unit placed at the top of one wall, 10-or-so feet above. There were two large sliding doors that left wide gaps when closed. A/C was on over night; off with doors and windows open during the day. The temperature was not bad while we were on the island, but it was uncomfortable for recovery and I eventually got them to keep the doors closed and A/C on throughout the day. When the doors were open, pigeons would walk in and out of the room periodically, which was hilarious but I can see how some might not be amused. Lisa, for the most part, was.
There was an array of antibiotics and painkillers and IVs over the days. Visiting hours, strict, were 11:30-12:30 and 5-7:30 so I probably missed some of the comings-and-goings of medication. She was discharged on Tuesday morning, six days, with the freedom of the outside somewhat ameliorating her discomfort. And I can only imagine how that shower felt.
Nat and Frank had left Saturday afternoon so I was a bachelor for the following days. I moved from the suite, of course, into a much humbler room. Outside of visiting hours I picked up a woefully underpowered laptop for $400 and set up enough of a development environment to get some work done. Meals were mostly made from minor supplies acquired from my grocery store run, items that would keep in the room’s college refrigerator that was at best 50 degrees inside. Beer and wine and bread and cheese and fruit. And during a trip to the bodega the first night I foraged some beer and pizza Pringles while the owners’ 6-year-old daughter followed me at a cautious distance up and down each aisle. At checkout, I pantomimed to them that I was afraid of her and they cracked up. I had planned to go out to eat but all of the restaurants felt more festive than single-friendly, and dinner in a room with a computer and book is just more seductive to me when I’m alone.
The last night was a light dinner at the resort restaurant on the beach. Tiki torches and sand and ocean breeze, and the host, who had doted over us before and after the hospital stay, gracious. The flight home was rough for her, but she’s doing well and all is well. All-in-all, pretty exciting for the first surgery of her life.