I have told this story many times before, but this is my first time writing it.

It all started almost a year ago on a Thursday in late February. It was a snow day. I woke up at 10 and felt a slight pain in my lower right abdomen. For about thirty minutes, it was a mild nuisance, but then it quickly grew.

The pain became so bad that I writhed on my bed screaming for a few minutes. I woke up my roommate next to me, who asked, "Dude, are you okay?''

I convinced myself I would be fine.

The rest of the day was a struggle with the pain. At times I tried pain meds. Those didn't do anything. I ate food. That didn't work. I forced myself to walk to the health center but it was closed. I still did not know what was wrong. I had a list of causes in mind. I thought I had a kidney stone for a second because I could not think of anything else at the time. Then I decided it couldn't be since I could still pee. My mom told me it could be appendicitis so that was on the list. My other roommate said it could be a muscle strain. That sounded plausible to me, and that's what I wanted it to be. Lower down on my list were more extreme causes that I knew were unlikely such as cancer or I had a xenomorph from the film Aliens ready to pop out of my chest any second.

I only knew one thing: I did not want to go to the hospital. My parents offered to drive me there, but I kept telling them, "I'll be fine." It was the eighth week (for those of you that don't know, Kalamazoo College goes on ten week trimesters), and I still had plenty of work to do. I thought the pain would go away. Why would I want to go to the hospital for what could be nothing when it could mess up my grades?

So I layed there in bed that night, feeling a burning pain of the muscle tear/appendicitis/ something else on my side and nervously praying that it would go away by the morning. I felt a warm something fall out inside, and thought nothing of it.

I woke up Friday morning (or midday) and the pain was still there, though it was lesser. A good sign, I thought. Luckily my professor canceled class that day because I knew I could not go. My mom began to pester me further about going to the hospital and I continued to resist going. I tried the health center one more time and again it was closed.

So what convinced me to go to the hospital? WebMD, in all honesty. I checked symptoms for appendicitis. One was abdominal pain. Check. Pain when breathing. I inhaled and felt it. Check. I matched several other symptoms, too. Then I realized that there would be nothing wrong with going to the hospital. If I had appendicitis, then I would have a quick operation. If it was something else, then no big deal. The pain became a bigger problem than going to the hospital would be, and I only wanted it to stop. So I submitted to my mom and stepdad's wishes and they drove out and took me to the hospital.

I went into the check up room. Doctors would come and go. I would explain my symptoms and they would take my vitals and examine my pain. The doctors concluded that I had appendicitis, too. Around midnight they came into the room with a cart to take me to my appendectomy. I would then have a simple surgery and I would be back to school in no time.

IT WASN'T APPENDICITIS

I woke up at an empty hour between day and night. My head felt hazy, and I had bandages up to my midriff. The bandages did not stop the pain I felt under them. I kept my eyes closed, but I felt the presence of someone typing a keyboard over me. I wanted to ask about the operation. I sensed something had gone wrong. I decided not to ask in hopes that things had gone right. I asked for water instead. I noticed my voice had gone, a result of having an anesthesia tube put in my throat.

Nurses came and transferred me from a cart to a hospital bed and room. Still, no one told me what had happened. I asked where my mom and stepdad were. I learned that they had gone home. I knew they would tell me. I told the nurses to call my mom's cell, but no one answered. Then they called my home phone. Again, no one answered. Through my haze, I remembered my step dad's number. I dialed it on a phone next to my bed. I waited in anticipation to hear his familiar voice. It went to voicemail. Frustrated, I closed my eyes when I heard the phone ringing next to me.

My stepdad Ron answered the phone. I don't remember much of what I said to him or Mom, who I talked to next. I do remember crying. I felt accomplished for making it through the surgery. Mom told me she would be there soon, and I learned that I did not have appendicitis at all: I had two holes in my intestines.

I hung up the phone after that and fell asleep.

I would have died of sepsis if I had not gone to the hospital. I had survived the operation, but I still had many challenges to face in the future. For that moment, I slept.