After getting home from New York, I spent the first part of July resting, trying to increase my appetite, and trying to stay entertained. I improved a bit, but was still totally exhausted and not up to doing much.

I made it to the 18th, at which point I started having major, sharp abdominal pains. My dad called the E.R., and they recommended I come in and get checked out since it was possible that my spleen had ruptured. Off we went. Every bump and turn on the ride there was painful, but we made it to Children’s Hospital and checked in at the emergency room.

While there, they did an abdominal ultrasound, which showed only mild enlargement of my spleen and no trauma or free fluid. Absent a ruptured spleen, the question became: what was causing my pain? Their next suspicion was appendicitis. Considering my stomach pain and the symptoms I had when I first got sick, it fit the bill pretty well, so they ordered a CT scan.

If this was Grey’s Anatomy, this would be where the doctors all gather behind the glass window, see the scans pop up, and go, “Oh man.”

But this is reality and you already know this is headed downhill, anyways.

The CT showed a 5 cm pelvic abscess and major inflammation in the ileum (the last part of the small intestine). My appendix wasn’t visible, so appendicitis wasn’t ruled out, either.

My bloodwork results helped move things along, too; I was super anemic (maybe that should be my superhero alter ego). A normal iron level is 28-170; mine was 9. This, a handful of other askew lab results, and the CT images altogether seemed to indicate inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), so I was passed off to a gastroenterologist (GI) for further evaluation. Hey, at least we were getting somewhere.

(“Somewhere” may or may not be code for an inpatient room on the GI floor).

Due to the severe inflammation in my gut, I was put on an NPO diet, which means ‘nothing by mouth’. Therefore, I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything. This was meant to give my digestive tract a break and see if the inflammation would improve. I would have to have a central line placed and be fed through it.

More tests were needed to confirm any actual diagnosis, but draining the pelvic abscess was the #1 concern. If left untreated, it could develop into sepsis and become life-threatening. The next day, I was added to the emergent schedule and prepped for surgery. 

If you’ve ever had a major surgery, you might’ve been prescribed a dose of antibiotics to take as a precaution. I was given Vancomycin. Shortly after taking it, I broke out in huge hives all over, so my surgery was pushed back and I had to be monitored for a full allergic reaction. Honestly, the worst part about this was that I was absolutely starving and would have to wait longer to be fed intravenously.

Luckily I didn’t go into full anaphylactic shock, so the surgery was able to happen later that day. It went well; they drained the abscess (90 ccs of fluid, for my medical-minded friends who are interested), inserted a French drain to let it continue draining, inserted a PICC-line (the central line that would be used to feed me and deliver medications), and started me on a different course of antibiotics.

After surgery, I underwent daily testing – CBCs; iron, phosphorus, and magnesium levels; BMPs; stool cultures; glucose tests; CRPs; etc. My doctor was monitoring my levels to see which of the obscure results would normalize after clearing the infection (abscess), and which were likely due to an underlying condition (remember, they suspected Crohn’s).

As part of the effort to diagnose me, they also needed to rule OUT other conditions, so they ran another test for mono. The test can actually tell whether you’ve EVER had mono. Mine was negative, so I’d never actually had mono in the first place.

After a few days in the hospital, when the drainage from the abscess finally slowed, they removed the drain and I was discharged soon after. I went home with orders for a follow-up ultrasound, an MRE (a type of MRI), and a colonoscopy/endoscopy.

Side note: I wish I had photos to share from my time in the hospital, but unfortunately (yet understandably) my 14-year-old self felt way too gross and specifically requested no photos. These also weren’t yet the days of social media for me – I only had a Facebook – so I don’t even have the random saved Snapchat photo or anything.