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It All Started with a Surgery

City Slicker

It All Started with a Surgery

Nothing says true love and happily ever after such as a trip to the emergency room two days prior to leaving for your destination wedding in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic.


It all started on a beautiful Friday morning where I woke up to what can only be described as the devil putting my stomach in a fiery full nelson while simultaneously the Lord of Dance himself Mr. Flatley tap dancing using shoes made of barbed nails on the same vulnerable area.


So I climb out of bed and walk at a 90 degree angle to the bathroom to get ready for work. After successfully getting dressed, I’m off to work, driving at a pace that made me angry at the human race for not inventing a mode of teleportation yet.


As I sit at my desk with my head bobbing up, then down, then to the side, similarly to how a newborn doesn’t have any neck muscles. I make the decision to lie down in my car to take a little nap. You know, because nothing fixes the life’s problems like a little power nap at your place of work.


After about a half hour in the fetal position, it occurs to me that a 6-foot lanky man can’t find comfort nor healing within a 2014 Cx-5. This master plan clearly wasn’t working. What do I do, I call my life-line, the smartest person I know, my future wife.


She picks me up and drives me home, while the whole way I am bellowing about how no one in the world has felt pain like this before (yep, very much agree with whomever is reading this…I have a way to overreact in epic proportions). We get to our house, she brings me inside and make sure I have everything I need, which in this case is darkness and our bed. Then, because it’s now only 10am she has to go back to work. As stated in the introduction we leave in two days so she needs to finish up her work before we leave and plus this isn’t the first time I thought I was falling apart so she assumed it was a stomach bug, because that’s always what it is.


Lets fast travel to 5pm, I am not feeling any better so I do what any rational person does in the 20th century and google my symptoms and immediately regret that decision. My fiancé the arrives home and I have 18 terminal illnesses and tell her with a single tear streaming down my face (for dramatic effect) that we have to go to the ER.


Now since this entry has started to get extremely long winded, and if we are honest it started that way after the second paragraph I’m going to get to middle and end now to tie a nice little bow on this.


I ended up having appendicitis so hence the surgery, it delayed us leaving for Punta Cana till Wednesday which is still a risk apparently after surgery but I was determined to get married. My now wife was my rock during this whole (minor) ordeal. While I was crushed that we couldn’t leave Sunday to spend the entire week with our family and friends she was on the phone with everyone letting them know I’m ok and would be late. Also coordinating with the airline to make sure we could switch our flight. All the while I sulked in the corner.


In the end not only did we get to be in Punta Cana for 3 days with everyone we love, we also were able to on our honeymoon two days after the ceremony to London for two weeks. Now I could have written my entry about those trips, we had such a great time and they themselves had adventures within them. However, this entry is about how much of a drama queen and my wife who not only loves me but also is capable of handling anything that is thrown at her. Whether it’s re-planning a wedding she already planned or consoling a 5-year-old in a 33-year-old body (minus an appendage).


We love to travel as does this community it seems and I think we can all agree there are many great places to see, restaurants to dine at. Yet what completes a trip are the people you share it with.


Nailed it with a cheesy line.