By Troy Brownfield

So what's been up with you?

All right. As both long-time and casual readers of the site know, I had to have emergency surgery on November 11th to rectify a problem that suddenly manifested itself in my stomach. The whole thing happened with no warning, and even an authority like official Shotgun medical advisor (and my college roommmate) Dr. Randy Lance tells me that it's kind of a freak thing. Well, since we're big fans of freak things around here, I'll give you the explanation.

Saturday, November 9th

We'd marketed the event for some time. Saturday, November 9th was the night of the first-ever Springbound Music/ShotgunReviews.com Saturday Night at Birdy's. A local musical showcase, the event involved five acts: Extra Blue Kind (who recently opened for Everclear and Creed), Pristine (featuring our old pal Jason Renn from Terre Haute), The Niswander Band, Neena, and Black Soil Project. The bands all did a fine job.

However, about halfway through the night, I started to get really uncomfortable. I sat in the pool room for a bit, and looked for other chairs. Anyway, I finished out my duties at the show and went home. I told the wife that I was having really bad pains on my right side, and then tried to go to sleep. I couldn't get comfortable at all. By the next morning, I knew I had a problem.

Sunday, November 10th

Becky took me to the Immediate care facility nearest our house. At first examination, the doctor believed that he appreciated appendicitis. He called ahead to the Hendricks County Community Hospital and informed the ER to expect me. Becky drove me to the hospital, and they got me into an exam room with all due speed. The next doctor examined me, and the pain was getting worse. The next verdict seemed to be a gall bladder problem. Yay rah.

At this point, they started with the needles. I HATE needles. It's like I have a built-in resistance to heroin addiciton with this minor phobia of mine. I have since amended my stance a little bit: blood work bad, IV hook-ups loaded with demoral=good. They started the IV, started pumping in the pain-killers, and I felt much better. That's when the testing began.

I should note that I've never, outside of wisdom teeth extractations, had "surgery". In a few short hours that Sunday, I got an IV, had a CAT scan, an ultrasound (which hurt like a son-of-a-bitch because they had to push on the spot where it hurt most to get a solid image), and a lot of bloodwork. At some point in there, I believe that I met my surgeon-to-be, Dr. Lemo Pringle.

I must give all due praises to the Doc. He was quick, he didn't push on me past the point of catching on that it REALLY hurt, and he was efficient. (By the point I saw him, I would hazard a guess that eight people had come in to push on that same spot. If I hadn't been whacked out of my mind on drugs, I would have come up swinging. The thought of punching out my ultrasound tech did occur to me, but I had no motor control whatsoever). After a day of drugs, tests and prodding, they put me on the books for a Monday surgery.

Monday November 11th

Three incisions: one at the navel, one below the sternum, one on the right side. The docs expected to find a screwed-up gall bladder or something similar. Surprise!

I get ahead of myself: my anethesia guy was cool. He had a light southern drawl and looked like a fighter pilot. Mr. JAG got me hooked-up and knocked my lame white ass out COLD. I was in mid-sentence, then remember waking up in the recovery room. After a bit, they wheeled me back to my room where my wife, my parents, and the doctor talked to me.

Here's your educational portion: My omentum, the fatty apron that runs between your appendix and gall bladder and acts as a firewall in case of rupture, had become twisted and necrotic. The omentum was causing me the pain. In the photos, you can see where it's the dark area in stark contrast to the healthy pink surroundings. Usually, this injury is the result of an impact or some other root injury; it often occurs in childhood. The last serious impact I had was the car wreck back in February, but I suffered the blow to my left side. The odd thing is: no one knows why it happened, or why it happened when it did. Creepy, eh?

Unfortunately, I was unable to keep the dead tissue. Yes, I asked. I am me, after all.

I ended up spending Monday night in the hospital too. This was a real joy. Between the IV, the pumps on the legs to reduce the risk of blood clotting, and my inability to stand unassisted, getting up to hit the head was a bit of an operation. Worse, they were pumping me full of fluid, antibiotics, and painkillers (plus giving me burning shots of heperin to the stomach, designed to prevent clotting, every few hours). So of course, I had to pee almost constantly. I was thirsty, strung out, tied down, and let's face it, fucked up. Not the Editor-in-Chief at his best.

I got released on Tuesday afternoon, the 12th. On the downside, my inability to lift over 10 pounds for the next two weeks meant that I couldn't pick up our cats. Even worse, they couldn't sit on my lap, and failed to understand why stepping on my gut would cause me immense pain. Worse still, I haven't been able to do jack anything around the house aside from watching DVDs (okay, that's not bad for me, but it doesn't help my overworked wife). My writing's really suffered, as sitting up at the desk in the office chair has been painful (it ain't joyous right now, to be sure).

However, I'm walking all right, I can stand on my own, and I'll be able to lift things in a day or so. It's getting better. But it's been weird.

So What Have We Learned, Charlie Brown?

This whole ordeal has been very odd. My wife has come off like a super-hero. She's done a great job taking care of me, and kept cool in a very bad situation. She rocks the house. I don't back off on compliments for my wife; I often have nice things to say about her here. But I must reiterate: I'm very, VERY lucky.

My friends have been swell. I've had lots of calls and offers of assistance. Heidi Lance offered to stay with me if Becky had to go to work (when I still couldn't stand without help). Legendary tough-guy The Russ and his fiancee Erika sent flowers. Shawn, even though he's still stuck with that damnable cast on his left hand, has been very cool. And so on.

You know, I was scared. It turned out to be something that wasn't that bad, but damn. At 29, you don't expect "emergency surgery" to be part of your vocabulary. Nor did I expect "omentum" to be part of it either. I was lucky. I'm okay. Just don't expect any "Touched By An Angel"-I've-seen-the-light-bullshit. If I'm convinced of one thing, it's that I'm too evil to be destroyed by normal means. Just like Keith Richards.

So for the time being, the site updates might be a little slower. And my writing might not be as fast. I've got some time. I'm gathering my strength for the Godzilla-meet-Japan-like thunder of the first live Frank Booth Project show that's coming in January. And I'll be planning. Oh yes. I've got plans, campers . . .

See you soon. And thanks.

Troy Brownfield is the Editor-in-Chief of Shotgun Reviews. He's lost weight, but he can't say that he exactly endorses the method. Email Troy at psikotyk@aol.com

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