I was seven years old when I came down with a disease that made me throw up constantly and wracked my stomach with pain. For a couple of days my parents just thought I had a stomach virus, but it got worse and worse as time passes. Eventually the pain was enough to wake me in the middle of the night and they took me to the hospital. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with me, and sent me to a pediatric hospital.
Even at the pediatric hospital the doctors were puzzled. I was poked, prodded, and tested, but nothing conclusive from from it. Days passed and I got worse and worse, nearly catatonic with pain by the time they gave my parent's two options. Either attempt a spinal tap to check for atypical meningitis or perform an exploratory surgery on my abdomen. They chose the surgery, and if they hadn't I wouldn't be here.
The surgery discovered that I had appendicitis, and that my appendix had torn open days ago and begun dripping infectious ooze on the rest of my internal organs. The surgeons cleaned me out as best they could, but there was so much infectious fluid they had to leave the incision open and insert a drain to continue removing fluid. I had already been a thin child, but over the course of my disease I lost 15 pounds and looked gaunt as a corpse.
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