Personal Narrative
Gut Punch
Laughter, Love, and Laparoscopy
A sharp pain near my belly button startled me awake, sending discomfort through my body. It intensified quickly, a knot tightening in my gut like a fist gripping my insides. Panic rose in my chest, nausea churning in my stomach like an old washing machine on its spin cycle. I shot out of bed, hands clutching my sides, trying and failing to somehow alleviate the relentless ache pulsing beneath my skin.
At first, I chalked it up to gas — after all, I no longer had the steel stomach of my youth, and the seafood mix I’d enjoyed the night before seemed like the likely culprit. My hands jittered, knocking over a bottle of cough syrup as I frantically scanned the cluttered medicine cabinet. Each passing second without finding the Alka-Seltzer amplified my frustration. Where the fuck are you? Agitation was quickly replacing my initial calm.
Anxiety twisted in my belly, a creeping certainty that this was no garden-variety stomachache.
“You need to go to the hospital,” my fiancée urged, her voice gentle yet insistent. Oh, I don’t think I told you — we’ve been giving our relationship another shot lately. While it may be premature to envision marital bliss, having her supportive presence again felt like a lifeline after the storm. Though I yearned to…
