Started getting sick while on a paintball trip to South Bend, IN. A few delayed flights later, I made it back to Houston. Went to work the next day, left early to head to the doctor. He told me to go to the hospital, so I drove myself down there. A 5 hour wait, appendectomy, and 18 hours of rest later, I shuffled out of the hospital and drove home. I remember being so torn up on demarol that after I was wheeled into the OR, I asked the nurse "Do I need to take my boxers off,"? She looked at me like I was crazy and said yes. I was laughing when I pulled them off and waving them over my head (they were later returned in a hazmat baggie). Then, since I'm terrified of hospitals in general, and decided I didn't want to be there anymore, I had already checked myself out, and was out the front door, before the wheelchair showed up. I was 20 and invincible at the time.
Two weeks later I had my stitches removed, with the instructions that I could play sports again when I felt up to it. So I drove straight over to my friend's house, got into an arguement over the phone with my girlfriend, and broke up with her. I then helped my teammate who had just moved to Houston move into his second story apartment. Then, we hopped in his SUV and immediately drove to Kansas for another 24 hour paintball event. The two of us won Most Valuable Team for our side, and I was awarded the Sportsmanship award from the other team. Drove back to Houston and life continued as normal.
