Jul 12, 2016
#154. About 48 hours has passed since my appendectomy. I’m sitting at my cousin Dan’s kitchen table in North Andover, about 20 miles from Boston, writing this while I spend a few days here recovering. Isbjorn is back at sea, having departed Newport yesterday morning around 0800, about the same time I jumped in the car to drive the two hours north to here.
I’m stiff. I’m sore. I haven’t had a good poop since Sunday morning. I’m bored. I’ve watched more TV than I have in years. On the plus side, Wimbledon and the Tour de France is on in the mornings, and Germany is about to play France this afternoon in the Euro football championships to see who gets to play Portugal in the Finals. This whole thing feels surreal.
The thing is, I never get sick. Ever. At least not the kind of sick that requires a visit to the doctor, let alone to the hospital. In an ambulance! The occasional cold, sure. The flu? I had it once in the past ten years. I was due for this, in a pessimistic way I guess. And almost fitting that it happened not only on the boat, but also while we were offshore at sea, and with paying crew to boot! And to me! Anyway. Here’s what happened.