Girl's First Camping Trip, Interrupted

ID proponents have a lot of 'splaining to do when it comes to the veriform appendix. But I'm getting ahead of myself....

We were promised gorgeous (if a little warm) weather this last weekend in Western Montana, and decided it would be the perfect weekend to introduce Tater Tot to camping. We thought Beavertail Hill State Park, about twenty-five miles East of us, fit the bill perfectly. It is right along the upper Clark Fork, has a nice level nature trail, and offers fishing in a spring-fed pond. Plus, in the event of disaster, it's just half an hour back to home.

Seeing how this was TT's first drive in the VW ex utero, we decided it would be best for one of us to sit in the back with her during the maiden voyage. I forgot how much nicer it is to ride in the back of Ludwig than other vehicles especially during days of perfect weather, such as it was.

Breezy

Clearly, TT was pretty comfortable riding in Ludwig too.


During the drive, I became increasingly aware of a pain in my guts. Figuring it was just something that I ate (as it usually is), we went on (with no mention of his growing discomfort) and set up camp around 1pm.

Our campsite, no. 22, along the river

While I tried to sleep in Ludwig's upper bunk, Melissa and TT did some very successful passive birdwatching, including two types of duck and a bald eagle. In fact, we saw:

• a pair of red-tailed hawks courting,
  
• a lost-looking Canada goose flying and honking up and down the river,
• about 100 cliff swallows,
• a couple of robins patrolling our campsite,
• at least 2 species of male and female ducks (which I'm not yet as adept as identifying as Mitch),
• a woodpecker or sapsucker that was just enough out of view to identify,
• a bald eagle (which made the hawks look small), and
  
• a Black-chinned Hummingbird that came within 3 inches of Esmé and me and hovered for a couple of seconds before flying away. (I haven't had that happen since we lived in California. But those California hummingbirds were fearless and dive-bombed me on a regular basis in the garden.)
  

Birding, baby style

The pain didn't go away, nor did it move (suggesting that it wouldn't, ah, pass) for hours. It actually was getting worse. By 4:30 I couldn't barely stand it so I regretfully asked Melissa to drive us back home. Not long into the return trip I realized I'd better be going to the hospital, not home.

At the St. Patrick Hospital ER I was given a 50-50 chance of appendicitis, based on the description of my state (and a higher than typical level of white blood cells). A CAT scan confirmed it, and just after midnight I was laparoscopically relieved of my appendix by one Dr. Pickhardt (or Dr. "Teva"* as I'll remember him). Interestingly, Dr. "Carhartt" said that it was a good thing that the appendicitis was confirmed by a CAT scan since it revealed his appendix was located in an unusual location (a few inches higher than normal) which is why a physical exam and his symptoms didn't diagnose his ailment immediately.

So, my apologies go to Melissa and especially little Tater Tot for ruining what was shaping up to be a very nice campout. Hopefully my tonsils won't start bugging me come Memorial Day weekend.

*The ER doctor that diagnosed Mitch had a big ol' handle-bar mustache and was wearing tan Carhartts. He looked like he just came in from ranching, or maybe hunting. Mitch's surgeon explained the operation and its complications in shorts and Teva sandals. I thought maybe he was called off his fishing trip and had just tied the canoe to his car before coming in to the hospital. Neither of them looked at all clean-cut, just the sort of working-folks you'd trust to cut open your husband and remove infected visceral matter.