By: Amy Deakin

I never thought I’d know so much about my own abdomen, incision sites, surgical gas, or elastic waistbands — but here we are.

A couple of weeks ago, I had my appendix removed. A fairly routine laparoscopic appendectomy, as they’re called – and ‘uneventful’ was the outcome….for the professionals at least! “Keyhole surgery,” people say, casually — as if that phrase somehow makes it painless, elegant, or trivial. It doesn’t. But it does make it fascinating.

This isn’t a horror story. It’s not a medical drama. It’s a very personal account of what surprised me, what hurt more than expected, what hurt less, and how wildly different this experience was from my grandma’s appendix removal back in 1968.

First surprise: where everything actually goes in

I thought I knew roughly where the appendix lived. Lower right side, right? So imagine my surprise when I learned that most of the laparoscopic entry points… aren’t there.

I ended up with three incisions:

• One through the belly button
• One further down on the lower abdomen
• One just off my left hip

The appendix itself might be on the right, but the surgeon needs space, angles, and visibility. So the “action” happens elsewhere. Getting used to those incision locations — mentally and physically — took longer than I expected.

Dressing myself suddenly became a daily logic puzzle: Will this waistband rub? Will that seam catch? How much elastic friction is too much elastic friction? (Answer: very little.)

Pain: not where I expected it

The incision pain was manageable. What I was not prepared for was the gas pain.

During laparoscopic surgery, the abdomen is inflated with carbon dioxide so surgeons can see what they’re doing. That gas doesn’t just politely disappear afterward. It hangs around, irritating nerves — especially the phrenic nerve — which is why the pain shows up in your shoulders and upper chest, not your stomach.

For me, that pain:

• Started within hours
• Peaked between 24–72 hours
• Hung around for 4–5 days

Sneezing? Absolutely not.
Laughing? Risky.
Turning your head too quickly? A mistake.

Even sitting still in the first 2 days would lead to (what I described at the time as) ‘clunking’ – it even felt like my right rib was clicking when I breathed in – and this was all just gas moving about. A really weird feeling I must say.

I managed everything with paracetamol once I was home, for about five days. I deliberately resisted the urge to take anything stronger. Not out of bravery — just wanting to listen to my body clearly and avoid side effects if I could.

The first 24 hours: humbling in unexpected ways

No one warned me I wouldn’t be able to raise my arms properly for the first 24 hours. Tying my hair back? Nope. Pulling on a jumper? Also no. Thankfully mom regressed to treating me like a child and helped me put on my coat to leave hospital, tie my shoe laces, even take off my socks once back home – absolutely no arguments from me!

It’s amazing how much core engagement you don’t realise is involved in basic movements — until your core has been through surgery.

And then there was walking.

When the nurses asked me to show I could walk to the toilet, I suddenly understood my grandma in a whole new way. The posture. The speed. The determination. I shuffled along, reminding myself she’s 92 — and somehow still faster than I felt in that moment.

Eating after surgery: technically possible, emotionally offensive

I knew that eating and drinking after surgery was important. I also knew I wouldn’t be allowed home until I’d managed both.

So when I came round from the anaesthetic — after being nil by mouth since midnight — a lovely nurse asked if I wanted food or drink.

“Yes please,” I said, Shakely.

I was given toast and mint tea. Two slices, no less. I managed half a slice over ten minutes.

It was now about 4pm, and despite not having eaten all day:

• I had zero appetite
• Every head movement made me feel sick
• Even thinking about food was enough to turn my stomach

Still, half a slice counts. Victory is victory.

When we eventually were ready for the walk to the car, I forget how many pauses were needed with the sick bowl – but I made it – each step with a dry bowl being a win!

Bruising: dramatically worse than expected

I expected some bruising. I did not expect this.

Two weeks post-op, on my pale skin, I’m still sporting impressive bruises — especially around the belly button incision. Apparently, that area bruises more because it’s a natural weak point in the abdominal wall and gets a lot of manipulation during surgery.

No one prepares you for how long bruising can linger. It’s not too painful now (I mean I’m not going to poke them to test!) — just visually an eye sore. 

Internal sutures and… skin glue?

I knew about stitches. I did not know about skin glue.

My incisions were closed with internal sutures and surgical glue, which is now — two weeks later — flaking off like badly behaved dry skin. It looks a bit unsightly, but it’s doing exactly what it’s meant to do: protecting the wound while the skin heals underneath.

Another tiny reminder of how far surgical techniques have come.

A near-miss with timing (and the Innovation Awards)

There was a chance to have my appendix removed earlier — in November — thanks to a cancellation.

Believe it or not, it was the day before our 5th Innovation Awards.

For anyone who knows me, you’ll know I briefly considered grinning and bearing it. But standing, hosting, and being “on” less than 24 hours after abdominal surgery felt… ambitious in the wrong way.

So I stuck with the original scheduled date. The right call as I wouldn’t have been able to have helped the team at the Innovation Awards – and letting them down would have worried me.

More importantly, having it removed before it became infected was crucial. I was incredibly lucky that it was enlarged but not yet causing chronic pain or acute appendicitis. Once an appendix enlarges, it doesn’t just shrink back to normal. Surgery becomes inevitable — timing is everything.

What actually happens to your appendix?

No, I didn’t get to keep it.

Much as I would’ve loved a little sausage in a jar to peer at, hospitals don’t allow that. Once removed, the appendix is:

• Sent to histopathology
• Sliced and examined under a microscope
• Checked for inflammation, infection, tumours, or rare conditions

After testing, it’s disposed of as clinical waste. Slightly anticlimactic — but medically important.

Did I mention the snow… and the car

I cannot write this without acknowledging how not recommended the next bit was.

Three hours post-op, we hit a slick icy patch on the way home. Mom was at the wheel. We couldn’t go forwards, we couldn’t go backwards. There was no one around. It was the worst day of the snow downpour the news had been warning about. I, against mom’s orders, attempted to push the car. 

Again: not recommended.

Miraculously, we made it home — two hours later — followed by a 30-minute walk in the snow to finish the journey.

They say movement is good after surgery. I’m fairly sure they did not mean that level of commitment. Still, we got home. Lesson learned.

Back to work, but not quite myself

By day five, I made it back in to the office. Carefully. Slowly. In outfits chosen purely based on incision friendliness whilst trying not to look like I’d got dressed in the dark.

I openly showed off the two upper incision points as justification for not being my usual sprightly self. Sneezing — even a week later — resulted in a screwed-up face and a very undignified yelp.

Worth it, though. Each day brought noticeable improvement after the first 4 days post op.

From 1968 to now: my grandma’s scar says it all

My grandma had her appendix removed in 1968. She has a long, scar across her belly — the result of open surgery, longer hospital stays, and slower recovery.

Comparing her experience to mine really drives home the advances in:

• Laparoscopic techniques
• Anaesthesia
• Pain management
• Infection control
• Wound closure (skin glue still amazes me)

Today, research is even exploring antibiotic-only treatment for certain cases of appendicitis, though surgery remains the gold standard in most situations. Smaller instruments, robotic assistance, and faster recovery protocols continue to improve outcomes.

Gratitude, above all

I couldn’t fault the nurses, anaesthetist, or surgeon. They eased my concerns, respected my privacy, managed my pain as best they could, and helped me get home quickly — just in time, before the snow truly set in. It makes me wonder if there’ll ever be a way to quantify the impact of good bedside manners and patient engagement in recovery time and pain management.

I know not everyone has a smooth experience. I’m deeply grateful that mine was as good as it could be — and honestly, better than expected.

I’m still easing back, still adjusting, still discovering how many clothes I own that were clearly designed without post-op abdomens in mind. But I’m looking forward to getting back on the netball court, moving freely again, and not wincing when I move abruptly having momentarily forgotten I’m still in recovery mode.

All in all — not bad for a supposedly “useless” organ.

Thank you NHS