I am sitting here tonight in a fairly high state of anxiety. Sometimes things fall apart, and this month the thing that has fallen apart is my body. So it’s made for a kind of shitty month.
A couple of weeks ago, I was ruthlessly attacked from within by an organ I was formerly more or less unaware of – my gallbladder. It turns out my gallbladder is a total asshole whose favourite hobby is constructing a gigantic stone that causes me varying amounts of pain almost every time I eat. (In theory, if I avoid foods with fat in them, it shouldn’t give me trouble, but it seems that theory is rubbish.) And while, yes, this newly formed and unpleasant relationship has introduced me to the wonders of morphine, I am now feeling quite a lot of spite and bitterness toward my gallbladder.
But I will have my revenge! I’m cutting the bastard out! With a knife!
Yeah, take that, you unnecessary sadistic asshole organ.
But of course, from here stems my anxiety. I’ve never really had a real surgery before. You know, with knives and blood and the like. And while my research says that as far as surgeries go, this one is supposed to be pretty easy, I’m completely terrified. See, I’m a big wimp. Probably the biggest wimp in the world. I don’t handle pain or blood well.
And I’m supposed to do this tomorrow. Maybe. I find out tomorrow morning. (Complicated situation of trying to skip the wait list by getting an ER appointment, but I could get bumped for someone who comes in with an appendix that needs out or something.) I am coping by swinging back and forth between denial and mental hand-patting.
Ugh. Wish me luck – first, that I can get this over with by getting it done tomorrow and second, that the surgeon doesn’t get confused and take out my liver or pancreas or something instead. (You hear about these things on the internet sometimes.) (Sometimes it’s best to not spend too much time on the internet.)
My One Precious Life 
I have gallstones, too. I feel your pain (literally). I haven’t had it removed because I really don’t want to have to monitor my diet that closely. Usually I’m okay, but sometimes if I do eat too much fat… Oy. People don’t understand how awful the pain is. It literally, for me, feels like my insides are turning to stone. My longest attack lasted roughly two days. It was miserable.
Sorry to hear that. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. I’ve been lead to understand the diet monitoring will be less once it’s out. Although I imagine anything would be an improvement over the “afraid of food” diet I’m currently on. Honestly, since my big attack, I’ve had loads of little ones where I just feel like I’m being kicked hard in the ribs. But it’s the fear of having the big one come back that is making me do this. I can’t imagine that any surgery could be as bad as that.
Ohh noo! My mom had to have her gallbladder removed – but that was back in the day before they could do it laparoscopically, which I believe they can do now (??). Thinking about you and keep us posted!
Yeah, that is how they do it. How is it that everyone just knows this word? I would have thought it had something to do with butterflies before this month.
HA! I have health-challenged mother and sister who’ve both had to have various laparoscopic surgeries, so I’m vaguely familiar. Just not personally. *knockonwood!* 🙂
Don’t get me wrong – it’s still surgery – just at least not quite as invasive as making massive cuts through all of your skin and tissue and whatnot. So there’s that…
Yeah, it’s little cuts. But just the idea that someone is going to take a knife to my skin freaks me out. (My idea of first aid involves throwing bandaids in the general direction of the victim with my eyes shut and asking if I can call 911.)
My wife had her gall bladder removed a few years ago. She recovered quickly. Are you finding this — now that you’ve talked about your surgery, everyone seems to have their own gall bladder story?
I hope you’re doing well.
That’s good to hear. And completely true! Apparently evil gallbladders are very common, just people don’t discuss them much without prompting.