I got through surgery and had my gallbladder removed.
Wow. That was rough. I’m never doing that again.
Thanks so much for the well-wishes from my friends and fellow bloggers who wished me luck. Thanks also to the well-wishers in the comments. Over a hundred wishes for speedy recovery. This is the ‘net equivalent of waking up in a hospital room full of flowers. Thanks again.
I’m alive and semi-coherant. I’m not allowed to run or lift heavy things for a week, which will not impact my lifestyle in any way whatsoever. The doctor may just as well have forbidden me to do any alligator wrestling. Moving heavy objects? Running? Do I look like Gordon Freeman to you?
Read on for the rest of the messy details.
The final gallbladder total: 5 “good” stones, according to the doctor. I’ll have to call and tell my mom. She was always worried about me being an underachiever.
I was under the impression that the operation would leave me with three holes in my stomach, but I seem to have a couple of bonus holes. I don’t know if they charge extra for that. Now my belly looks like a golf course. For the operation, they pump your guts full of air, thus turning your lower abdomen into a domed arena. Doctors think this is hilarious, and so when the operation is over they leave that air inside of you so that you can enjoy the joke as well. I’ve dropped about twenty pounds since this mess began and I’ve been enjoying my slimmer outline, which is now ruined by the Doctor’s comedic abdominal inflation. It feels like I went in and had a reverse-liposuction performed. Ewww. (There’s a gross thought, although I’ll bet it would be easy to find a willing donor.)
Also: Someone wrote on me while I was sedated. There’s a little blue scribble on my left forearm. Laying in the hospital bed, pumped full of sweet, sweet Demerol, I found this to be hilarious. I’m picturing the Doctor being interrupted in the middle of the operation with some paperwork. He goes to sign his name but the pen is a little dry. He looks around the operating room for some scratch paper on which to prime it, but doesn’t see anything handy. Then he spies the patient. Hey, this’ll work. He’s handy and he’s holding nice and still. I laughed until it hurt. I was the only one laughing. Demerol, you’re my only true friend.
Once I got home I broke a tooth. About a third of the visible tooth just broke right off. On a Friday afternoon. After surgery. Yougottabekiddingme. It’s been hurting me when I bit down on it over the last couple of weeks, and I was planning on having it looked at once this surgery was over. I think I’ll stick with that plan. Luckily, it doesn’t hurt at all yet, so there isn’t any real downside to this, but still: Yikes. Most fitness experts will tell you that sensible weight loss programs should not begin with organs and teeth.
I was going to write more, but sitting at the computer sucks. Thanks again. I’m getting better. I’m going to go lay down on the couch and make people bring me stuff. Have a great weekend.
The true story of three strange days in 1989, when the last months of my adolescence ran out and the first few sparks of adulthood appeared.
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