Yay, I’m back! Well, most of me! I think!
You might be thinking this post will finally solve the case of the missing gallbladder. You would be wrong. But I’m going to tell you all about it anyway. My sick posts tend to be some of my best, or at least my pneumonia ones got a lot of praise (story starts here – link drop!). Maybe I write better with lots of pharmaceuticals and / or fever. I don’t want to repeat the fever thing, nor do I know of a way to achieve one on purpose. And pharmaceuticals – well druggies ruin everything.
Where was I? Oh, right, my doctor scheduled me for surgery. When the big day arrived, my husband took me to the waiting room. Waiting for surgery is sort of like waiting for Christmas – only no gifts and they cut you open and stuff. So actually nothing like Christmas, except the expectation of something awful. Like pain. Or relatives. Yet I did get a present – my friend L came to hang with me, despite not actually needing to go to a hospital at all. This makes her insane, but a nice friend, especially for me.
They called me back and checked my vitals to make sure I was alive before they possibly killed me. Yeah, I know all about it, doctors, it’s hard to glance over that part of “possible death we are not responsible for” mentioned in that paperwork. Of course I signed it, because I felt bad enough to not care much anymore. I was nervous, so I focused on interesting and /or stupid things happening to write about later. I got some. They took me off again to a little temporary hospital room of my own with a TV and a bathroom and a bed that had to be hand-cranked because day surgery nurses are given a lot of crap.
I washed myself with a hand-i-wipe and put on my hospital gown. I’d never seen one like this before. Usually they are cloth and open to the back to better expose your behind. But this one was made of paper and had covered rimmed holes all over it. I wondered if they specially designed the gowns for doctors to peek through while doing surgery, but it turned out that they used them to, I’m not kidding, hook you up to a blow dryer. They stuck a hose on my gown and vroom instant warm. I have to get one of those things for home. It’s great.
They also hooked me up to an IV. They put it in my hand where it’s harder to find veins, so she poked around my hand with a needle and it was so fun. Luckily my husband turned on the TV to distract me with Dr. Phil. A lady suspected her husband of cheating on her, and her square-headed husband was all “No I didn’t but I’m not taking a lie detector test.” And Dr. Phil was rubbing his chin with that thoughtful look that said “I am taking this seriously” before telling the man that he was stupid liar. And he said he wasn’t. And his wife said she just had to know for sure if he was cheating on her because the marriage was totally worth saving because they’d had two kids in three years and how exactly was this guy managing to run around on her? My husband didn’t get five seconds off – I knew exactly when he was due home from work and I was maniacal enough from a day with screaming infants and toddlers to chase him down if necessary.
Once all my prepping was done, and my doctor had finished patient number one for the day, and Dr. Phil had run off before they revealed the lie detector results, they rolled me into the operating room. I have to wonder – do these operations get to be as routine as working at McDonald’s? I can imagine them rolling patients in one by one with a little number and then sending them out the door for pick up. Also with poking four holes in you, and pulling things in and out of it, I can’t help but think of the Operation game. Wouldn’t it be funny if it really buzzed if a doctor didn’t get their tools out of the holes just right? Like on that commercial, only with real patients. I would film it. Anyway, they rolled me to the operating room and then I was waking up in a totally different room and off I went back to my temporary hospital room. And people came to visit me and I said “I feel GREAT.” cause I did, I really did feel great. And they were happy I was all better now. But what I didn’t realize was that the reason I was all better now was because I was HIGH. It makes a difference.
I asked my husband what happened, since I had so many questions. Like did they actually find the gallbladder, or did they just poke holes in me and say forget it? Did they find it all shriveled up and hiding behind the liver like the freeloader it was? Was it just in the wrong place? When you carry babies inside you, your organs shift all over the place – fun fact they never tell you till you get pregnant. So maybe it was way down with the kidneys? I asked him. He said the doctor just told him the surgery went well, and they’d see me in like three weeks. Say what? I love my husband but he’s not good with the big questions. Like why was my gallbladder missing before and where was it now exactly? Not like I wanted it in a specimen jar, but I do like to have answers.
They left me with four bloody incisions covered in what some kind if sticky saran wrap – the wrap made the blood spread out so it looked about 500 times bigger than it was. The bellybutton one was especially pretty, with a jagged line looking a bit too much like the Joker’s smile. And while this was supposed to be “minimally invasive” I think if you put my abdomen up against a gun shot victim’s, they’d look pretty similar.
When I got up to walk around I felt a bit nauseous. Don’t ever tell your doctor this. They assume it’s the pain meds and tell you not to take them, and then you aren’t high, and then you realize you have been seriously snookered. I only had seven of them anyway – that’s right seven – and no refills. Thanks drug addicts. They let me go that afternoon. That evening Thing One had her premiere in the high school musical “Crazy for You.” I missed the first one, but I saw the second performance a couple days later. More on that to come, as well as the mystery of where the heck my gallbladder went. I think my story would make a fantastic musical, with dancing doctors, organs, and surgical instruments. Or maybe I’m just high.
P.S. It’s been over a week since surgery. I’m feeling much better now. 🙂