Blogging from the hospital bed. I feel so techno-age Camille. (cough cough).
So, this started a loooooong time ago. In the Meg timeline, this started before I found Pindar. And I feel like I've been with Pindar since dinosaurs roamed the earth (quick science note: people and dinosaurs never cohabited the earth. I make this point since we seem to be smack in the middle of the Glorious Stupid People Revolution). Basically, when I eat too much (which usually happens after drinking too much) I get this really painful sensation in my belly. This lasts about 12 hours and then I'm better.
Since it was something I brought on myself what with the overeating, I always figured that there was no need for medical intervention.
Then several months ago, I had an attack which came with lots of throwing up and, well, agony. I soldiered through what I self-diagnosed as food poisoning. Last weekend, I had another one. After two days of intense pain, I realized it was time to stop self-diagnosing and Don took me to the hospital.
Where I've been since. I'm on Day 4 of hospitalization, with an expectation of going home on Friday.
Here's the skinny: much like your great uncle Reuben, my gallbladder is chockablock full of stones. These attacks/episodes I have are when a stone gets loose, starts knocking around my digestion system in a frenzy of malicious petulance. Typically, my body dispatches the stone in some form. But this time, there's one that's taken up residence in my common bile duct and there it sits gleefully fucking with me and my ability to process food. This afternoon, the little fucker gets taken out. Thursday, the whole poorly functioning, malevolent, stoney gallbladder goes.
It's much easier to scare an intern than you'd think. Speak sharply to them and then they'll be afraid of you. The problem with scaring interns is that then they avoid you like the plague. And, really, they're just young folks learning a job. But when they tell you after a full 24 hours of no eating and THIRTEEEN hours after a 2:30 am MRI that no one's looked at the MRI yet because (and I quote) "I guess they're really busy", it's kind of hard to tame the wrath.
The PCT (Primary Care Technicians) and RNs here at Evanston have been really great. They come in and chat and give you drugs and pat your head when you cry (because, really, I am SUCH a giant girl's blouse and have been crying and crying and crying).
The medical doctor I have is kind of meh. He told me that there was no way they'd take out my gallbladder while I was here and then was sort of defensive about it when he turned out to be wrong. Also, he forgot to let me eat one night. I could have had BROTH, dammit, and he didn't update my order. So instead I had ice chips. I wanted the BROTH.
The surgeons have swooped in heroically and told me they'd remove my gallbladder on Thursday. I was awoken this morning by one Dr. Ujiki who I found very sexy. Not because he was all that sexy, but, guys, I would have found Dick Cheney sexy if he said he was going to relieve me of this troublesome bitch of a gallbladder. Well, that may be overstating it a bit. But you get the idea.
I've had so many friends who have been ROCK STARS through this. The Bielkes, the Kingsubrys, the Anyahs, Gillly Boo! Taking Laney for days and nights. This is the downside of living with no family nearby: no one you can impose upon without feeling guilty. But people have been so great about helping with Laney and I am so grateful to them.
Since Friday, I have consumed 10 saltines, two bowls of vegetable broth, two cups of lemon ice, one cup of cherry ice, some apple juice and some cranberry juice. I bet I've still somehow managed to gain weight.
That said, it's heartening to know that once I get up out of this bitch, I will never have another one of those episodes again
Thanks for all the kind wishes. I'm going back to Ghostbusters because, as you know, busting makes me feel good.