Surgery: Background

I recently had surgery to remove my gallbladder. Even more recently, I decided to blog about it, in hopes that it will help others and help me retain my sense of perspective and good humor. I have resolved to make each entry three short paragraphs long only, so I’d better get going on this post.

Beginning in college, I would occasionally experience a particular kind of stomach pain. It felt like someone had inserted a sharp knife right into my sternum, and was very slowly turning it. The only treatment during an attack is to lay on a sofa, curl into the fetal position, and lean against the back at a 45 degree angle. And try not to breathe, because breathing hurts. It’s painful enough that you can’t read or even watch TV. You just wait it out. And when it passed, it was GONE. No residual soreness, no nothing. Just a sleepless night. It usually (but not always) struck in the middle of the night, but other than that, there was no rhyme or reason to the attacks. I’d eat a lot—attack. I’d eat normally—attack. I’d be busy and stressed—attack. I’d be relaxed and easy—attack. On no discernable schedule—sometimes months would pass by with no attacks. Infuriating! But occasional and not really noticeable in the life we all lead—too much to do, not enough time to do it all!

But in the past two years, the attacks have come more frequently. In October, an attack bad enough to send me to the emergency room occurred, and when I was sent home four hours later in worse shape than when I arrived, I decided to embark on a medical odyssey to Get To The Bottom Of This. After too many appointments and way too many tests, I was diagnosed with having gallbladder disease and a recommendation to have it removed.

I was overjoyed to have a diagnosis. That night, my Beloved and I discussed the pros and cons of surgery. I wanted to put off having the surgery, because our wedding and all our other plans (and there are many!) had been put on hold for SIX MONTHS while we sorted this thing out. Why not move forward and I could take care of this later? Beloved was not persuaded, but I was successful in saying we should at least sleep on it. Shortly after midnight, I woke up with an attack. When Beloved noticed me gone and came downstairs some hours later, I said, “yes, it’s happening again and yes, I will have the surgery.” “Is there anything I can get you?,” he said, as usual. “No thanks,” I replied, as usual. “Go back to sleep and I’ll come back when this has passed. The next day, I booked the surgery.