I should never write blog posts while under the influence, but oh well.
On Sunday morning, after a totally healthful breakfast, I ended up having some gall bladder pain. This has been going on for a little over a month now -- an attack about once a week, set off by absolutely nothing consistent. (Although eggs seem to be one of the culprits.)
The pain went from manageable to worse to really bad, so eventually I took some pain killers and decided to call my doctor first thing Monday morning to discuss options. Unfortunately, the pain continued overnight, so by 5 a.m. I was ready to go to the hospital.
I did. I took myself to the ER at 6 a.m., because I didn't want to wake Eve and wanted Ish to stay with her.
I don't have the strength or presence of mind to write about what a miserable experience it was, being in the ER by myself at 6 in the morning, but it was one of those times that unexpectedly shook me to my core. I felt sad and depressed and scared and defeated, like I had somehow let my family down.
Eventually I was visited by a surgeon. I told him I hadn't spoken to my primary care doctor about my gall bladder problems because they hadn't seemed like a medical emergency -- something I'd hoped I could remedy on my own. But after a nearly 24-hour long attack, I just wanted to have it out.
Of course, by that time (nearly 9 a.m.), my pain had subsided completely. They decided to schedule the operation for the next day. They gave me breakfast, I seemed okay, I went home.
The second I walked in the door, as if on cue, the pain came rushing back. I took some new pain killers and waited about an hour, but it still hurt like crazy. So we called the surgeon -- he had told us to -- and got surgery scheduled for later that day.
We were lucky enough to have a babysitter scheduled for that afternoon, so Ish was able to come with me. And at 3:30, we were back at the hospital waiting for my operation.
I went into the OR around 7 p.m. I was done about an hour later. I was sent home about an hour after that. Happy to go sleep in my own bed, but I was so drugged out and pained that I was awfully surprised they let me go.
The first night and morning were awful. The pain from the surgery itself didn't seem too bad at all. It was the pressure from the how the procedure works. I don't really understand it, but I know they blow air into you. And so all night and morning it felt like I was going to explode -- I took all kinds of drugs trying to ease the pain and nothing helped enough. But then, just like that, something shifted and the immense pressure went away.
I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon dozing and tweeting nonsense from my phone. I'd occasionally eat a cracker.
I tried to send a work email but I'm pretty sure I sent an email to an entire six-person distribution list that said only, "Hi."
I let myself wean off the pain meds in the latter part of the afternoon. I had toast and soup for dinner. I fell asleep only lightly medicated by 10 p.m. and slept well.
This morning I woke up and hurt, but -- if this makes any sense -- it was a good hurt. I can feel pain from where the procedure took place, and it's ouchy. But it's NOTHING like the pain from the air pressure I had, and it's nothing like the pain from the gall bladder itself. It's manageable. I took half a dose of pain killers and decided to try to write this post.
Sitting up doesn't feel so great, and I'm sure this post has rambled and been awfully boring, but at least I'm documenting what's been going on here in the last few days, right? (Just humor me.)
Also you should know that the "air" is finding its way out of me in all sorts of ways that make Ish laugh. So there's that, too.
In other news, I have a fantastic giveaway I'll be doing as soon as I can officially think straight (let's hope tomorrow) and this cool new ask/answer conversation thingy (below) in the meantime.
And we'll be back to our regularly scheduled program? life? blogging? by this weekend. We hope.