New year, new surgery.

My super sexy belly after cholecystectomy, done 1/18/14.
Jealous, aren't you?

It's been awhile since I've blogged, and quite a bit has changed. I have no idea what date stamp will appear on this post as it's been sitting in the draft area for some time, but since it's April 1st, I figured I'd do some general updating.

Back in late December, I started having some pretty intense abdominal pain. As they say, hindsight is 20/20, and I'd had a few similar episodes that summer but chalked it up to gas. After nearly 3 weeks of constant pain, I sucked it up and made an appointment with my bariatric surgeon. I make it sound easy, but the reality is that I had friends and family alike pushing me into being seen. I'm not one to complain about pain. Honestly, I know my doc is a busy man with a huge patient caseload, so the idea of bothering him for something silly just didn't sit right with me. Mind you, he's never given me anything but quality care, or shown anything but compassion. It's just my own mental difficulties at play here I think.

In any case, my nerves were completely shot when I went in for that appointment. Some tests were done, and the diagnosis finally reached. My gallbladder had gone belly up. Not exactly a shock as that tends to happen with "extreme weight loss". But it was still more than a bit unsettling for me.

My maternal grandmother died when she was 35 years old, and my mother and aunt were just little girls. Mary Jane died of a gallbladder gone bad from what I understand. As a mom of 3 young kids myself, and about the same age as my grandmother was, I was freaked out. My mother was a complete wreck though. I think in her mind, she was replaying memories of her mother's funeral and thinking of burying me as well.

My surgery was to be scheduled for the following week. I wasn't yet at any risk, so this was fine by me. It gave Mr. P. and I time to make arrangements for the kids and get anything done around the house that needed to be so that my recovery could go smoothly.

Well, life has a funny way of blowing up in our faces around here.

That Friday after my diagnosis, I called the bariatric office for advice on what to do about the pain. RNYers can't take NSAIDS and acetaminophen wasn't really doing too much to help. I assumed I'd get a nice little prescription for something to get me through until my surgery date.

WRONG.

My doc said to just head over to the ER and out it would come that night.

FUCK.

I really should've known better. Mr. P. kept asking me, "Well, what did you think was gonna happen?". Clearly not this.

We quickly arranged care for the kids so Mr. P. wouldn't miss work (he works 9pm-5am). I packed a bag, and off to the hospital I went. Once checked in, they got me pumped up on some Zofran and Dilaudid. Honestly, I don't remember a whole hell of a lot after that. My mother tells me I got quite talkative. Drugs, man.

They admitted me, and got me settled upstairs. My doc would be operating on me the next morning, bright and early. Hey, that's fine! More medication, you say? Where's that tap dancing goat? 

My surgery went fine, and I was discharged that Sunday. If you've never had abdominal surgery before, you won't quite get the urgency in this. If you have, then you'll probably be nodding along knowingly. My first stop once I left the hospital was to Walgreens. Not so much for my pain meds, but for some chewable Gas-x. Bring on the simethicone!

Sweet chalky relief!

I feel much better since having that rotten little gallbladder popped out. My recovery went much better than I'd expected. I did learn an important lesson though. If you're still on heavy duty painkillers after surgery, reschedule any therapy appointments you may have until you no longer need the drugs. Yowsa. I just pretend I don't remember a damn thing from that first week after. Remember, kids. Hugs, not drugs.