Which now that I look back, I’ve actually posted twice. Two times that I don’t remember posting. Seriously it was like reading it for the first time. Hello, Vicodin!
As I said, I had a doctor’s appointment set up for next Friday to get a referral for a surgeon to get my gall bladder removed. Yeah, well my gall bladder had other plans. Thursday morning about 3:30, I started having another attack. I took the pain pills they sent me home from the ER with and pretty much slept all day. (Other than the 4 times I was up dry heaving.) I was going to just wait it out until my appointment the next day until I looked at my paper from the ER and it said to return immediately if I started throwing up or the pain got worse.
So, I showered, put on fresh jammies, packed a bag just in case they decided to admit me and headed back to the ER. At first there was a wait, but it’s amazing how fast people move when you tell them you’re having severe chest pains! They got me back to a room, gave me some Morphine (Sweet Baby Jesus! Best. Thing. Ever.) and did another ultra sound.
They decided that it was too much of a risk to wait and that I was going to be admitted so they could do surgery Friday and get my gall bladder out before it exploded. Cool, huh?
The doctor came back and talked me through everything and, I blame it on the Morphine, but I asked if he was the surgeon because his name scared me and I didn’t want him anywhere near my gall bladder because I didn’t know what he’d do with it.
His name was Dr. Stephen King.
I got to my room just as the sun was coming up and dozed in and out of sleep as Nana left and Melissa came to keep me company so I wouldn’t be alone. (I know that was a huge deal for you and I appreciate everything you did so, so much!)
I was told that I would have surgery that day, they just didn’t know what time yet so they’d come up and let me know. They lied. About 10:00 they came to get me to sign papers and then told me they were ready to wheel me up to surgery. I FREAKED out and started crying.
Nana wasn’t there. Daddie was in the middle of an appointment with Dr. Asshat* and Momma was at work tying up loose ends so she could come stay with me. Melissa was there and although she is one of my best friends, I wanted an adult there. I was scared.
I did laugh a bit though when the nurses eyed each other and asked who she was. I’m 99.9% sure they thought we were gay.
They took me to surgery and I made them wait until I saw Nana before I went back. They explained everything to me, Nana showed up, I met with the anesthesiologist and my surgeon and then they gave me a shot of something.
Next thing I remember is being in the recovery room, poking the nurse every few minutes and asking, “I’m alive? Are you sure? I don’t want to be dead and think I’m alive.”
I spent the next 24 hours sleeping on and off and getting Morphine whenever I could. That stuff is the shit, I tell you. I came home Saturday and have been recovering since. Vicodin is my best friend (Morphine is my BFF) when it comes to pain. I normally take one and sleep, but today I was brave and took one before I went to register for classes. People watch got a lot more fun when it kicked in.
I have 17 staples and it makes me mad. It couldn’t have been 16 or 18 to make me happy. Sigh. I get them removed next week.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the thoughts, prayers, comments, tweets and visitors! They mean the world. And worked! Also, may apologizes to Momma for hollering, “Bitch, please! This isn’t apple juice!” when she unknowingly handed me unsalted beef broth.
I have a week to rest up until school starts and then it’s back to normal, I guess. Whatever that may be.
*Three years ago I had kidney stones and went to the ER. They told me that I had gall stones, too, and needed to check with my PCP about them. I went and he told me that I didn’t have any, he didn’t know what they were talking about and that the pain I was having were anxiety attacks. Turns out every time I’ve had an “anxiety attack” the past three years, I’ve really been having a gall bladder attack.