Somewhat Naive

I had my gall bladder removed last Thursday, August 26th. 

Months ago, I had a severe pain in my lower right abdomen which I was sure was appendicitis.  And my family doc agreed it likely was, but before someone went merrily slashing away at my tummy, she thought it would make sense to get a CT scan of the area first.  Turns out that my appendix was perfectly fine, thank you, but the scan showed there was some "sludge" located in my gall bladder. As I understand it, this sludge is like having a bunch of tiny gallstones.

The pain went away, but my surgeon told me that sooner or later, the gall bladder would have to be removed.  And while he was working in that area, he said he could repair the hernia located just under my ribcage.  (I was tempted to ask him if he could change the oil and check the sparkplugs while he was in there, but decided not to...) 

He said there was no immediate need to have the surgery, since the pain had completely gone, but that having the sludge discharge into the rest of the digestive tract (which was likely to happen sooner or later) would complicate the medical picture considerably. 

Then, while on our dinosaur-hunting trip recently, the pain came back and refused to go away.  So the surgeon and I decided it was time to give the gall bladder the old heave-ho.  And fix the hernia. 

(Dear reader, does this sound like I'm whining?  Sick all the time?  Complaining about my misfortune?  I certainly hope not.  Because I consider myself to be extremely fortunate -- to be as healthy as I am, to have such excellent docs to look after me, and most importantly to have a spouse who takes such loving care of me when I can't look after myself.) 

Now here is where the naivete comes in: having survived (successfully, it would seem...) a battery of treatments for a potentially lethal cancer, I assumed that a single operation to correct a non-life-threatening condition would be a piece of cake.  Just one operation?  Geez, let's schedule a volleyball game next day!  Overnight stay?  Okay, if you insist. 

The hospital overnight stay was a breeze.  I managed somehow to rate a single room in the hospital. No idea how that happened. And during the night, if the nurses came in to take my blood pressure and pulse -- but saw I was sleeping soundly -- they left me alone! When I got up in the middle of the night, which I had to do several times, I made this up to the nurses by walking up to their station and having my pressure and pulse taken there. They seemed to appreciate that. And I had been told that walking was good for me.

The next day, Deb drove me home. 

Oh boy.  I managed to completely ignore the available documents about not driving a car for a week afterwards, staying out of work for a similar amount of time, no heavy lifting, and on and on.  And while I was in the hospital, the nurses kept asking me if I wanted some pain medication.  (Hmmpf.  Got a lot of sissies around here, I guess...) 

Since I got home, I've done essentially doodly squat except sleeping and reading.  The pain for doing almost anything was really tough -- and I didn't know whether doing anything would jeopardize the healing process.  On the Friday and Saturday, I couldn't bend at the waist, couldn't open or close a window, couldn't pick something up off the floor, had no interest in food, and it took considerable time for me to lie down in bed or roll over or sit back up.  Deb found several websites that described how one normally feels after gall bladder surgery, and it was all there in black-and-white: this is normal and you should have expected this. 

On Sunday, as the wind and rain from Hurricane Irene gradually faded, the pain gradually decreased as well.  I'm much better -- but that volleyball game is going to have to wait.