Gallbladder, I hardly knew ye

About a year ago I woke up in the middle of the night in pain so bad I assumed I was just having a nightmare. I lay frozen to the spot and whimpered until I went back to sleep. I didn’t even really remember it in the morning. It wasn’t until it happened again the night after that it all came flooding back (in not-very-dramatic fashion, since it had only been a day). After that there would be gaps of weeks, or even months, but the same pain would keep rearing it’s ugly head. It was always an hour after I’d gone to sleep, and it always vanished just in time to leave me absolutely shattered for work the next day. I was always too much of a goody-two-shoes to call in sick because while I had been some mysterious brand of ill, I was now only experiencing the kind of ailment that could be solved by a visit from the coffee man.

The pain started as a run-of-the-mill stomach ache. But then suddenly it would stab me in the back and shoot over my shoulder. I’d sweat and shake and think I was going to throw up. It hurt to move, but I also couldn’t sit still for a second, so would end up pacing the coffee table waiting for my hot-water-bottle-water to boil, and then lie in bed all night listening to the shipping forecast in a vain attempt to drift off while alternating my hot water bottle between my back and my front because I could never quite tell what was actually hurting.

After I peed in some things (occasionally by medical request) and had some needles stuck in me (occasionally by medical request) I had to go for many and varied scans, which often involved drinking gallons of water before somebody pressed hard on my stomach with no regard to their being directly in the splash zone if my pelvic floor turned out to be less-than-stellar.

As it transpired, I was toting around enough stones in my gallbladder to build a mid-sized gravel driveway.

So, last week I had an elaborate hospital nap under the watchful eyes of the Hottest Anaesthetist Ever (I have nothing to compare him to, but damn) and had the thing removed. After briefly feeling like someone had beaten me up from the inside, I’m very definitely on the mend and entering my second week of medically-prescribed Netflix, and it’s glorious.

And by ‘glorious’ I mean ‘I haven’t showered for a week and I just got into Gilmore Girls eighteen years after everybody else, but I get a free laziness pass for several more days because I have a hurty tummy’.

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