This past week, I joined millions of others in the world who walk around without a gallbladder. Do I feel better without it? Probably. I wasn’t miserable before it came out, but when 4 doctors in 2 years tell you it needs to come out, it probably needs to come out. So I had it done.
The surgery went well, thank goodness because I was really nervous about it. It was a good thing I had it done. Apparently, my gallbladder loved my intestines so much that it was stuck to them, which caused my surgery to be a bit longer than planned. So removing it was a good plan, as this could have caused bigger problems later on had I delayed the procedure.
I was sent home the same afternoon. In by 10 am, out by 4 (I take a long time to recover from anesthesia, apparently). I was home and resting comfortably by 5, able to eat soup by 7 that night with minimal nausea. I’ve done pretty well since, but I’ve also kept my food pretty bland and low-fat. No major issues, just a bit of soreness at the largest incisions (not unexpected). I stopped taking my pain meds Thursday night as I haven’t needed them since. Besides, narcotic pain medication has some pretty undesirable side effects–itching and constipation to name a couple–so when I am placed on them, I take them for as short a time period as I can bear. I’ve been fine without them since. I’m on restricted lifting (nothing heavier than a jug of milk), and working out is off until next month so I won’t be back in the gym until September. I want to make sure my abdominal muscles have healed sufficiently so that I don’t cause myself to have a hernia (Lord knows I can’t afford another frickin’ surgery–this “pray you don’t get sick health plan” is bullshit, but that’s a post for another time and place).
I did have a few revelations the day of my surgery, though.
La Guerra de La Gorda 