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.

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