In October I lost my job.
In November I lost my gallbladder.
This is the story of the latter.
But I hope to not lose anything in December.
Just over two weeks ago I was kept up the night with stomach pains. This was the second time in as many months. The first time, those two months ago, the local clinic took CAT scans of my abdomen and told me I was just constipated and to take laxatives. So this time around I simply took their advice from months ago. It had seemed to work back then.
But it didn't work this time. I felt better Monday, but worse again Tuesday and Wednesday. I finally went to a different clinic on Thursday. I'd barely eaten anything all week and had taken enough laxatives to make any living creature shit a tsunami, but hadn't, and still felt bloated in addition to the pain. This clinic didn't have a scanner in-house, but the doctor was concerned about appendicitis so they got me an appointment at an imaging facility for Friday.
That facility wouldn't take my new ACA insurance so I passed on paying $300 cash. I felt a little bit better anyway. That night I looked up places that would take my insurance and there was one that was open Saturday morning.
Saturday morning I called twice but only got voicemail. The pain had returned, so I returned to the original clinic from two months ago, since I knew they had the machinery required.
Sure enough, they stuck an IV in my arm and called the technician in just like last time. That took an hour. Then they wanted to do an ultrasound. That took another couple of hours.
Then the PA on duty informed me that I had gallstones and needed to have my gallbladder removed and they would be transferring me to the hospital. Obviously, I asked some questions but all the signs had been pointing that way anyway so it wasn't exactly out of left field. I was anxious about surgery--I'd never had any surgery prior--but I was also a little relieved it wasn't appendicitis or pancreatitis.
Getting into the hospital took many more hours. Once there the nurses got me re-hooked up to some IV bags, took my vitals, gave me my second COVID test of that afternoon. An hour or so later the surgeon showed up to discuss my case. She was very matter-of-fact about the fact that I needed to have my gallbladder out and described the process to me. It would happen in the morning. I asked if I could eat--I hadn't had a single calorie since over 24 hours prior. She said sure as long as I didn't eat after midnight.
Sometime in the night, I was informed my surgery was scheduled for 8 am. At some time between 7 and 8, an orderly came to wheel me downstairs. I waited in pre-op for hours. I think some trauma patients had to jump the queue, which is fine, I just slept some more.
Finally, the anesthesiologist came and started talking to me, plugged something into my IV...and the next thing I remember is waking up in that same spot and thinking, "It's over. I survived surgery."
They discharged me later that afternoon. That night was rough. The surgery was as non-invasive as possible, using a laparoscopic method, but that required they shoot my abdomen full of CO2, which hurts like hell until the body re-absorbs it. The only comfortable positions possible that night were standing or sitting in my office chair. I spent the entire night in the office chair, dozing off for an hour here and there.
And that was on the opioids.
Recovery hasn't been as rapid as I had hoped, but exactly one week later I have run out of those opioid painkillers and I'm doing ok with just Tylenol now. I can almost move around normally--put on my own socks, walk up and down stairs like a 46-year-old instead of a 90-year-old, sleep lying down. I can eat somewhat normally although not a lot, and I'm still being very careful about what I do eat. Lots of bland stuff.
In November I lost my gallbladder.
This is the story of the latter.
But I hope to not lose anything in December.
Just over two weeks ago I was kept up the night with stomach pains. This was the second time in as many months. The first time, those two months ago, the local clinic took CAT scans of my abdomen and told me I was just constipated and to take laxatives. So this time around I simply took their advice from months ago. It had seemed to work back then.
But it didn't work this time. I felt better Monday, but worse again Tuesday and Wednesday. I finally went to a different clinic on Thursday. I'd barely eaten anything all week and had taken enough laxatives to make any living creature shit a tsunami, but hadn't, and still felt bloated in addition to the pain. This clinic didn't have a scanner in-house, but the doctor was concerned about appendicitis so they got me an appointment at an imaging facility for Friday.
That facility wouldn't take my new ACA insurance so I passed on paying $300 cash. I felt a little bit better anyway. That night I looked up places that would take my insurance and there was one that was open Saturday morning.
Saturday morning I called twice but only got voicemail. The pain had returned, so I returned to the original clinic from two months ago, since I knew they had the machinery required.
Sure enough, they stuck an IV in my arm and called the technician in just like last time. That took an hour. Then they wanted to do an ultrasound. That took another couple of hours.
Then the PA on duty informed me that I had gallstones and needed to have my gallbladder removed and they would be transferring me to the hospital. Obviously, I asked some questions but all the signs had been pointing that way anyway so it wasn't exactly out of left field. I was anxious about surgery--I'd never had any surgery prior--but I was also a little relieved it wasn't appendicitis or pancreatitis.
Getting into the hospital took many more hours. Once there the nurses got me re-hooked up to some IV bags, took my vitals, gave me my second COVID test of that afternoon. An hour or so later the surgeon showed up to discuss my case. She was very matter-of-fact about the fact that I needed to have my gallbladder out and described the process to me. It would happen in the morning. I asked if I could eat--I hadn't had a single calorie since over 24 hours prior. She said sure as long as I didn't eat after midnight.
Sometime in the night, I was informed my surgery was scheduled for 8 am. At some time between 7 and 8, an orderly came to wheel me downstairs. I waited in pre-op for hours. I think some trauma patients had to jump the queue, which is fine, I just slept some more.
Finally, the anesthesiologist came and started talking to me, plugged something into my IV...and the next thing I remember is waking up in that same spot and thinking, "It's over. I survived surgery."
They discharged me later that afternoon. That night was rough. The surgery was as non-invasive as possible, using a laparoscopic method, but that required they shoot my abdomen full of CO2, which hurts like hell until the body re-absorbs it. The only comfortable positions possible that night were standing or sitting in my office chair. I spent the entire night in the office chair, dozing off for an hour here and there.
And that was on the opioids.
Recovery hasn't been as rapid as I had hoped, but exactly one week later I have run out of those opioid painkillers and I'm doing ok with just Tylenol now. I can almost move around normally--put on my own socks, walk up and down stairs like a 46-year-old instead of a 90-year-old, sleep lying down. I can eat somewhat normally although not a lot, and I'm still being very careful about what I do eat. Lots of bland stuff.
therealbrandonwilson
abrahamKim