Ever since we got back from the beach, I've been having some stomach troubles. On Saturday (the day we came home), I was hurting a bit. I told myself, "Well, Nicole. You are just getting too old to eat and drink like that. Time to suck it up and admit you aren't 20 anymore."
But in the ensuing days, even light, healthy meals were causing me pain. And on Thursday night, after I got Clay home from the salon, I was in so much pain that I knew this was something more than indigestion. It got to the point that, though I felt foolish, I had to ask hubs to take me to the emergency room. (Dad was kind enough to meet us up there to pick up little man.)
After lots of questions and an ultrasound, I was told that I had gallstones. Lots of them. And that if I wanted the pain to stop, I needed to have my gallbladder removed post-haste.
I couldn't believe it. I eat a pretty healthy diet, maintain a healthy weight, all that good stuff. The doctors and nurses kept telling me that we really don't know what causes gallstones and that gallbladder removal is a very common surgery for them to perform. (One nurse said they even call it their "blue light special," because they do so many of them.)
So, the next morning found me getting prepped for laproscopic surgery. By mid-morning, I was in the O.R, and by about 2 p.m., I was waking up from anesthesia. I was back home by 7 p.m., held together with stitches and surgical glue.
The whole thing was just wild, and it happened so fast. I'm a bit sore, but all in all, I seem to be recovering well. The doctor told me I'd need to take a week off work, but I'm not sure that'll be the case. I could definitely see myself going in for some half days, at least, next week. (Just can't drive if I have the pain meds in my system.) According to the doctors, you don't even need your gallbladder to live. The body adjusts once it's removed, and you apparently never notice it's gone.
So, now I'm the same Nicole I was, minus one pesky gallbladder. Nuts, ain't it?