Most Certainly Not

My Gall Is Gone

I suppose I must have had all the stars aligned after complaining so much that everyone I know was beseeching, "For the love that all that is holy, let this woman's gallbladder be gone!!" The last I wrote, I was poised to go in, guns blazing, to convince a doctor that I needed this darned thing OUT of me...preferably before I left the office, but that was negotiable. When the doctor finally arrived (from an emergency gallbladder surgery, nonetheless) at my appointment, it was like he was trying to convince ME it was time for it to come out soon.

Maybe people do that? Writhe in pain, know exactly what's wrong with them and then go to a surgeon after speaking to no one, googling anything, etc. only to learn the ONLY thing to do to avoid an emergency situation in the future is to have the gallbladder removed. I was not really looking for a suggestion on what to do--I was ready for him to cut me open at that moment (or supervise me doing it) to remove the offending organ immediately. Once he realized we were on the same page and his "informed consent" discussion was not going to scare me away, he told me he'd send in his scheduler and he could probably have me on the schedule "soon."

I quickly realized it would be the SCHEDULER I would need to potentially sweet talk. She came in and said, "So, you're ready to schedule a surgery? Now. I know this is soon, but I actually had a surgery block cancel for tomorrow and..."

"I WILL TAKE IT!! SIGN ME UP!! I WILL BE HERE!!"

She was taken a bit aback. I mean, seriously people, have I NOT made it perfectly clear that I am IN PAIN and I am tired of it. I am down over 10 pounds and while that is a pleasant side effect of this, I know it isn't good for me because I will likely just gain it back anyhow once I can eat again.

I was put on the schedule and reported to the hospital at 7:45 a.m. My blood pressure each time it was checked was ridiculously wonky. I don't think it helped that until after I went to surgery, we had to have M3 with us. Her fidgeting, hypervigilant startling and her incessant need to stare at people (like the WWII vet across the way) drives me absolutely nuts. SHE makes my blood pressure wonky outside any other thing like pain or otherwise. My blood pressure was more normal immediately following surgery and I'm really hoping that continues to be the case. I will be thoroughly pissed if the last couple years of my life, plus a badly dealt hand of genetics land me in blood pressure jail. I have less than zero interest in that.

I didn't become nervous about the surgery until right before they took me back. A nicely timed dose of a sedative (probably Versed) followed by the drug that killed the King of Pop did the job and I don't remember a thing--including the tube down my throat which I didn't know would be required until that day. It was weird because even in the recovery room, I could TELL the gallbladder was gone. The sensation of something sitting in my side was gone. Even though things were kind of painful and touchy, THAT particular pain/sensation was completely and totally gone. The doctor told my husband that by the condition of the gallbladder, he could tell I had been in pain a LONG time. Really? Huh. Shocking.

My mom came down and helped us through the opening days which was awesome. She is so good with the girls and can keep M3 in check for the most part. After a couple days, M3 gets the best of anyone who tries to be helpful to other people or engage M3 in tasks, etc. I'm sure by the time Mom left she was glad to have some M3-free time.

The first day home was rough. I was so tired and I thought I would sleep. I became a little wound when I arrived home, though, because there were things my husband needed me to do for some reason (pay bills online, line up rides for the girls, etc) and it ramped me right up. Even with regularly dosed Vicodin, I only dosed for a few minutes at a time until 3 a.m. the following morning when he left for work. Then, I was OUT. At 7:30, a little friend of M2's who we had been watching in the morning for a few hours that week, arrived and rang the doorbell. No one answered it the first 5 times. It finally jarred me from sleep and I realized in rapid succession: 1) doorbell; 2) M2's friend; 3) answer it! and I leapt from bed. The next rapid succession of realization? 1) Why am I covered in pillows? 2) OWWWWWW! 3) Why am I crumbling to my knees? 4) Who sliced my guts open?! Oh, that's right--I HAD SURGERY 24 HOURS AGO.

Yeah. That was interesting.

I was able to sleep in some bigger chunks and only had one rough patch where I think I was simply dehydrated--I had slept too long Thursday afternoon/evening and wound up with a headache and feeling nauseated. By Friday night, I was able to be up and in charge when my husband went to his evening shift. Saturday, I was up all day and even ventured to CVS. Today, I was up all day and took M2 to a goodbye party for her little friend who is moving to Arizona, took M2 to a nice dinner and then played in the backyard with her while we tried out our new fire ring. It was a nice night.

I'm not going to lie. I know that I enjoyed being out of the loop and away from caring for M3 entirely too much. It was WONDERFUL to sit in quiet. To read an entire book on my Kindle. To not have that ghostly presence anywhere around. To be able to hold a conversation without her eavesdropping. It was just nice. No other word for it. I am looking forward to feeling that way all the time. I know that I was relaxed. My blood pressure didn't feel wonky. And, the closer I got to the time I had to descend the stairs and rejoin the fray, the more agitated and worked up my insides became. That isn't good.

I'm returning to my job tomorrow. We run a first day simulation for our bar exam takers. M1 is with her dad's family because her new baby sister was born Monday--the same day M2 celebrated her birthday! Two sisters on the same birthday...very fun. That means if I want to be there before the exam commences, I need to take M2 and 3 with me in the morning because my husband will never be home early enough for me to be there on time. I hate that. M2 could be a help and be silent. M3 will be a conspicuous mess. I don't know what is worse--leave my boss with a hole in her line-up for an hour (she told me to take my time and only arrive when I feel able b/c she doesn't want me rushing my recovery, but I'M ready...my home life isn't, but what else is new?!) or take M3. I am sure the answer is taking M3. It will be much more trouble than it is worth--it always is.

 

I Have Gall

I've been hearing from my gallbladder more and more lately. I can't remember if I've written about the loveliness that is a gallbladder attack, but it is nothing short of breathtaking.

An ultrasound confirmed that I have gallstones and after playing "call your primary care physician's office four times to get them to finish what you started" (namely, to send over the necessary paperwork for the surgeon's appointment I scheduled on my own), I'm scheduled to see a surgeon tomorrow afternoon for a pre-operative appointment.

Coincidentally, a friend who shares my sense of humor and understands me like few do, sent me this lovely gallbladder from I Heart Guts. This is a riot, frankly. I couldn't wait to pose for a photo with my replacement gallbladder (see how much more nicely this one's attitude is?) and post it to Facebook. I should have taken it with me when I had to visit the ER in the wee hours of Thursday morning.

I have a very bad habit of trying to make others comfortable in potentially uncomfortable situations. As  in, I have shown up at the nearly empty ER at 3 a.m. wearing my pajama pants, a blousey t-shirt, flip flops and nothing else. You have presented me with a backless gown and a sheet and I realize--I have on no underpants. Yeah. So, that's why Mom always says to be sure you're wearing clean underwear in case you have to go to the hospital.

I have left the house without underpants exactly twice in my life. Neither have gone well. The first was an ill-fated trip to pick up my almost-husband when he returned from a month in Nicaragua on an Army mission. Short skirt. High heels. Trench coat. No underpants. Aaaand, a three hour delay. Nowhere really to go or do but sit perched on the edge of one of those Cracker Barrel rocking chairs they had put in the baggage claim/ticketing area for people post-911 when you weren't allowed to go sit in the terminal eateries or gate areas anymore. Not fun. At all.

This ER visit was much the same and I found the hospital staff to be quite engaging. This led to chitty chatting over the pain in my side that made it difficult to breathe and me cracking jokes about how I'd been living on watermelon for weeks but that it had turned on me the day before--this was TRUE, but my tone made it sound like I was joking, I suppose. I also had sky high blood pressure the ENTIRE time we were there. I pray to God that is a product of the pain itself and will go away when the gallbladder does. But, I have a sinking feeling it is a product of the ridiculous home situation we find ourselves in and that something more than my gallbladder will need to go before it rights itself. I just need it to because I have big plans that do not allow for high blood pressure being a factor.

Tomorrow, I will need to be dead serious that this thing needs to come out, immediately if possible, so I can return to my normal life. Eating next to nothing, drinking pretty much only water, and using pain medications so I can try and sleep is just not cool. If I have an attack or feel one coming on during the day, I'm screwed because the Vicodin isn't really conducive to things like working at your office, driving home from your office or taking your kids to any of their number of activities. It's no way to live--in fear of the next attack, knowing that every one that happens is one step closer to your ducts being blocked or some other emergency situation cropping up that would require major (rather than the easier, less invasive) surgery.

I am hoping the gallbladder coming out will be the first in a long line of things that need addressing actually BEING addressed and that this fall is a clean slate for this ENTIRE family.

Holiday Weekend Fun

Usually, we don't miss fireworks. Even when Brian is deployed, we go. But, this is the second year in a row that we have missed them. Last year, it was because Brian was in the hospital recovering from his horrible eye injury. This year, it's because we have a child who we send to bed earlier than most and we don't desire to have her awake and about after that bedtime because her already ridiculous behavior borders on unbearable. So. We don't go. And, M2 misses out on fireworks...just another holiday tradition we have sacrificed because of M3's presence. No one enjoys it or feels much compassion about it anymore.

There you go! The promised one-paragraph of woe and angst over daily living in the household. Now, on to other things.

Say "Hello!" to my little friend.

We purchased this firearm prior to the Iraq deployment. The plan was for us to have lots of time for target practice, etc., and maybe even a conceal and carry class.

But, alas. As most ramping up to deployments go, we ran out of time and motivation to do much of anything related to this carefully researched and planned purchase.

My family is full of individuals who have chosen a career path in law enforcement. I'm the only lawyer in the bunch. [Insert joke here]

My husband swears that target practice is a stress reliever. Something about holding a potentially deadly weapon in my hand is a little more anxiety producing for me than relaxing at this stage, but I'll take his word for it. Because I can't run right now (gallbladder less than cooperative), he offered to take me to the sportsmen's club where he is a member to go through a couple rounds of live fire target practice.

So, whatever. Okay. I'm game.

It should be noted that I am barely even a novice at firing a weapon, even my own. But, I intend to get better. First, I'm competitive, so I'd like to be able to do better than hitting a broad side of a barn when my husband and I are shooting. Second, how often in life do you actually have a chance (at nearly 40) to learn a new skill? Third, it's someting we can do together. That's always a plus.

I have to work on my stance. After posting a photo of myself to my Facebook page, my sister offered that I should imagine I'm ready to bump a volleyball. Start there and then put your arms in place. I can  do that.

I will practice in the mirror because I know what I should look like, but I can't really tell that I don't look like that when I'm standing there--it's all pretty new.

My ear protection, it should be noted for the record, matched my shirt. That was not on purpose, but I did notice.

I post this photo, not because I'm doing anything particularly interesting, but because you can check out the fact that I'm wearing a pair of cropped pants that I've not worn since 2008 and, even then, they were tight.

The top I'm wearing is really blousey, so it isn't all that flattering in the photos, but I've lost about 10 pounds. That should be documented because, let's be serious, once this gallbladder thing is worked out, it will probably all come back and I'll have to be running blocks and blocks to make it go away again.

I'm very happy to report that after a few instances of not seeing my bullet go through the board (who knows where it wound up) and even more of seeing it somewhere other than in a desirable area on the target, I was able to put together a handy little shot in an area that was quite respectable.

My husband said that I "went all Charlie's Angels on it" which is, I think, high praise.

It was like hitting a golf ball far the first time and realizing that the little white ball waaaaaay out there was YOURS! Wow!

This was a matter of process of elimination. My husband's shots (of course) are on the red or near it. My other shots are too far away to even see them.

I used a handy little app on my Droid that lets me add captions to my photos that I take on my phone. So, I could point out exactly which hole had my name on it.

Nostalgic for the Funny

I read this blog post a couple weeks ago when a friend posted the link to Facebook. I laughed until I nearly cried. It was just so funny and once I'd read it, posted the link to my husband's Facebook page and commented on the original link posting, I realized why I liked it so much--it reminded me of something I would have done and that I would have written before my life turned upside down.

Here is a one paragraph update on where we are (a length I'd like to restrict myself to when I write) and then I want to memorialize the things that actually matter and that I need to concentrate on so I can survive the crap in this paragraph:

My husband still can't see from his right eye. A year ago today, we were in the medical center at Ohio State. M3's two-week respite to California in early June turned into less than five days and a demand from me as not only her legal mother, but also a licensed attorney that she be returned to this state forthwith. The family who had been vouched for nine ways to Sunday was headed by a woman who turned out to be quite the kook case. And, no, that's not libel when it's the truth. When you know a child has been traumatized and you have a photo of a person in your possession who did part of the traumatizing and you show the traumatized child the photo even after her parents have told you we don't discuss that part of her life based upon the advice of her therapist, you deserve to be called more than a kook. But this is a famiy blog and I'm sure I've cemented my ticket to Hell with all the names I called her when I'd learned what she'd done to my daughter. M3 has been a mess since she returned; we also spent the last weekend of June in Shriner's with her for her first surgery on her burned hand [an injury she suffered in Ethiopia]. We were treated like just this side of criminals by nearly every healtcare professional we came in contact with there. Aside from an uncontrollable case of hives, we were nonplussed. We're kind of used to it--our own family has treated us similarly, so whatevs. No one had heard of Reactive Attachment Disorder and no one wanted to believe that little sweetiepie princess is a budding sociopath. Nope. Poptarts, syrupy pancakes and milkshakes were the order of the day--she came home and refused to eat for a week thinking we'd give in and start whipping up milkshakes too. We are actively searching for a new family for her and praying one will be found before we all go absolutely bonkers. And, my gallbladder has stones. I am in pain pretty much all the time and I cannot eat anything without experiencing greater discomfort. I've not eaten a decent meal in about two weeks. I'm awaiting a surgery date. It is not cool in the least.

Okey doke. That's the real life that eats up 99.9% of my day. But, I don't want to dwell on that all the time. It bums me out and pisses me off to no end. I want to get on with it and have time in my day for moments of joy and things worth remembering.