In a few days, I’ll be having surgery to have my gallbladder taken out. I’m really not excited about it, and it’s taking all of me to not be a big baby about the whole thing.
I’ve had recurring pain in my shoulder, upper back and abdomen for a few years now, but never really knew what it was other than discomfort. I finally saw a doctor a few months ago who ran a battery of tests and discovered I had a lot of gallstones. Not surprising since every woman in my family has had their gallbladder removed, though they have all been gut wrenching, agonizingly painful, emergency surgeries. I always thought if I had to have my gallbladder taken out, I’d end up in the ER like they did, but lucky for me, they caught it before it went completely crazy. It’s painful and uncomfortable, but it’s not excruciating…yet.
I know. It’s minor. It could be a lot worse. I understand all of that. But that doesn’t mean I still can’t be a little afraid of what lies ahead.
I’m not afraid of the actual surgery itself. I don’t have fear that they’re going to accidentally destroy a vital organ or do anything catastrophic to me. I just don’t like surgery. Then again, if I did like surgery, that might be a little odd. I just hate the part where they wheel me away from my family. I cry. Always. (Okay, the two times I’ve actually had surgery) Family is comforting, and being taken away to a cold room with strangers is just not a fun time. I’m also not looking forward to the drugs. My body has low tolerance for pain medication or anesthesia, so I’m anticipating a rough wake up call post-surgery, but hoping for the best. Those are the silly, minor things that I worry and fret over. Like I said: It could be worse.
The surgery is scheduled for Friday the 13th (good thing I’m not terribly superstitious) at 9am. If everything goes as planned, I should be awake, alert and speaking under the influence of heavy narcotics to Chris and my parents by 2 or 3pm. I apologize in advance if anything inappropriate or silly comes out of my mouth while I’m on the drugs. Fingers crossed we’re home before rush hour – it would suck to drive from Arlington to Leesburg post-surgery in that traffic.
I’m ready to be done with Friday. I’m ready to get through the tears, get over the fear, not fight the anesthesia, and move on. I’m ready for Saturday, I’m ready for recovery and I’m ready to put this all behind me and just feel better.
Peace out, gallbladder.