Nobody's Perfect Surgury
Since I overworked myself yesterday...I'm keeping this short.
The reason I took such a long break last year was due to the fact that I went undercover as a secret CIA agent and rescued James Bond from the Queen of England, and the last remaining ashes of King Tut the 22th from being thrown into the Thames.
No...of course I didn't.
I had my "gallbladder" removed, because, it was told to me by just about five doctors, that I had a HUGE gallstone that would someday blow up inside me, destroy the planet Krypton, and make me a prime candidate for the next FINAL DESTINATION sequel, If I did not have it removed, I would someday pass out on a table, and out would jump...most of my intestines, a little monster dancing with a top hat and cane, and the marble I swallowed when I was three.
So, there I was in June (see picture of me in tree) not feeling too well, and by the time November came, it was decided that I did NOT have an ulcer, but a giant...gallstone. Too big to pass.
"Oh forget it, that will NOT move."
My itty- bitty doctor, (she weights all of 101 pounds) who had hers taken out many years ago...assured me that in four days she was back on the treadmill, looking beautiful.
Easy for her to say.
Now, before you make the mistake of thinking that obesity is the cause of GALLSTONES...I hate to break it to you. The people of India, a land of probably the most skinniest people on the planet, suffer immensely from gallstones.
Okay, I eat one cookie a day. Just one. What? Is that what made this abomination that is killing me?
The doctor laughed when his nurse told him I was the skinniest gallbladder patient this year...and it was December.
Anyway...I was hesitant, but it hurt when I ate, no matter what I ate. Sometimes the pain was pretty intense.
I had a plan. I'd just stop eating. No problem. I'd save a bunch of money.
I also did research. I asked women in the grocery lines, in the library, at the mall, just about
everywhere I stood, I would turn and say to the nearest women: "I have a gallstone...and they want to CUT IT OUT!"
"Oh, I had mine removed...I had three the size of golf balls."
"Yes, me too. And they don't tell you...you have to pee a lot afterwards"
"Me too. My husband too. My sister had hers removed...and my cousin.."
You name it. NOBODY had their gallbladders, anymore. Well, if the whole world can do it...then so can I. So I did.
And this is what they do. They puncture three big holes in your belly, blow you up like a big balloon, push a bunch of clippers and camera's down through your belly button, clip off your gallbladder from your liver, and PULL it out through your belly button, sew you up with five stitches, throw you in a room for a few hours, pump a bit of morphine into your veins, and by dinner time, you walk out, after telling your roommate what a nice family she has, and your nurse to not ever go back to that crummy boyfriend who beat her up ..
The only thing they really don't tell you , is that within about three days your body goes--
"WHOA! Something is missing here! Where IS that guy! Bring him BACK!."
And your stomach swells up pretty much like a basketball, and protests, and tells you not to move too suddenly.
Right now, I'm in the "Tornado coming? Oh...let's have popcorn." stage of recovery.
The very fun part is: The pictures. My doctor came right out of surgery and handed these to my husband...(see globs of my insides) If YOU can tell me what that is: let me know.
But, besides all of that, this does bother me:
Why can't I have a nice picture of, for instance, a beautiful reindeer dancing through my veins instead of: a gallbladder that looks like either a penis, or a little white man from the planet "oh my god."
Okay, I'm going to say it.
I've think I've been circumcised.
Somewhere my poor little gallbladder is going... Why? Why? Why did you do this to me?
I can only say.."Like many things in life my little gallbladder...Nobody really knows."