A week after Memorial Day, I found myself up most of the night with a wretched stomach ache. The next night too...and the night after that...and, well, you get the idea. It went away after a week and I thought I was good. Then it cropped up while we were on vacation. So I bit the bullet and went to the doctor.
Some blood work. A prescription. Still having pain. Abdominal ultrasound.
Blast. So I was referred to a surgeon. "See what he wants to do" they said. Um...have they never met a surgeon? Of course he wants to cut me open. It's what they do.
So that's happening. Friday morning. I'll get to what I'm calling "The Fake Hospital" (because it's just a satellite office) at 9:30 in the morning and leave there sometime that afternoon minus my gallbladder. It's an outpatient procedure. They take your organ and just send you home. Weird.
I'm slowly getting nervous about it. Partly because its surgery (whether they cut you wide open or just suck your gallbladder out through a straw, its still surgery) but partly because this doesn't guarantee a fix for my tummy issue. Doctors have to cover the butts now with the word "probably" - like this will "probably" take care of the pain in my stomach - instead of giving you real answers. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this is the real issue.
I'm pretty thankful that it's my gallbladder and not my liver again. My liver and I are coexisting nicely these day and I'd like to leave it that way.