I left my gall bladder in San Francisco
(Alt text: A heart-shaped adhesive diaper type thing dated, literally, with a Sharpie, 11/1/21. There is also a lip balm in the photo to show scale.)
Monday I had emergency surgery to remove my gall bladder. 24 hours later I was discharged from the hospital. I’m home now.
People are calling and texting, and I can’t remember who I’ve told what, so I’m dumping it all here, FAQ style.
Q: What the fuck happened?
A: I have no idea. I woke up Sunday morning and my stomach hurt. I took it easy Sunday, hoping I could sleep it off, but it got worse Sunday night, and I also had a fever, so around 6:30 Monday morning I called Kaiser’s 800 number. The advice nurse or whoever I was talking to conferenced in a doctor. She asked me a hundred questions, including does it hurt if I apply any pressure to the upper right part of my abdomen. Holy fuck yes, wow, ouch. She said, “This is probably your gall bladder and I want you to go to the emergency room as soon as you can.” I called a Lyft. I have since learned that gall bladder crises are common for women in their 40s, especially if they’re overweight. I’ve got 10 or 15 extra pounds on me, so maybe that counts? I dunno.
Q: Has anything like this ever happened to you before?
A: Ten or 12 years ago, I had stomach pain for a week. It started out annoying-but-manageable in the morning, got worse by the hour, and by the end of the day I was on my couch in the fetal position. When I finally called Kaiser, they did 5000 tests on my blood and came back with “excellent health except dangerously low iron and Vitamin D.” I started taking a multivitamin and everything went back to normal, until this past weekend. I was honestly expecting the doctor on the phone to tell me to go get my blood taken and then go eat some spinach.
Q: How long were you in the emergency room?
A: Long enough to know that the old man next to me (we were separated by curtains) had the world’s largest hemorrhoid, and if it was cut off there would be a lot of blood. On the other side of Hemorrhoid Man was the Junkie, who told the staff he had Covid in January, had no interest in being vaccinated, and smoked weed all day every day.
Q: Why surgery though?
A: After they drew blood, they wheeled me to a woman with an ultrasound machine. She was told to look at my pancreas, gall bladder, liver, and right kidney. Whenever that device rolled over the gall bladder area, it hurt like hell. The surgeon looked at the pictures and told me I had Cholecystitis. Everyone seemed surprised that I wasn’t vomiting from both ends. Whatever was on that ultrasound report was bad, but what the surgeon saw when she got in there, apparently that was much worse.
Q: What kind of surgery was it?
A: Laparoscopic cholecystectomy. They made four incisions, each a couple inches long. I did have to sign a paper first saying it was OK for them to “open me up” if the laparoscopic thing wasn’t enough. In hindsight, I should have told her, “While you’re in there, go ahead and remove the uterus and ovaries too. Let’s go full Marie Kondo on this bitch, especially with the expired stuff.”
Q: How do you feel now?
A: Woozy from meds. Glad to be home. Scared of laughing or coughing or sneezing because it could open the stitches or glue holding me together. I am so bloated I look like I am six months pregnant. I notice that I hunch forward when I walk, as if to protect my belly from more pain. I am working on being more aware of that and walking more upright. I can’t wait to be able to walk full speed again. But the worst pain is in my right shoulder.
Q: Why your shoulder?
A: You know that machine at the gas station that puts air in your car’s tires? I’m guessing they used a similar machine to blow me up like a goddamn balloon on the inside so they could see the right stuff to hack out. Some of that air is left in my shoulder, and the only way to get rid of it is to walk, says my surgeon. Yes: I am supposed to get my shoulder to fart.
Q: Drugs?
A: Oh yeah. My post-op pharmacy includes generic Tylenol, ibuprofen, antibiotics, and Oxy. Which I have not taken. I have a theory: If you are vocal about being terrified of Oxy and fantasize out loud about the violent medieval punishments you would like to personally carry out on every member of the Sackler family, they will give you a lot of it because they will assume you are not an addict. I am saving it for emergencies that I hope will never happen.
Q: Now what?
A: I have a post-op visit with a nurse in 2 weeks. In the meantime, I’m not allowed to exercise (other than walking), lift anything more than 20 pounds, or eat anything fatty. I am waiting for lab results. What’s the word when they look for cancer? I’m still loopy over here.
Q: How much is this gonna cost?
A: I am waiting for this question from my father because it was the first question he asked me when my dog was in the hospital. (Feelings? We don’t know her.) I did know enough to pitch a fit when I heard someone say the phrase “elective surgery.” Someone from the business office came to the ER and told me my deductible is $5K, and that I have a maximum out-of-pocket that is near $10K or something. Honestly, my blood pressure was very low at that point and things are fuzzy. My surgeon assured me this was NOT elective.
Q: What else?
A: My dad texted me “who is your surgeon, please ask him to call me.” My surgeon was a woman, and most of the nurses in the ER were men. Welcome to the 21st century.
Other things that happened in the ER: The most aggressively violent and invasive covid test I’ve experienced so far. I’m pretty sure he hit the back of my eyeballs with that thing. Another (gay, male) nurse shaved the top of my crotch area WITH A FLOWBIE before wiping my midsection down for three entire minutes (he timed it) with some antibacterial rag. Dude took his job very seriously. The surgery was three hours. I remember nothing after they put the mask over my face, but I’m told I had a breathing tube.
They also put this heart-shaped thing on my butt, or rather, right above my butt, that looks and feels like diaper material, but the purpose was to prevent bed sores. And they put my feet in these weird, heated bootie things, for reasons I was too high to understand.
My high school friends used to call me The Camel because I never had to pee. RIP Camel. All I do now is drink water and pee and look pregnant.
The Lyft app notified me that the first driver (who canceled, I guess) was deaf, and gave me a link to a prehistoric website for a crash course in American Sign Language. I love that idea, but the website sucked, and I kind of had bigger problems to worry about.
I just noticed a sticker under my ear, and I think that’s to manage nausea. I remember several lectures about washing my hands after I remove it. I probably received a lot of instructions before all the Fentanyl wore off.
Q: What is the good news?
A: I’m not allowed to eat any fatty food or have any alcohol for a long time. But I am still allowed to have coffee, thank fucking god. I am SO grateful for insurance and the incredible staff at Kaiser. And I hope I never have to see any of them again.
OK, time to go back to bed. Sorry if any of this grossed you out. I’ll have links next time.