One of my friends is getting her gall bladder removed today. I would probably be super worried about her if I hadn’t had the same surgery a few years ago. (Not to say I’m not thinking of her, I am just not obsessively worrying.) Apparently, if you are going to be operated on for the first time, having your gall bladder removed is the way to go.
I don’t remember much about the actual surgery that took place on my innards, but I do remember the pain that got me there in the first place. I had experienced a couple episodes of discomfort-bordering-bad pain in my chest which I originally chalked up to gas pains. These probably occurred months apart.
Then one Friday night, after dining on homemade meatball subs with Aaron, my chest started to hurt. BAD. I tried some GAS-X. Nothing. Tried “going”. Nothing. In fact, the pain was increasing.
Aaron asked if we needed to go the hospital and I eventually said yes. (I had a heart condition when I was born so whenever something funny goes on in that area of my anatomy I freak out just a little on the inside and pretend to be tough on the outside.) But first, I needed to change my clothes.
This perplexed Aaron then, and I believe still perplexes him now. Why did I need to change my clothes? For starters, I was in my pajamas already. It was Friday night before 9 and I had been ready for bed for hours. Also, they judge you at the ER. Sure its supposed to be triage, but even ER admissions judge by the covers.
I quickly changed back into what I wore to work that day and we headed calmly to the hospital. Too calmly. I remember the traffic being light enough that we could have run a few red lights on the way to the ER and been fine. This is where I introduce a double standard into the evening and wonder why Aaron isn’t violating any traffic laws while his wife might be having a heart attack for Pete’s sake! Jammies. Red Lights. Jammies. Red Lights… tough call.
Turns out chest pains carry a lot of clout as far as getting service at the ER. I had the best nurse. Might have had a crush on him during my middle of the night rendesvous. Before our adventure was over I had been treated to an ineffective “GI cocktail” and a round of ultrasounds. If I have ever been writhing in pain, this night was the night. There was no comfortable position.
Eventually the pain subsided and the shifts changed at the hospital. By the time I was comfortable again we were exhausted and ready to go home. I think we made it back around 3 am. Gall bladder still in tact. It wasn’t taken out for another month or so. Fortunately I never had another attack.
Best wishes, Amanda!