So, I'm out of commission for a couple of weeks. Very early Friday morning, I woke up in so much abdominal pain that I asked Mr. Phyllis to take me the hospital.
A CT scan showed that my gallbladder was distended and also slightly infected. Apparently, I was passing a stone that got stuck and wouldn't go anywhere else. That tiny little organ was pissed off and demanding that I rethink where we were in our relationship.
It was the worst game of "uncle" I've ever played; I'll never know, exactly, where we went wrong. Was it something I said? Was it something he did? Was it just, sadly, that were just no longer compatible?
Only a few minutes after I began writhing in pain on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, I knew it was over. At that point, it didn't matter if was him or me. We couldn't last; we just weren't meant to be.
For a moment, I had hope that maybe GallBladder wasn't serious and was just playing games. But the Emergency Room surgeon in the Madison hospital was onto this ploy and told me the same thing I was already thinking: It didn't matter who was at fault. He betrayed me; the relationship was over, and I had to kick GallBladder out. I could no longer trust this entity who had been with me my entire life. My wise surgeon told me that he would remove GallBladder early the next morning; he went a bit further, assuring me that I was to stay at the hospital until after surgery. We just couldn't trust a a normally unnoticed but now duplicitous member of my digestive system to stay calm and not turn on me all over again with no backup plan.
I knew it was good advice, so I stayed. I sent Mr. Phyllis home to bring me a book, my laptop and some clean underwear. That was optimistic; I never even opened either of them. GallBladder had turned on me and, now, I had lost all interest in my hobbies and work; in fact, and I'm ashamed to say it, I wasn't even interested in watching television or listening to my favorite talk shows on SiriusXm. Sorry, John Fuglesang. (I still love you.)
So, I stayed put and am happy to report GallBladder never made a second attempt at staging another coup against my abdomen. He knew that even if he tried, The Nurse with the Good Drugs was there to protect me from anything he could have conjured up for me.
I don't like giving up on friends, especially life-long friends. But I realized quickly the Golden Surgeon was right. I could no longer trust my relationship with this tiny but mighty bile-storing gland. Pumping bile into my liver was HIS ONLY DAMN JOB, and I realized I simply no longer found trust him to give up and just go back to work.
My Surgeon in Shining Golden Armor came to my rescue early Friday afternoon and told me that the divorce could happen by the end of the day. I was relieved; I would not have to give GallBladder any more opportunities to hurt me again. He just wasn't stable, and the good doctor knew it.
And so it was that, by about 7 p.m. Friday, we were permanently divorced. GallBladder could never, ever hurt me again. I hope he burns in a big fiery hell along with bio-hazards that were heroically removed from other patients that day. Despite the pain he left behind when he was pulled away, I felt much better as I settled in for my first unplanned full night in a hospital room.
Don't get me wrong. The pain of his treachery remains; I've been dealing with it every day. But, as with every painful ending to a long-term relationship, it's getting better all the time. My husband, too, is relieved that GallBladder will never get between us again.
So, today I was able to spend most of my time sitting relatively upright on the couch and watching television. GallBladder's power over my feelings and moods are dissipating and I am, once again, enjoying life.
GallBladder's insolence also meant I could not participate this past Saturday in the Spring Open House at Historic Eleutherian College, where I was supposed to give a presentation. But my fellow board members said it was a good day and that we had a lot of visitors, regardless. I want to thank everyone who attended and I hope to see you all at our next event.
Rural hospitals in America are often extraordinarily understaffed, leaving residents nearby underserved. I've seen it happen up close and personal. Their small size also lends them to be underfunded; after all, profit is always the bottom line in any corporation these days. I am so grateful that King's Daughters' Hospital (now owned by Norton Hospital System) is only minutes from my house. Otherwise, I would have had to travel an hour or more to get the care I needed.
While my last visit back in February 2022 to the ER at King's Daughters' Hospital in Madison, Indiana, left a lot to be desired, I was given the best care I've ever had over this past weekend. The nurses and technicians, and the surgeon, Dr. Golden, and his associates were total professionals and I felt that I was in good hands the entire time. I thank them for that.
So, peeps, have a great week and be well!
Mine is definitely starting better than last week ended. I'll be back soon with more posts about my research into my own family history and the histories of families who lived in and around Madison, Indiana, over the past two centuries. All will be right with the world. :-)