Yesterday I ended up in the hospital until 4am because my gallbladder is an inefficient fucking murderer.
This is the second time in the last three months that my gallbladder decided to be a big old bastard and so I told the ER doctor that I wanted him to yank it out immediately, but he wouldn’t because he fucking loves gallbladders and acute pain, and also because he’s not a surgeon and didn’t have any knives available.
I’m going to meet a real surgeon this morning and I’m bringing my own spork because if he doesn’t dig this thing out of me then I’m just going in for it myself, because my father had the same thing and he waited until his gallbladder EXPLODED, for fuck’s sake. And yes, most doctors prefer the term “ruptured” but I’m pretty sure “ruptured” is just latin for just letting shit explode inside of you like a time bomb.
Also, I called for directions to the surgeon’s office this morning and the receptionist told me to just look for the door labeled “San Antonio Colon and Rectal” and I hesitated for a bit and was like “Um…I don’t think I want my gallbladder removed that way” and she laughed and said they just hadn’t changed the labeling on the doors yet, and that technically if they did remove my gallbladder through my rectum there probably would be less scarring.
I’m not entirely sure if I’ve picked the right doctor or not.
More later if I’m not dead.
Alright, so I’m back from the doctor and he was very nice and professional and is planning on pumping me full of carbon monoxide or dioxide (the one doesn’t kill you) and yanking out my gallbladder through my bellybutton. He didn’t speak perfect english but I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. Also, he said that he was going to remove the gallbladder using cutlery and then I was like “Cutlery? Like fish forks and dessert spoons?” and he shook his head and pointed to the comic book he’d used to explaining the procedure and I realized he was saying “cautery“, which makes much more sense. So, awesome.
Also, I asked if I could keep my gallstones so I could make a necklace out of them and he said that he couldn’t do that because new regulations are assholes, and that he couldn’t even give the people who’d been shot the bullets he dug out of them because it’s considered “medical waste” once it’s been in your body. Which seems weird because my daughter came out of my body and they totally let me take her home. And some people even bring home their placentas and make people eat it (seriously…that’s a thing) and no one ever complains about that. (Except for the people who have to eat placenta, probably.) I explained that I was pretty sure that wearing my gallstones was less offensive than making your family unwittingly eat your placenta and the doctor agreed with me and said he’d totally had this same argument a dozen times, which seems like an odd argument to have more than once. He did though, agree to take lots of pictures and share them with me. And my friend Maile offered to come take pictures of the surgery and I almost took her up on it because she’s an amazing photographer, but then I remembered that after the surgery the doctor pushes all of the leftover carbon-whatever gas out of your belly button and I don’t think I’d want anyone who I know in real life to witness me forcibly farting out of my bellybutton, because even your very best friends would never let you live that down.
Surgery is a week from today.
Wish me luck.