(Disclaimer: I know you are probably completely OVER this topic. I apologize. I promise I will stop talking about it. After this post. Or a follow up post or two. I promise. The end is coming… eventually.)
Tomorrow morning I will have surgery to remove my gallbladder. It’s not a big deal, really. People have this surgery all the time. It’s going to be laparoscopic, so I’ll have 4 small cuts instead of a huge line. Apparently they will make the cuts, blow my stomach up like a balloon (now try to get that visual image out of your head), remove the gallbladder, and then deflate me.
Deflate. How attractive. Sounds so flatulent.
In the last few days and weeks, I have had a lot of friends share bits and pieces of advice over the whole ordeal. Things like “take it slow” and “introduce fats slowly” and “watch out for explosive diarrhea.”
Explosive what?! Awesome.
Some stories are encouraging, some are a little frightening. My brother seems to be really concerned with the fact that I’m having to get it removed and it makes me feel like I have failed my gallbladder somehow. I’m sorry, Ol Gally. I didn’t realize that delicious pizza was a silent killer. I didn’t know that ice cream made you convulse. Ol Gally, can I get you back?
I’m sorry, I’m a little tongue-in-cheek today. Perhaps my anxiety is making me snarky.
The thing is, before my c-section, I had never been in a hospital before. I had never experienced surgery. I don’t really even have a regular doctor. I don’t get sick easily, and if I do, it’s only a virus and I’m far too frugal to spend money at a doctor’s office when all I really need is some NyQuil. When I had the surgery to deliver Belle, I was in labor. It wasn’t like I could get up and walk out of there and say, “No thanks. I’m not having this baby.” My sweet baby was in distress and she needed out. I wanted them to get in there and get her. I had no fear.
But this routine surgery? It’s different.
I’m a mother now. I kiss boo-boos and chase away monsters. That girl needs me, and I love her more than anything I ever thought possible. On the day Belle was born, my first college roommate died of a brain aneurysm, leaving behind her 4 month old little girl. I think of Heather a lot. I never thought about mortality before I became a mother. I mean, I believe in where I am going after this life — but now that I have responsibilities on this earth – I don’t want to be torn from them one second before I have to.
I know it seems so silly. It’s no big deal, right? But if I’m honest, and if we are all honest, isn’t that our biggest fear? To be torn from our children and spouse too soon?
Also, after my surgery, B is going to stay with family for several days. This is her first time away from me for more than 24 hours – and while I have no doubt in my mind that she is going to be taken care of (even better than I could!) I get a little anxious thinking about it. I’m going to miss the little toot! (Although I’m still mad at her for shattering my apothecary jar yesterday!)
If you pray, please pray for me before you go to bed tonight. Or if you wake up early, say a prayer then for me. After I tweet my first heavily-drugged tweet about something like unicorns, you can remind me of how it was “no big deal.” I will agree with you.
Until then, I hope I’m not the only person that lets things like this plague me!