I guess that if my gallstones had been rhinestones, we would be rich! But unfortunately they were just regular gallstones. The doctor said that my gallbladder was like a bag of marbles--it was totally full of stones, and some sediment had started leaking out into my bile ducts, so they had to flush everything out.
Greg and I went to the Springfield Clinic on Thursday, March 12, at about 11:00 a.m. We waited for a little while, and then they took me back to a little room surrounded by curtains. I had been doing okay while I had Greg to tell me that everything would be fine, but I kind of started to freak out after they took me back to the room. I remembered Mom's advice to focus on happy things, so I started thinking about all of the fun trips she and I have taken together, the fun family trip we had to Nauvoo this past summer, my fun wedding, and the wonderful excursion Greg and I had to visit the Agates in South Carolina last month. Thinking about the South Carolina trip reminded me of my first gallbladder attack at Kennesaw Mountain, Georgia, which helped remind me exactly why I was sitting there in a hospital gown--because I didn't want any more gallbladder attacks. Then I started to freak out again, so I tried to focus on all of the yummy foods I would be able to eat once my gallbladder was gone--but that didn't keep me calm for very long.
So then I started thinking about how the surgeon's name was Orlando Icaza--kind of like the movie star crush of my teenage years: Orlando Bloom. I fell in love with him when he played Legolas in the "Lord of the Rings" movies and Will Turner in "Pirates of the Caribbean." But that didn't help very much either because Dr. Icaza came into my little curtain room and told me that the operating room would be ready in a few minutes--and I remembered that he was not Orlando Bloom. By this time it was about 1:15 p.m. My surgery had been scheduled to start at 12:35, but they were a little behind. Then the nurse came in to insert my iv. This did not go over very well. She started sticking the needle into my left hand, and I was trying to focus on something else, but I started feeling really dizzy. I said, "I'm not feeling so hot," and she yelled to the nurses outside the curtain room: "Guys, I need help in here! I'm losing this one!" So then two other nurses came running in. One lifted up my legs; the other pushed my chair back so that the blood would go back into my head, and they both stuck a throw-up dish in front of me (luckily I ended up not needing it). I began sweating and shaking profusely, so one of them got me a heated blanket while the other started fanning my face. My face went totally white, so they ran and got a cold washcloth to put on my forehead. Meanwhile Nurse #1 was still trying to get the iv to go into my hand without much success. So she tried my wrist--but still no success. Finally Nurse #2 taped up the various needle wounds on my left hand and inserted the iv into my right hand. If I was not freaked out before (which I was), I certainly was now.
So the iv was in, and they started pumping me full of something to calm me down. Both of my hands were tingling so bad that I couldn't feel and/or move them. I asked what was wrong with my hands, and they said that it was just anxiety. Just when I had finally started to kind of calm down, another nurse came in and told me it was time to go to surgery. I had to walk down to the operating room carrying my own iv bag and trying not to pass out. By the time I got to the operating room I was crying--probably because I was so scared. (I'll admit that when it comes to medical things--and other things--I am not very brave.) The anesthesiologist tried to assure me that everything was going to be okay as they STRAPPED ME DOWN to the operating table. (More fear and anxiety!) I remember them bringing a mask towards my face and then . . . nothing.
The next thing I remember is seeing a blurry version of Greg's face looking at me. Then all of my muscles seized up and I started to panic and try to sit up. Luckily Greg was there to help me lay back down and relax. I did not know who or where I was, but then it all started to come back to me. Then a nice nurse came in and asked how I was doing. I said, "I feel weird," and she said, "Yes, you're going to feel drunk for the next few hours." (I've never had the desire to get drunk, but now I am completely confused as to why
anyone would ever want to get drunk. I felt terrible!) Then I think I fell asleep for a while. The next time I woke up the nurse and Greg helped me get dressed. I remember the nurse asking if I wanted to keep the funny blue socks they had given me at the hospital, then I remember being wheeled out to the car and the nurse telling me that I could keep the pillow I was using, then . . . nothing. I don't remember anything else until I talked with Mom on the phone later that evening (and I don't really remember what I said in that conversation). I do remember happily taking some Vicodin they had prescribed for me. I also remember Greg making me a strawberry milkshake which tasted divine, but then I don't remember much else.
I think I woke up sometime on Friday and took more Vicodin. Pretty much everything until yesterday is just kind of a big blur. I remember watching a lot of episodes of "Perry Mason" and reading part of the fun Lincoln book that Mom sent me. One evening Greg and I watched a really funny movie called "UHF." In this case, laughter was not the best medicine because it was extremely painful to laugh, but the movie sure was funny. I think it was Saturday before I could shower. I was glad to shower because my stomach STUNK!! Greg said I smelled like dead people. I don't know what a freshly deceased person smells like, but I would imagine that he was right. Between the bandages, the iodine, and whatever else was on there, it was yucky. Showering helped me feel a bit better. Mostly I have just been sleeping, taking pain pills, watching movies, reading, and getting up to walk around so that my muscles will get better more quickly. I have four incisions on my stomach--with the biggest and grossest one located right under my sternum.
I guess that I am feeling a little better today because I am sitting here answering phones at the funeral home while Greg and all of his co-workers are at a funeral. It seemed like at least 150 people died since I went in for surgery on Thursday (not really that many), but despite being busy, Greg has taken very good care of me. The funeral home people are quite brave to trust me with answering the phones, as I am still a little loopy. I keep forgetting where I put things and stuff like that. I also seem to ramble mindlessly about things--as you can tell from reading this blog post.
Anyway, I think life will be better without my gallbladder. Lyndon B. Johnson had his gallbladder removed, and James K. Polk even had his gallbladder removed
without anesthesia! As gross as anesthesia makes me feel, I am grateful for it. Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers!
Lily knows that she is not supposed to jump up onto the dining room table--she gets a squirt from the water bottle when she does. But she has started doing something really funny. It's very naughty of her to do, but it looks so funny that we can't help but laugh when she does it. When she sneaks onto the table and sees someone coming with the water bottle, she immediately runs to the napkin basket and tries to hide. You would think she would figure out that a basket is not an effective hiding place, but she still tries it. I can understand why she likes the napkin basket though--it is very cool. Mom made it for Grandma, and Grandma and Mom gave it to me. It looks perfect on our dining room table (without a kitty in it)!
