Gall Bladder Blues (or Why I Didn't See "The Dark Night" This Weekend)

George Carlin once claimed that we shouldn't trust doctors, saying that "it's all a bunch of guess work in white coats." For the most part, I agree with him. I mean, really, how many people do you know who have been misdiagnosed and either suffered for years or completely ignored a serious condition because of it? Or, consider eggs. Traditionally they've always been good for you, and suddenly when I was in my teens we were told to avoid them. Then later we were told to avoid the yolks. Now some folks say the yolks are okay on their own without the whites, but only as part of some new diet fad. If the medical world had their shit together, I'd know how to make my omelet; and every elderly relative I have who breaks a bone wouldn't suddenly die of fuckin' pneumonia in a month. Once again, George is right and doctors are winging it. Sure, they go to school for years and most of 'em have a pretty decent success rate...but a guess is a guess.

However, there are times when one must throw caution into the wind, bite the bullet and go see a doctor. Sometimes it's because you've been hurt, and sometimes it's because you get really sick. The latter happened to my wife Valerie this past week.

Wednesday night, she couldn't sleep because of a severe stomach pain which crept into her back and made her puke a lot. Then it went away. Unfortunately, it came back on Thursday and it was worse. She got to the point where she couldn't sleep, couldn't stand up, couldn't keep anything down, and was relatively sure she might die. When she started making me promise that I'd finish Tessa's baby book, just in case, I began to suspect that this might not just be a stomach bug or food poisoning.

This conversation happened around three a.m.
Valerie: IT HURTS SO MUCH!!! Oh god oh god oh god (stop giggling you pervs, the woman was in pain)...David pray for me please!

Dave: 'Kay.

Dave says silent prayer asking God to help get her through this pain as quickly as possible. Valerie pukes. Dave thinks God has a weird sense of humor. The decision is made to go to the E.R.

So by seven-thirty a.m. it is determined that Valerie has a problem with her gall bladder. An ultrasound is taken, and a surgeon is to take a look and give an opinion. At this point we are led to believe that she'll be given some pain medicine and sent home, and we'll make a future appointment to remove the stones. Okay, fine.

By about nine a.m. we're being admitted and taken to a room, the surgeon deciding that stones or no stones Valerie's gall bladder is bad and needs to come out A.S.A.P. Now for those who don't know, the gall bladder basically assists the liver in processing fatty foods. Many people suffer from gall bladder attack for years before they have to have it out. At least, that's the best guess. Sometimes, though, women have the organ injured and inflamed during pregnancy, which is what happened to my wife.

The surgery is major, though not overly invasive. basically, they shove a camera up your belly button so they can see what they're doing (cutting down on the guess work part), cut some other holes to access the gall bladder, and pull it out the camera hole. Valerie's surgery went well, and by one o'clock the whole process is over. My wife is all drugged up, but also all better and facing just two weeks of recovery time.

So all in all, not the most fun Friday we've ever spent. Still, everything turned out okay. Sure, there was a lack of sleep, and the next few days are going to be a little difficult. In the end however, it's best that everyone is happy and healthy. As for the movie, I'll see it soon I'm sure. Besides, it can't be more interesting than sitting in a hospital room all day long, right? Right?