Gall
/gɔl/ [gawl] –noun
1. impudence; effrontery.
2. bile, esp. that of an animal.
3. something bitter or severe.
4. bitterness of spirit; rancor.
Gallbladder:
A pear-shaped organ just below the liver that stores the bile secreted by the liver. During a fatty meal, the gallbladder contracts, delivering the bile through the bile ducts into the intestines to help with digestion. Abnormal composition of bile leads to formation of gallstones, a process termed cholelithiasis. The gallstones cause cholecystitis, inflammation of the gallbladder.
See those little yellow blobs labeled gallstones? I’ve got 2 of ‘em in me, and they’re hurting me, right…now. Still, as the day’s dose of painkillers slowly wears off, this is nothing close to the trials of yesterday, when I felt like one of those alien creatures was trying to erupt out of my right side. Not pleasant.
But where to begin? When the gallstones first made their entrance into my awareness, or when they were first formed in my ignorant (if not innocent) little gallbladder? What caused these little trouble-makers to start wreaking havoc, and could it happen to you?
Let me give you the warning signs before I go into my own story, just in case you’re in danger of this same gut-wrenching pain:
You may be predisposed to gallstones if…
-you are a woman
-you have gallstones in the family
-you eat a high-fat diet
-you are native american
-you are older (older the person, higher the chance)
-you are obese
-you take birth control or hormone therapy (watch out for Plan B here too)
-you have been pregnant
-you have been on a fast or very low-calorie diets
Yes, dear friends, it seems as though the fasting and cleansing I’ve been doing has come back to bite me in the duodenum (yup, that hurt too yesterday). That, a family history of gallstones, a high-fat weekend with the extra evil last-touch of alcohol (also bad for the gallbladder) seem to have all concerted their efforts for the most high-reaching symphony of pain I have ever experienced.
It all started with a particularly nasty stomach ache on Sunday night after a crappy weekend. My cat died, I got drunk in his memory, and ate some nasty stuff that I don’t want to sully this blog by mentioning. Stomachache was so bad I could barely sleep. Monday was okay once I was up and moving, until bedtime hit again, and I was sleeplessly tossing and turning in pain. Unlike Monday, however, I had only been at school a couple of hours before I thought I couldn’t take it anymore. My fellow art teachers remarked on the particular shade of green I had turned before they sent me home. The pain skyrocketed as I attempted to drive home. Why? I wondered…I just ate, I supposed, and even though the handful of Saltine crackers were supposed to make me feel better, they had the exact opposite effect. Something inside me wanted out.
I got home, threw all my stuff on the floor and hurled myself at the toilet, hoping to vomit up whatever evil creature had taken up residence in my belly. No dice. Couldn’t barf if I tried. No #2 either-not that I was stopped up, all things had been operating well on that front all week. So I was desperate-nothing coming out but something obviously WRONG-at this point I am lying on the floor, shifting into every possible position only to find that nothing is comfortable, wailing like a baby in my empty house, mind too far gone with pain to even be able to wonder rationally what was happening to me.
I carried my poor belly like a victim of a stabbing over to the phone where I called the one person who I knew could make everything alright: my dad. Talk about the benefits of living at home. He said he’d be right over, and I found a moment of peace as I sat in complete stillness until he arrived. As soon as I moved a muscle, though, the pain was back again and continued, from the house to the clinic, from the clinic to the ER. After the usual hours of waiting and a much needed pain pill, I could think again.
Pain really sideswipes you, makes it impossible to think in anything close to a civilized way. My brain had reverted to the lower regions of fight or flight, and when I first heard the doctors mention my Gallbladder, I wanted that thing out of me. Stat. No questions, no “let’s check to make sure” tests: out. Now.
Still, the doctors were wiser than I, and recommended to wait since I wasn’t critical to get a second opinion and more blood work. An ultrasound had found 2 small stones in my gallbladder. It was official, and despite the relief of knowing why I hurt, I was still a bit stressed. A fantastic family turnout of well-wishes and even an aunt in the ER helped me calm down a bit though (along with the hydrocodone…). By then-10pm when we got out-I was really too tired to care.
After that kind of pain, you don’t care too much about what’s going to happen to your internal organs in the future, how your attempt at eating healthy has potentially stabbed you in the back, or even how you will ever eat again after the trauma of your last meal. Everything is AWESOME, because you don’t hurt anymore. A pretty simple equation. I went to sleep.
However, the simplicity of that first freedom from pain has evaporated, as has the medication I took this morning (and let me tell you, those organs you can’t imagine feeling right now, even if you tried? They can really stand out when they want to call your attention to something–as in the sharp pinch I’m feeling right now just below my liver–no a little higher, just below your right ribcage. There’s that gallbladder. Ouch) and I am left with so many questions…
Right now my surgery is planned for after our family cruise next week….will I just be on the verge of intense pain unless I’m on medication until then?
What does the gallbladder do exactly–like really? These Docs seem pretty eager to cut it out, but I’m only 24! Isn’t that a little soon for me to be loosing pieces?! Is the gallbladder really that unnecessary?
If I do lose my gallbladder, how are they going to do it?
What if I want to keep my gallbladder? Can I never fast again?
What are my alternatives to surgery?
I’ve gone from wanting my gallbladder out instantaneously to suddenly dearly wanting to keep it–do I have Stockholm Syndrome of the organs?
So much to think about, and it’s only 2010! 90 years to go to see 2100–this is going to be a lot of work :/
