There's a common saying many of us learn as children about the month of March: "In like a lion, out like a lamb." Or, "In like a lamb, out like a lion." The point is that March typically starts with one weather extreme and ends with the opposite. Welcome to springtime in Utah! Well, for me personally, March certainly started like a lion.
It all started with cooking dinner. I had volunteered to take dinner to a friend Saturday evening, March 1st; I also invited my parents over for dinner. I made bbq pork ribs in the crock pot, some homemade cornbread, applesauce, and brownies for dessert. My mom contributed coleslaw. Since Richard had been out of town for the last few days, this was the biggest meal I had cooked (or eaten) for a few days. I will be the first to admit I have very little self control around good food, so I ate a tad more than I should have that evening. By 11:00 I was certainly feeling overly full, and decided it was time to go to bed and sleep off the discomfort.
After an hour or so of tossing and turning, I started feeling nauseous, and spent the next few hours in and out of the bathroom attempting to converse with the porcelain throne. Contact was finally made around 4 am Sunday morning, after which the stomach pain abated some and I was finally able to grab a couple hours of sleep before the kids woke up. We stayed home from church that day as I was definitely not up to going, Richard and Joel both said they had headaches, and Eliza felt like she was coming down with a cold. I chalked my illness up to overeating and didn't think anything more of it, other than to shy away from the leftover brownies.
The week progressed as usual, with school and work and play, until the wee hours of Thursday morning, March 6. I woke up around 3, 3:30 with identical stomach pain to what I had had the previous Saturday night. The pain was very intense in my upper stomach, with a huge knot just under my right ribs. Having known people with gallbladder issues, thanks to Facebook and an international mommy group I belong to, I figured this is probably what the problem was. I did some checking with Dr. Google, just to double check my symptoms, and I was able to check off more than half of the symptom list.
By this time the pain was fairly intense . . . OK, it was worse than being in labor, to be honest. Contractions will at least come and go, and vary in intensity. Gallbladder attacks are constant, stabbing, sharp pain that does. not. quit. So I woke Richard up around 5 and asked him to take me to the emergency room, since I didn't feel up to waiting another 3 hours for the family doctor's office to open. He called my parents, and my dad came over to be there when the kids woke up. I told him not to worry about getting Joel and Eliza off to school, showed him where breakfast food was and which TV channels were OK to watch; we packed Regan up to go with us, since she wouldn't take a bottle and I didn't want my dad to have to worry about a crying baby along with the other kids.
Thankfully, IMC is about 5-7 minutes away from home, and the Emergency Room was empty when we walked in. I explained my symptoms, got my wristband, and was taken to a triage room and gowned up. When the nurse came in to start an IV and draw blood, I asked her if they see many patients with gallbladder pain, and she said they see loads. Then I asked if they (the hospital personnel) prefer patients to come to the ER or see their regular doctor for these episodes; the nurse responded that it is usually better to come to the ER since they have diagnostic tools and equipment right there on site, as well as access to better pain management medicine. This helped set my mind at ease about paying a ginormous copay for the ER rather than toughing it out until the regular doctor's office opened.
Richard used my phone to text one of the other carpool moms to drive kids to school, since it was our week to drive, and explained that I was in the ER with what looked like gallbladder pain. The ER doctor came in and after one brief conversation about my symptoms and listening to the description of both episodes, he came right out and said that's gallbladder alright. He poked and prodded my stomach a bit, which was all well and good until he got to the upper right quadrant where the pain was centered. OUCH! This only further confirmed his diagnosis, and he ordered an ultrasound to get an inside look. A tech came in with a portable ultrasound machine and jellied up my stomach; she did her thing, and was gone again in about 15 minutes with a promise that she would forward the information to the doctor as soon as she could.
Up until this point the pain had been fairly tolerable, I had even been conversing and joking with the nurse as she came in, but I think the doctor's prodding and the pressure from the ultrasound wand combined to set off a flareup that was more intense than anything I'd felt to this point. I had already had one dose of morphine and zofran, but the pain came back so suddenly and so intensely that I yelled at Richard to get me a puke bag, and he held my hair back out of my face and rubbed my back while I threw up. Which did nothing to help the pain. He called the nurse's station to request more medication, and the day shift nurse came in; he took one look at me and immediately went for more morphine and zofran. This repeated one more time, and after the third dose of medication I was finally able to settle back and rest somewhat comfortably.
The doctor came back in and said that the ultrasound showed gall stones, and explained that this is what caused the pain. The gallbladder is a storage pocket for bile, which is produced in the liver, and is then squeezed from the gallbladder to the stomach (or small intestine, I don't remember exactly which) to aid in digesting fatty, greasy, or otherwise hard to digest food. When the gallbladder contracts to release bile, it squeezes on the stones and causes horrible pain and nausea. The doctor explained that while it is possible to remove just the stones, it is not a viable long-term solution as more stones will form and then further surgery is required. So the best solution is to remove the gallbladder itself. I was told it's a fairly common surgery, and he knew a surgeon who operated out of St. Mark's Hospital who had an opening for a consultation that afternoon.
We went to a consultation and had repeated to us the function of the gallbladder and the symptoms and causes of gall stones and gallbladder disease. The surgeon explained the surgery to us, that it is done laporoscopically, which means smaller incisions, shorter recovery time, and is less invasive than traditional surgery. He explained the risks and possible complications and asked what we would like to do. After that morning's episode I was ready to go straight into an OR if necessary, since I absolutely did not want any further attacks. So we scheduled the surgery for Monday, March 10 and got the information for pre-registration, etc.
I notified friends and family (and Facebook friends, of course!) of the coming operation, but was surprised about how quickly the news spread throughout the ward. So many people at church on Sunday commented their surprise at my attendance, asked how I was feeling, and how they could help. I already had one good friend who had offered to bring dinner Monday after surgery, and I had lined up child care for that day as well. Several of the Young Women volunteered to come after school during the week, and the Compassionate Service Leader from the Relief Society called and lined up two more days' worth of dinners. I truly have felt so blessed and loved by the people around me!
Richard took me to St. Mark's Hospital early Monday morning; we arrived at 6 am for registration. Signed papers, paid a deposit, got the fancy wristband ID and went up the elevator to pre-op. I gowned up in what has to be the largest hospital gown I have ever worn, and got situated on the bed. The nurse came in and walked through the procedure for getting to the operating room, told Richard where he would wait, and drew some blood. By 7:30 I was in pre-op triage, meeting my OR nurse and anesthesiologist. I asked the anesthesiologist about breastfeeding after the surgery, and she said if I was comfortable with it I could feed Regan after one pump-and-dump, but didn't need to go longer than 12 hours. This was reassuring, as Regan absolutely refuses a bottle and I didn't want her to be too miserable all day. She started my IV, I kissed Richard, and he went one direction to the waiting room while I was wheeled another direction to the operating room.
Once in the operating room I transferred from the rolling bed to the operating table, which was much harder and narrower. My arms were extended to the sides and strapped down for ease of monitoring my vitals and maintaining anesthesia levels. That's the last thing I remember, until I woke up in the recovery room. I could hear nurses talking, but couldn't keep my eyes open for almost half an hour; I only know the length of time because there was a clock on the wall opposite my bed. I kept asking for water, the nurses said I kept saying "parched." My tongue was fuzzy and about three sizes too big, and I just felt so . . . parched. When I was able to stay awake and speak more coherently, I was moved back to the pre-op area where Richard was waiting for me. My IV was removed, I got dressed, got my discharge instructions and was wheeled out to the curb where Richard brought the car. I was home by about 11:30 or noon Monday.
So here I am, one day past surgery, with four small incisions: one in my belly button (they do that to minimize scarring, I guess) where they inserted a camera to see what they were doing; three just under my right breast where they did the dirty work. No stitches, just steri-strips under bandaids. The bandaids can come off tomorrow, the tape will come off on its own over the next week. I live in the recliner for now, with brief trips to the bathroom and kitchen. Richard brings Regan to me when it's time for her to eat, but I mostly just sleep off and on, watch TV, and try to read a little bit.
That's the story of how I lost my gallbladder, when March roared in like a lion. I sincerely hope and fervently pray the rest of the month will be uneventful and lamb-like. I am, however, somewhat grateful for the last 11 days and the lessons I have learned about self-restraint and over-indulging, as well as being humble enough to accept help when it is offered. I have also learned just how loved and blessed our family is by our friends and neighbors and ward members. I love being surrounded by so many wonderful people - not to mention good cooks! - and hope to be able to offer them service as well, to keep the wheel turning.
