Gallbladder Surgery

Following my routine physical with the routine blood draw, I received a call from my PCP's office. My bilirubin level was really high... three times higher than normal, so I needed an ultrasound to see what was going on. The nurse suggested I stop drinking and I told her I'd never had a drink in my life. She insisted she was just reading the instructions and said even if I just have a glass of wine with dinner, I should give that up until they can look into it more. Again I insisted I don't drink, but given my numbers, I got the feeling she didn't entirely believe me. 

The ultrasound tech was a huge guy with an eastern European accent. A few minutes into the ultrasound I asked if everything looked ok and he gruffly told me I would have to follow up with my doctor. The next day my doctor called just before 5. My phone was on silent so it rolled to voicemail. I called back and left a message since the office was closed and made a mental note to call again first thing in the morning. To my surprise, he called back immediately. Red flags go off in my mind if certain people are talking to me urgently after hours: a doctor and a policeman. Something was up.

The ultrasound showed that I had significant gallstones and my gallbladder was inflamed. My doctor asked why I wasn't doubled over in pain because according to the images, I should be. I felt around my abdomen and noticed a stiffness under my ribs on the right side I guess I'd been ignoring. He asked if the pharmacy on file was the closest one to me and if I could go immediately so I could start two very strong antibiotics to help with the inflammation. He also wanted to prevent the possibility of sepsis because I definitely needed surgery. Oh, also I would have to begin a diet void of any food with joy. No dairy, red meat, fat, sugar. A really fun diet to launch into just before the holidays!

On the surface I felt it was no big deal. This was such a routine surgery, everything would be just fine. In the back of my mind that comment about sepsis hung over me. If I died, that would ruin the holidays for my girls for the rest of their lives. The antibiotics left me feeling awful, the new diet was miserable, getting time off work was a nightmare and when the day finally arrived, I just wanted to get it over with. The Sunday before, a woman at church asked me when my surgery was and I told her and then she stopped, looked me right in the eye and said, "You're going to be ok." I burst into tears. The day before my surgery, I contacted two of my closest mission companions and asked them to pray for me. Their responses brought tears to my eyes. The blessings of serving a mission! I'd heard these ladies pray, and I knew their sincerity and faith. If ever I needed a word in my favor, it was today.

Brent threw out his back and was in some pain of his own so I second guessed asking him for a blessing before surgery. I imagined it going something like this: Danika the LOOOOORD wants you to *gasp* knowhelovesyou and uh, AHHHH THIS HURTS has a plan for you." He did just fine though.

I asked for specialists to place the IV and just before it went in I glanced over. They were amazing, it didn't hurt but still that image... I was also given a pregnancy test. Brent and I laughed and told the nurse if I was pregnant we would buy her a steak dinner with a bottle of wine. She was clearly bummed when I was (predictably) not pregnant. My surgeon had gone to another hospital where she was delayed so there was an entire shift change by the time she came back. Initially, I was against the Versed but I had been waiting so long I figured why not? The hospital corridor became a magical corridor as I was wheeled to surgery. 

When I was told to wake up, I felt awful. I mean- REALLY awful! My abdomen hurt and because of that moving anything else hurt, especially my legs. I was super nauseated and the neon lights seared into my eyes even though I kept them closed. Through the hustle and bustle of the nurses, they told me they'd address the nausea first and then the pain. I'm guessing they didn't want me to vomit and make a mess. Eventually, I felt less dreadful, but I had to do some things before I could be discharged like keep down some food, use the restroom and walk around. Each one was laborious but I was desperate to get out of there and home to my comfortable bed. I married the right man for this. Brent was with me every step of the way. When we finally arrived home, there was a bouquet of flowers from my fellow Chicago workers. I knew none of them had a lot of money to spare, and the gesture was incredibly touching.

Everyone who'd had gallbladder surgery told me it was easy, an outpatient procedure. They made it sound like getting a filling at the dentist. It took me a while to recover. Surgery is still surgery. I'm glad it's over though- not just because we'd already met our deductible for the year. I was glad I survived. My death wouldn't ruin the girl's holidays for the rest of their lives. I could take my planned time off to finish recovering and start the New Year fresh.