First thing, right now, I’m currently doing well. I’m still at home, I’m still sore, but I’m much better. Better than I’ve been for a while.

Warning: the following contains details of digestion and problems therein. I’m posting for those interested, and to aid my own recollection for the future. This is my journal; you’re allowed to read it, you just might not enjoy this entry.

Now backup a few years. I learned the hard way what heartburn was; I don’t figure there’s an easy way. The first time your chest initiates internal combustion, panic is likely the first reaction. In addition to the burning acid splashing around my esophagus and making lying down uncomfortable, my stomach would tighten up making sitting still impossible. Writhing in pain in bed, on the couch, or in a chair was how I spent the next several hours. Each problem and reaction made the other worse. After about 6 hours, the discomfort would dull; having exhausted myself, I’d return to bed around the time Kelly would get up for work. I’d sleep off the stress for half a day, and show up for a half-day at work a little worn out.

I thought I was just making poor diet choices and suffering for it. After a while of trying to deal with it myself with Pepcid and Tums, I finally saw a doctor who diagnosed me with Gastroesophageal Reflux Disorder (GERD). After about 3 months of prescription medicine, and limiting myself to smaller portions of blander food, I thought I had the problem solved. I was eventually eating normally again and had little issue when overdoing it with pigging out or spicy food.

A couple of months ago, things changed. Dinner and sometimes even a smaller, lighter lunch would start upsetting my stomach. However, this time the discomfort did not include the heartburn, just the stomach twisting indigestion. Sometimes I just thought I had a sensitive stomach, or maybe some food poisoning. That flu thing was also going around. More nights spent writhing on the couch, more lost sleep and missing work, more stress and frustration.

Occurrences increased as did the discomfort. A few weeks ago it got serious. Pain would spread across my abdomen, my back would tighten, and I’d find myself quickly nauseous. Soon after midnight I’d start uncontrollably vomiting, spending the next 6 hours emptying my stomach. Nothing would settle my stomach, but instead would make the pain and nausea worse. After the 6 hours of throwing up, my insides felt so torn up I spent another 6 hours returning on the couch with the writhing routine. Food or water wasn’t an option until about 12 hours after the fun began, and around then all I had the energy to do was pass out back in bed.

The first time I thought it was a freak case. The second time, I was ready to see a doctor, if not the ER.

Kelly hooked me up with a doctor at the same office she went to, as she was happy with them, and was able to make an appointment for that afternoon. The ride to the office was not fun. I was still nauseous, which walking aggravated, but riding in a car over pot-holed roads when I know I was oversensitive to movement was torture. I think I got funny looks in the doctor’s office with the trash bucket I was carrying, but I can only expect they’d understand. Not surprisingly, no one sat next to me huddled in the corner as Kelly filled out the paperwork.

My doctor was kind and knowledgeable, and I don’t hold the pain-inducing poking and prodding against him. I hate needles, but gladly accepted the shot to reduce nausea, and I gave a small amount of blood for some rush tests. (The shot hurt more than giving blood, which made me feel foolish for ever being afraid to give blood for the Red Cross. I’d like to start giving regularly to make up for my past apprehension.) After some more discussion, we decided that unless the tests returned something, it’s likely I’d ended up with excessive acid in my stomach, and the vomiting just exacerbated it. I got stuck in a cycle of acid-induced nausea with vomiting in turn increasing the acid. He supplied me with drugs to reduce acid, and a prescription for the drug used to reduce nausea (not shots, but suppositories? no thank you). I missed work Monday and Tuesday while I re-hydrated myself, adding some juice and Cheerios to the mix when I felt daring.

I was exhausted but sore the rest of the week, likely do to little food and drink, but I went to work and ate some soup, resulting in no surprises. Feeling better Friday afternoon, I had some pasta for lunch at Macaroni Grill. Later that afternoon, I realized I shouldn’t have, but despite the small stomach ache, I figured I was doing OK. We made plans to go see Miracle that evening. I had some water before we went out, and my stomach as at least not feeling any worse. The ride to the theater made me more aware of still being sore, but I thought I was going to be fine, despite a little discomfort. I closed my eyes to rest a little once at the theater to see if it would pass. It didn’t, and once the screen started moving, it got worse. I got up about 45 minutes into the movie to get some air, and to find out if I was going to be sick. I did not want to share this with the theater, so I tried to walk it off. It didn’t turn out that well, but I promise you, it was quiet, contained, and flushed clean before anyone knew what happened. I tried to walk the rest off. The manager (concerned for his theater) got me some soda to settle my stomach. Kelly (concerned for her husband), found me in the hall. I didn’t want to make her leave the movie, but had to ask to go home. The drive was fine, but I was in front of the toilet again before I got my coat off.

Repeat the above 12 hour torture for Saturday morning. Basic recovery of water and Saltines lasted the next 24 hours. Toast and more Cheerios were added when the majority of pain was gone, and Kelly made me chicken noodle soup when I was starving. This time with dinosaur noodles.

I was feeling better Sunday afternoon, and we took the opportunity to find Kelly a bike. I still wasn’t 100%, and wanted to take it easy, but I was tired of being at home on the couch. For lunch, I had some low fat chicken noodle soup from Bread Co and some bread. We visited Kelly’s parents to water their plants while they’re in Florida, and went home without incident. I had a little more soup for dinner and curled up in bed.

Until about 1:30am; I woke up uncomfortable again. I ignored the nausea and went back to the couch. And the floor. Floor flatness was sometimes preferable the couch. Maybe it’s just a different discomfort. Around 6am, I couldn’t suppress the nausea any longer, and let the convulsions take over. Unfortunately (?), there wasn’t any food left, so I just emptied the bile from the stomach. A couple of times. No more food. No more water.

Kelly stayed home again to call the doctor and get another appointment. I spent the time at home waiting for the appointment trying to pretend I didn’t hurt, but I’m not very good at that. On the way to the car I pocketed a garbage bag in case I needed a receptacle; easier to carry than a trash can.

I met with a nurse practitioner this time, so I got to describe everything again, and was poked and prodded some more. Pain seemed more focused on the right side of my stomach this time. The doctor joined us, more poking, more pain on the right side. They opted to order an ultrasound for my belly to check out the gall bladder. The plan was to start with the easier tests. If the ultrasound didn’t show anything, we’d move on to gagging me with a camera and sticking it down my stomach. At his point, I didn’t care what they wanted to do, as long as the figured out what the hell was wrong with me. The imaging center would call the doctor if they suspected anything.

Ultrasounds are weird. The gel they smear on your belly is cold, the instrument they zap you with to see your insides is warm and tingly. I don’t know if the pressure they apply when looking at a baby hurts, but it did for me. Hopefully I’ll not have a reason to experience it again. The technician was kind, but mostly mechanical. I think she was more interested in getting home; it was around 5pm at this point. I was trying to read her expression as she was pushing into my gut to find out if we were wasting time, but I couldn’t tell. She left to verify all the imaging worked, but soon came back and I had my answer. She pretty abruptly stated she was calling my doctor, right now. The look she gave implied something definite, even though when asked she couldn’t share the details.

The doctor called me at the imaging center, and informed me I had some significant gall stones. They didn’t show up in the previous blood tests since they were still in the gall bladder, obstructing bile. This was pretty certainly the source of the problems I was having. I had two options: take medicine to try and deal with the gall stones, or have the whole thing removed. The medicine apparently is hit or miss, and the problem can always return. Removing the gall bladder requires surgery, but it’s common, it’s done laparoscopically, and once it’s gone, so goes the source of the problem. I’d rather fix the problem than continue to treat symptoms for god knows how long; call me crazy. I was offered the option of surgery that night, but passed since I was already pretty exhausted, and was a bit overwhelmed. I told him I’d call the next morning to arrange it.

My parents stopped by home that night to offer sympathy and support. I had a little water to drink, and since I was feeling pretty week, I soon went to bed.

Calling to arrange the surgery was more frustrating that I had hoped. I had to wait until 8 when the office opened to leave a message for my doctor, who doesn’t get in until after 9. I called again around noon to ask if it was even going to happen today, since I wasn’t supposed to eat or drink, and I was feeling pretty empty after having had so little stay down for so long. I got a call back around noon:30 from the receptionist: “Go to the Missouri Baptist ER. Let them know you’re to see Dr. Z for gall bladder removal, diagnosed and referred by Dr. P. He’s in surgery today. He’ll take care of you.”

The ER was confused. “Why are you here if you know what’s wrong with you?” Well, the doctor told me to; I don’t question the Dr. They accepted me into triage and started the normal ER routine. I think they skipped some parts, and I was eventually set up in a gurney. In room Hall B. The hospital and ER were apparently pretty full. When I say room, I mean hallway. That’s it’s real name though. I liked it better than Hall A; I had a good view of the overhead bubble mirror so no ninjas could sneak up on me. Kelly was also watching my back.

A nurse fitted me with an IV port in a vein in the back of my hand, from which many vials of blood were leaked for blood work. Another nurse later came to check pulse and blood pressure. It’s a three step test. First lying down, then sitting, then standing. I failed the standing. I’ve fainted once before, and felt it coming this time. I sat back down just as the black was closing around my eyes and I was going tingly. That confirmed the dehydration beliefs, and I was hooked up with the first of many bags of clear goo.

The IV juice felt room temperature through the tube, but once it entered the vein, it felt like ice. Very creepy as it filled my arm. Had a scare too when I saw bubbles in the tube. I’d thought air in the circulatory system was pretty lethal. It was pretty terrifying for a few seconds as I watched the air gaps make their way toward the vein and get sucked into my hand. I’m not dead yet though.

Eventually a new doctor, Dr. O came to chat, and I got to once again describe what was going on. Apparently Dr. P’s office talked to Dr. Z’s office, but no one had really specifically made plans, so I was essentially in limbo till Dr. Z came out of surgery. Dr. O agreed with the assessment, and assured me he’d talk to Dr. Z to get me taken care of.

My parents came to visit too, as it was getting later in the day and they wanted to see me before I got cut. Unfortunately, since I was still in ER Hall B, only once person could hang out at a time, so they took turns with Kelly. You might be thinking, “It’s just gall bladder surgery, it’s not that big a deal, why all the visiting?” Well I like my company, and it made me feel better. I was exhausted, I don’t like hospitals, and I needed the comforting.

I met Dr. Z, and once again went through explanation. He seemed satisfied, and had me temporarily moved to a separate spot so he could privately explain the surgery and risks. I think the risk description lasted about 5 minutes, but it came down to, “There are always risks in surgery. There are also risks in not doing anything.” So, I signed my life over to the hospital and they started the planning. I was wheeled upstairs to prep for surgery around 6.

Surgery preparation was basically checking to make sure they could load me with drugs to put me out, and the initial punping of drugs to keep me from freaking out on the way. That went well, since my only concern was wanting to be asleep for the whole ordeal. As long as I’m out, they can do whatever they want. I’ll deal with it later. I was assured I’d be asleep and not remember anything. That’s all I ask.

I barely remember the surgery room. I saw the big overhead lights, my arms were pulled around, and was covered with a small mask to breathe into. The drugs worked well enough.

Apparently the gall bladder was extra nasty. Not only did it have the stones stuck inside, but the walls of it were thicker than normal, suggesting possible infection, so I had antibiotics added to the IV tree. I think inflamed was something they said too. It was also extra full of bile, so before they could remove it, they had to drain it. They do this by inserting a syringe and sucking it out first. The gall bladder has to come out fully intact; you can’t leave anything inside. At some during the operation, they called the waiting room where Kelly and my parents were to explain this complication. They didn’t answer the phone the first time, but did on the next call. I’m glad my dad answered and filtered the details to mom and Kelly. So, surgery took longer than normal, but was successful.

Dr. Z was surprised by the nastier than expected gall bladder, figuring the pain it caused would have been extra bad. Damn right it was. I don’t know what a normal gall bladder problem is, but I don’t know how it could be worse.

I woke up from surgery throwing up again. Different issue this time at least. Apparently they can do something to prevent puking post-drugs. I’ll remember to offer that next time I’m going into surgery. I hung out in recovery briefly with Kelly and my parents while people talked and I came to. I was in an overnight room at 10pm.

I shared the room with a guy who was just transferred from another room because his past roommates were throwing up and snoring. I think the only words I spoke to him were an advance apology for my potential behavior.

The night was rough. I had a pillow I had to squeeze into my gut when I needed to cough so I didn’t blow out anything. Thanks to the IVs they were feeding me, I needed to go to the bathroom about every hour and a half. Thanks to 3 stitched punctures in my abdomen (camera, poker, and cutter?) and a re-stitched bellybutton (gall bladder exit path), lack of stomach muscles made getting out of bed near impossible. It was like I just pulled those muscles. I had to call the nurse to help me up each time, and to help me back into bed afterward. I had to take my pillow, pushing it into my stomach with my arm as if in a sling. This went on all night. Sleeping was almost out of the question. If I wasn’t getting in or out of bed, I was fighting the new pains in my abdomen for the right to inflate my lungs. At least I probably didn’t snore. I know my roommate did.

Kelly showed up Wednesday morning to keep my company, but not before Dr. Z and the anesthesiologist came to check on me. I wasn’t ready for solid food yet, and was content with liquid meals for breakfast and lunch. Painkillers every 4 hours were the most solids I had for a while. My roommate left after lunch, and I tried to catch some sleep between noises in the hall. I was still weak and felt dehydrated, and still didn’t feel I had slept. When Dr. Z came around later, I asked to stay another night since I didn’t really go into surgery at 100%, and would like to get more energy and rest first. He agreed, and I picked at my first solid food that evening. I didn’t really have an appetite, but being able to eat food I had to chew was still exciting. That night, I got a different roommate. He might have snored, I don’t know, I slept.

Thursday morning was better. I was still sore, but was still getting painkillers so it was mostly under control. I was able to get out of bed without help. The IV tree was disconnected, and I was drinking much more. Dr. Z cleared me, I had a solid food breakfast, and Kelly showed up to help me get ready to go.

With my gut pillow, I got a wheelchair ride to the car. The car ride was a new kind of pain. I had to hold in my organs with that pillow as we went over bumps; otherwise, they were sure to explode.

At home I found the couch, where I’ve spent about half my time since being home.

I’m still sore, but now I think it’s mostly the stitches and the spot where the gall bladder used to be. Hopefully those organs are done rearranging by now. When I breathe in too deeply it still hurts. Ramping up for a yawn or sneeze is a delicate matter. A hiccup is an uncomfortable surprise. I can’t laugh; Jon Stewart taught me that one. There’s truth to the phrase, “busting a gut,” I think I bled a little on that. I can’t watch half of what we’ve got on Tivo since it’d be funny. I’m not supposed to lift anything over 15 pounds, but that’s what I’ve got Kelly for. I walk around slowly like an old man, like I should have a cane.

I’m eating food, any food now, and not having weird problems. On Sunday, I had a full meal at Steak ‘n Shake, and for dinner had Popeyes fried chicken. My stomach is mighty once more. When I was losing the ability to eat, I started losing weight, and over 2 weeks went from 195 to about 180. Metabolism likely dropped to accommodate the lack of food, so I imagine if I continue “testing” my stomach this, I’ll have that weight back faster than I want. I need to be careful about that. I liked the bonus of the weight loss.

Later this week I have to return to the hospital to have the stitches and whatever’s under the taped incisions addressed, I’m saving some special drugs for that trip. Until then, I’m working at home. I’ve got access to 99% of what I need to get things done, and the project I’m primarily working on has been pretty flexible for me. I’m looking forward to going back to the office and normally going out; Cabin Fever has a new meaning for me now.

Eventually I’ll feel normal again.