When I was little, we read a story called “Five Little Peppers and How they Grew.” This is not that story. It’s probably a good thing that I just took some pain medicine or I’m not sure I could get this out.
If you read this, you’ll know I’ve been having tummy trouble. I’ve been feeling sick every time I eat since April. After multiple tests and waiting and more tests and waiting, the third doctor I saw said “Let’s take out your gall bladder” which of course, the people at my church had already diagnosed. The surgeon told me that he couldn’t guarantee it would make me better, but he thought it would.
So, Monday, I went under the knife, err laser, or scalpel or whatever.
I could talk about the loveliness of putting on a hospital gown or having an IV inserted or having my belly shaved and scrubbed. . . with bright orange stuff. I could also go on about my fashionable orange socks I was forced to wear – a dreadful Gator orange color that actually are a signal that I’ve been anaesthetized and that I could fall down easily. I tried to tell the nurse I fall down easily all the time, with fancy orange socks with a tire tread on them or not.
I could tell you how fabulous it was to know that so many people were praying for me, from sweet Trevor to the people in my Sunday School class and to Gee, who I love dearly and who brought me new pajamas. Or I could tell you how wonderful it was for my Pastor and Mrs. Debbie to come in and pray with my sister and my dad and I before they took me away, even though I was terribly concerned about being all covered up.
I think another post will be about having to crawl from the pre-op bed to the operating table, and feeling like I was Jesus with my arms all stretched out. Trying to decide whether I wanted to laugh or cry and thinking over and over “What time I am afraid, I will trust in You!”
So I vaguely remember the stupid plastic mask thing and the nurse holding it down on my head, and then the other nurse saying “Wake up! You need to cough.” I heard someone moaning and thought please God, don’t let that be me!! It wasn’t. I’ll skip over the nausea and throwing up part. . . They told my family I’d be in recovery for four hours. I went into the OR at 8:55. When I opened my eyes in the recovery room, the clock said 10:15. I was home before noon. Utterly amazing.
But here’s what is left. I have four holes in my belly. I don’t know how in the world it works, I don’t’ know which little hole the gall bladder came out of, but all I know is this: the gall bladder is gone and I’m left with four little holes. Well, I guess it’s gone. The doctor says it’s gone.
WARNING: These are NOT particularly attractive. I put the penny down for size comparison. I’m amazed.
The clear plastic-wrap looking stuff is called Tegraderm. It really isn’t plastic wrap, it just looks like it. It seals tightly, and is waterproof, because I’ve had three showers and it’s still there. I guess it comes off by itself. It doesn’t itch but it is starting to peel off in one place and yesterday, the hole at the bottom oozed blood a little.
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