What's The Bladder With You!

So, if you thought my delivery story was an experience, how about my gallbladder story? Now THAT was good times. Let me tell ya'. I don't know why, but I have THE MOST bizarre experiences of anyone I know. There is absolutely no embellishing going on here. No fabrications. Just straight, ridiculous truth.

After my nightmare delivery experience, I returned home and settled in. I had a plan. The same plan I always had after delivering a baby. Dry up my milk ASAP! I don't breast feed. I just can't do it. It's too hard for me. Many have deemed me strong and courageous, but those people have never seen me attempt breast feeding. I bound myself up really tight - almost to the point where I couldn't really breathe, and barely ate anything. The weight was just falling off of me in large chunks. Things were going along great. Then, almost one week later, I began to notice trouble breathing. I mean REAL trouble breathing. My chest felt really tight. I thought, "Oh great. I've got my binding on too tight. I'll let it out a little", and I did. And that didn't help. The pain continued. In fact, it great in intensity. So, I let it out a little more - no relief. Finally I gave in and took the whole dang thing off. The pain was so bad, I could barely breathe. I felt shooting pains down my left arm. I thought, "Oh my gosh! Am I having a heart attack?" I've never had one, but I imagine that was what it felt like. It was intense. I was scared. I couldn't lay flat in bed. I couldn't sleep. I gasped for air and stopped breathing several times in my sleep. One night my husband rolled over and said, "Are you having a heart attack or what?"

The next morning was my birthday. I sat up in bed and instantly felt pain like someone had just stabbed me. I gasped for air. I couldn't speak. I was just gasping and wailing. Bertrand tried to lift me up and help me, but I became hysterical. I didn't know what was happening to me, but the pain was more than I could bear. I felt like I was going to pass out. Bertrand called my mom and she came running over to watch the kids so I could go to the emergency room.

The emergency room was packed. Bertrand dragged me in as I clung to his side. A nurse ran up behind me with a wheelchair and I sat down and took small, shallow breaths, trying to answer the questions as best as I could. Then they wheeled me into a waiting room and there I sat...with all of the other emergency patients. I closed my eyes and prayed in my head, "Please. Please, don't make me wait long. I can't stand it. I feel like I'm going to pass out. I don't know how much more of this I can take." After a while, I was wheeled behind a little curtain and asked some questions. I explained that I was having chest pain, but when I pointed out where my pain was originating from, the doctor said, "That's not your chest." Whoops. He decided I needed an ultrasound to see what was going on in there.

And so I was wheeled back out into the waiting room.

Several minutes later I was called back again and wheeled behind another curtain where my blood was drawn and an IV was started...well...attempted, in my left arm. She couldn't get it in and it was hurting so bad, I was crying out. "I just have to get it past this one point. Hang in there, honey", the nurse kept saying. I was panting and moaning. I was already in terrible pain and now she was trying to force this huge needle into my arm and it was NOT going. She finally gave up and pulled it out. "Okay, let's do the other side, then."

"Noooo. Please." I moaned. "That hurt so bad. I hate IV's. Please don't do another one."

"Sorry, hon. I have to." And so she put it through the other arm and I panted and moaned like a huge baby.

The IV was situated in my right arm, right in the part where you're supposed to bend your arm. I don't know what that's called, but I had to keep my arm straight. My right arm. My dominant arm. The nurse then asked me to go into the bathroom and leave a urine sample. HA! RIGHT! "I can't bend my arm. I don't know how I'm going to hold the cup and wipe myself," I said, a little anxiety in my voice.

"Just do your best. If you need me, I'll be right outside." Needless to say, I made it work. No WAY was I going to have a nurse holding a cup underneath me, trying to catch my pee.

And then I was wheeled back out into the waiting area. Where I sat and waited. For a long time. About an hour. A nurse came out and put warm blankets around me. It felt nice and I buried my face in them and tried to sleep.

A while later I was called back again and this time had an ultrasound done. When the tech ran the ultrasound wand over my right side just below my chest, I yelped in pain. "Yep, just as I thought," she said.

"What? What is it?" I frantically inquired.

"The doctor will go over the results with you later", the nurse replied.

I closed my eyes and sighed, laying my head back. "Oh great," I thought. "This doesn't sound good."

And then I was wheeled back out into the waiting room where I sat and waited. For another hour. It was still difficult to breath. I felt nauseated. I just wanted to lie down and sleep. Finally, a nurse came out and said, "Okay, you're going back to the ER."

"I am?" I asked. "I thought I already WAS in the ER." Apparently I wasn't. The nurse pushed me through some double doors into absolute chaos. There were so many people in the actual ER, there weren't enough beds. The walls were lined with moaning, coughing people, some lying very still with their eyes closed. They almost looked dead. This was a scary sight. "Oh no," I thought. "This does NOT look good at all." I was wheeled around a corner where an empty bed was lying.

"Okay, hop up on there," the nurse said in a chipper voice. I looked down at my IV in my arm, thought about the pain in my chest, realized I was still leaking milk and other fluids down below from having a baby and said, "Umm. I don't know how I'm going to climb all the way up there." The bed was high. She lowered the bed quickly and I sat on the edge. Then the nurse grabbed both of my shoulders and tried to force me into a lying position. I started panting and gasping for air. "Ow!" I yelled. "No. Please. I can't lie flat. I can't breathe."

"What?" she asked. "What do you mean you can't breathe?"

I then proceeded to explain my symptoms to her. Then I burst into tears. "I just had a baby a week ago. I'm bleeding and leaking milk and I can't breathe and..."

"Oh my gosh!" She shouted. "We've gotta' get this poor lady into her own room. She can't be lying here in the hallway!"

The tears flowed freely now. I was so exhausted and in so much pain. It was now 2:00 PM and I hadn't eaten all day either. Not that food was particularly on my mind, but I was experiencing some intense hunger pains on top of everything else.

A few nurses got together in a huddle, trying to figure out where to put me. All of the private ER rooms were occupied. They all suddenly turned and faced a particular room in the corner. There was a police officer standing in front of the door, acting as a guard. "Let's move him and put her in there."

"Oh no," I interrupted. "I feel bad making someone leave a private room just for me. I'll be okay."

"No, it's fine, honey," one of the nurses replied. "We just have a homicidal maniac in there, so we need to move him to a more secure location."

"A homicidal maniac?" I thought. "No. No. No need to move him. Put me in there with him. Let him kill me. Let him take me out of my misery."

But alas, the homicidal maniac was moved. I looked away. I didn't want to make eye contact. I was afraid he'd come find me later and my suicidal thoughts were only fleeting. And so I was placed in the room and told to undress and change into a hospital gown.

A nurse came in and introduced herself as MY nurse. She explained to me that the first doctor who saw me doesn't normally come back into the main ER, but he wanted to stay with me through the case, so he was coming back to see me. The guy looked like he was about my age or younger. He came in and confirmed my worst fears. "You're gallbladder is bad. Really bad. It definitely needs to come out."

"Oh no," I moaned. "Does it HAVE to?"

"Well, of course you can refuse. But you'll most likely be back in here again soon, so...you can either take care of it now or later," he replied very matter-of-factly.

He explained that I would also need a blood transfusion, as I was severely anemic. I looked at my husband in horror and he grabbed my hand and held it tight. "Well, hon. What do you want to do."

I started to cry. "Why is this happening? Why? I don't have time for this. I just had a baby. I have a bunch of other little kids at home. I need to go home to my babies. I need to get back to work."

My husband looked at the doctor. "See how she is?"

"You've got to take care of yourself first if you're going to take care of all of those other things," he explained.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head, more tears running down my cheeks. I was afraid and angry and stressed all at the same time. "Fine," I said. "Go ahead. Do what needs to be done with me."

And so Bertrand went off to work. There was nothing more he could do for me anyway, so I sent him on his way. And my nurse returned and explained that she would need to start another IV in my other arm, same location.

"WHAT!?! WHY?!" I nearly shouted, starting to sob again. "Is that REALLY necessary?"

"I'm sorry, hon. It is. You need one IV for the blood transfusion and one for all of your other medications." And so she started one as I looked the other way and sobbed and moaned....like a huge, blubbering baby.

When she was finished, both arms were outstretched with IVs. I couldn't bend either one. She placed a call button and phone by my right shoulder and said I could call someone if I needed to and just to push the buzzer if I needed anything. And then she walked out. I looked down at both of my arms and looked over at my right shoulder. "Ummm....how would I even reach either one of those?" I thought to myself. "Oh well," I sighed and laid my head back.

Then it started. An itch on my nose. I lifted my arm to scratch it, only to be reminded I could not bend my arm. I lifted my other arm and tried to cross it over my face to scratch the itch with my arm. It didn't work. I panicked. "Oh no!" I said aloud. "What do I do?" I looked about the room frantically. Searching for an answer to my dilemma. I tried to turn my head and scratch my nose against my pillow, but I couldn't crank my head around far enough. I raised my right arm again and tried rubbing my nose on my arm. It still itched like crazy. I grunted and panted and rubbed my face into my arm feverishly, trying to scratch the itch. Thank goodness no one came in during that. I must have looked insane.

Alas, I accepted defeat and threw my head back against my pillow and moaned and started fussing again. "This sucks. I hate my life right now. Why? Why? Why?" I moaned, as I thrashed my head back and forth on my pillow.

Now, let me just say - I will never be one of those inspirational stories. I will never be that person who suffers tremendously, but stays positive and inspires others. No. Not me. I'm the one who sits in the wheelchair in the corner, bitter, hating the world and everything in it, throwing curses at whoever sets foot near me. THAT would be my story. Thank goodness it wasn't anything permanently debilitating or life-threatening!

After what felt like an eternity, my nurse returned with medications. "Okay. I'm giving you some morphine and..." I don't know what else she said. Morphine sounded great to me. That was all that mattered in life at that moment.

"Okay," I sighed in relief and laid my head back, shutting my eyes and waiting for the high to hit.

"Someone will be here in a minute to take you up to your room, okay?" She said and then smiled at me and rubbed my shoulder. "You're going to be feeling a lot better tomorrow, dear. Good luck." Then she left.

I laid there, eyes closed, enjoying my little trip to the moon. Suddenly the doors opened and I saw two blond girls in scrubs standing before me.

"Hi," I mumbled, drool spilling from the side of my mouth. "You guys look like twins." I noticed they both looked at me funny, but I didn't care. I was feeling groovy and I was ready to go for a ride. (I saw those two later. One was tall and thin. One was short and fat. They looked NOTHING alike.)

They wheeled me out of the room, accidentally hitting the bed against the door. I jolted and my head fell to the right. I saw an old man lying in a bed outside my room. "Bye. See you later," I mumbled in a dopey voice. The old man didn't respond. They wheeled me down a long hallway. I felt like I was in space. "Take me to your leader," I slurred, more drool hanging out the side of my mouth.

"What? Did you say something?" One of the girls asked.

I heard the other one respond, "She's on one. She just said 'take me to your leader'."

"Ohhhh," she drawled. "Okay. You're gonna' be fine. Don't worry."

I was coherent enough to understand, but apparently not enough to control my speech. I felt instantly stupid.

When I arrived at my room, I was transferred to a new bed and situated. My new nurse introduced herself, took my vitals, and told me to buzz her if I needed anything. Then she asked if there was anything she could do for me before she left. I requested that she turn off all lights, turn the TV on to the spa music channel, and shut the door. I just wanted to sleep until it was over. And that's what I did. I was given a shot of morphine as often as I wanted. And I just laid there...rotting.

At 9:00 that night, a surgeon entered my room, introduced herself and told me my surgery would be at 1:00.

"1 AM?" I asked.

"No, 1 PM tomorrow afternoon", she said.

I shut my eyes and moaned. "I'm starving. Can I have something?" I asked.

"You can have all the ice chips you want," she replied. "Now try to get some sleep."

That night a nurse came in with two units of packed red blood cells to transfuse me with. She explained that I might feel dizzy, nauseous, and my entire body might become terribly itchy. She told me to notify her if I felt any of those symptoms. GREAT! I was NOT looking forward to any of that. Fortunately, I experienced none of those, but I did experience a strange taste in my mouth during the process and I just felt icky, especially when I looked over and saw blood dripping into me. Goobers.

That night I also heard a lady next door to me retching violently all throughout the night. The next morning when my nurse came in and asked me if I was ready for my surgery, I replied with "Yes. I can't wait to be out of pain."

"Oh yes. You'll feel so much better. Gosh. There's a lot of you in here right now for gallbladder surgery. The lady next door to you just had it done last night."

My eyes popped out in horror. "Oh no. Are you serious?" I said.

"Why? What's wrong?" She chuckled.

"Umm...that lady was throwing up all night and it sounded violent over there", I moaned.

The nurse pulled a funny face and said nothing.

"That's not gonna' be me, is it?" I asked.

"Well, that lady is a lot older than you, so hopefully not," the nurse replied.

Skipping ahead, my surgery occurred the next day, as scheduled. It was a long night and long next day in that hospital bed, waiting for my surgery. The doctor had explained that I would have mad diarrhea even after just drinking water, once my surgery was complete, and this would last quite a while, possibly for the rest of my life. She also explained that I would be in a lot of pain and it would take weeks to recover. She also said it would hurt to breathe for a while too. This did not sound good to me and I cried all night long amid shots of morphine and SOME sleep, but very little.

Once my surgery was complete, I was taken back to my room. My nurses were all wonderful and took great care of me, but one in particular who amused me was from Russia. Her name was Elizabet. She was so sweet, but had a heavy accent and spoke in broken English. One concern from my nurses was that I was urinating enough after my surgery, so they would always ask me the same questions over and over - "When did you last pee? Do you need to pee now? How much did you pee the last time you went?"

But Elizabet was different. She would get right in my face (hello - ever heard of personal space?) and say, "Did a you make a pee pee?" and she'd actually take her index finger and thumb and make the sign for small, accenting the word pee pee in a staccato tone. This always cracked me up and it was all I could do to not laugh my head off every time. I wanted so bad to respond with (in her same accent) "Oh yes. And I a make a nice poo poo for you too. I make it a so nice."

Ah....anyway.

I started to feel so much better after my surgery. My first meal in 48 hours was dinner that night and it consisted of vegetable broth and a popsicle and juice. The morphine kept coming, which was great. I made sure I took full advantage of that. That night I laid my head back and decided to get some good sleep for once. I turned off all lights, turned on the spa music and laid my head back, drifting off to the moon again.

"Hello! HEY! HEY!" I heard a crotchety old voice calling out. I squinted my eyes shut tighter and moaned.

"HEY! HEY!" The shouting continued.

I released a frustrated sigh and opened my eyes, blinking against the bit of light coming through my doorway.

"Hello! Hello out there! Hey!" The shouting persisted.

"What's the matter?" I called back.

"Get in here right now. I need help!" The voice shouted back.

"I can't! I've got IVs in my arms and I'm strapped into my bed. Call the nurse." I groaned back.

"That's what I did! HEY! HEY! HEY!" She continued calling out.

"PUSH THE CALL BUTTON!" I shouted back.

But the shouting persisted. "Oh my gosh. Stupid lady." I moaned quietly to myself. I squirmed about in my bed, flailing my arms at the call button, trying to hit it, but to no avail. I still couldn't bend my arms very well and it was situated up by my head. I tried hitting it with my nose, but my nose couldn't withstand the pressure required to push the button in, so I stuck my tongue out to try and reach it. It was truly ridiculous! Just before my tongue touched the button, I heard footsteps running in the hall, coming in our direction, so I backed away and listened intently.

"What's the matter?" the nurse called out, running into the old lady's room.

"I want more juice!" The old lady shouted.

I could hear the nurse opening another juice box for her and then she shut off the old lady's light and walked away. I rolled my eyes in the dark and laid my head back, attempting to drift away with my morphine again.

"HEY! HEY!" The shouting started up again. Only a couple of hours had passed.

"OH MY GOSH!" I groaned aloud through gritted teeth. "Use your buzzer, you idiot! I'm trying to sleep over here!" Of course, I said this to myself. She couldn't hear me. This continued on all night long. It was terrible!

FINALLY, the next evening, around 5:00 PM, I got to go home! HALLELUJAH!

In spite of all of the craziness, the staff at the hospital were wonderful and took excellent care of me and I went home feeling 90% better and recovered quickly and painlessly.