Nine days post-op for me and I am recovering well for the most part from the gallbladder removal, but I was not prepared for the aftermath. I must first say that if you are squeamish, read another blog because I have my honesty hat on and I need to get this off my chest.
I first realized that doctors and nurses are liars when I had my child via C-section. I was miserable after getting off the good drugs at the hospital and put on what might as well be a sugar pill. As most first time mothers I was sure I was doing everything horribly wrong and that what I did to my baby at 3 days old would most certainly mean they would need therapy or become an IV drug user for life. So when the pediatrition (a man and part of this evil plot of the medical field on civilians) asked my husband at my baby's first visit why I wasn't there. He responded that I was recovering from having a gash the size of a seedless watermelon sliced through my middle...the dr then said, "Well she should be feeling better by now." WHAT? Right. Why wasn't I doing cartwheels and running marathons after the bloody event? Of course I didn't even do that before, but you know what I mean. I was getting loads of sleep and eating well and...oh, wait, that isn't true. I was a breastfeeding zombie. A lifeless, makeupless slob who showered once a month whether I needed it or not.
Moving on. What they don't tell you about having gallbladder surgery:
1. The drugs in the hospital are good. Most everyone understands the plight of pill-poppers when they try them. A dose of morphine might as well be called a shot of heaven. The dolphins dancing on my ceiling agreed. And here's a secret they won't tell you: you can get an all-you-can-eat version in the form of a PCA. It stands for personal comatosing device or something like that. It comes with a button that you can push whenever your pain starts to come back or just to hear the cool beep after you've been on it for a while.
2. Your gallbladder is failing because you eat crap. Not literally, but the nutritional value on what you are eating is the same, so you get the point.
3. Since you are used to eating the nutritional equivalent of crap, you will have problems once you can begin to eat again.
4. You may go to many doctors and spend a lot of money on being diagnosed. For me it took about six months and three trips to the ER. This is so much fun especially after you suggested the right diagnosis from the beginning and the dr nodded and said..."Your pancreas isn't there. You're just in pain because your boobs are large." OK. Sorry. You may be pulling in six figures, but I took the same anatomy class and it still is there. Really. Check my CT.
5. The last and most fun of this whole circus act is the eating you do after the bowel recovery. Your doctor will stress the importance of eating "whole foods" and "fruits and vegetables." But if you step foot near something that grew on a tree, it will pass through you like it's on a waterslide through your mid section. One might as well eat while sitting on the toilet. So what do you eat, you say? You eat carbs. That's right, sugars. That's what got you into this mess and that's what will get you out.
So in closing, was it worth it to get it out? Yes, but when I fill out my questionairre from the Bartow hospital I will suggest that along with a worthless toothbrush that's destined to scrub my faucet and shampoo that I wouldn't wash my dog with, they should issue GB Removal patients a roll of toilet paper and a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
Here's a list of what