When I was in Canada in October I had a really long attack, lasting from 1pm – 11pm, which was horrible for me and quite worrying for my parents.  My mother insisted that I have my gallbladder checked when I got back to the Netherlands, as there was quite a broad history of the women in our family having problems and needing them removed.  We came close to going to the hospital that evening but not wanting to deal with international insurance and worrying about flying out two days later made me hesitant, so I just got through it the best way I could.

When I returned to the Netherlands I had my doctor arrange for me to have an ultrasound to check it out.  The results were that I had a lot of stones, both big and small, and that one was trapped in the bile duct.  That was on Monday November 15th. The next day I visited my doctor and was sent to have blood work, after which he said I would visit him for the results and discuss what we were going to do about the gallbladder.  I needed to give at least five working days for the results to be in so I made an appointment for Wednesday November 24th.

Before I even got the chance to go to that appointment, I had a really bad attack on Monday the 22nd.  It was unlike any of the previous pain I’ve ever had, causing me to pass out in our hallway on the way to the phone. When I came to I tried to call my husband at work but got his voicemail, and was left with no choice but to call 112 (that’s our 911).  I was in more pain than I had ever experienced in my life, and I was afraid because I was home alone.

A medic arrived shortly after, coming by motorcycle.  He checked my blood pressure and oxygen, also giving me medication for the pain and the nausea, as the pain was getting to the point where I was pretty sure I was going to be sick.  Within about five minutes the pain was gone and I was ready to get back to my housework, I felt like a million bucks!  He had other plans for me and had called a proper ambulance to come and take me to the hospital.

At the emergency room they drew more blood, poked and prodded and also came to the conclusion that it was my gallbladder.  It needed to be removed but before they could get me in to see a surgeon I had to have an ultrasound done.  The one I had done the previous week was of no use to them as it was done by another hospital, and the earliest I could get an appointment was for December 9th, over two weeks away.  I was angry, because they did have access to the previous ultrasounds, and afraid because I was now completely terrified of doing something to cause that pain again.  I was sent home with a prescription for painkillers in case of another attack, which we had to demand, as they were set to send me home with nothing other than my frustration.

I came home and once again bitched on Facebook.  As luck would have it, a friend of mine read my complaints and talked to her husband about it. It turned out he worked at the same hospital as a radiologist!  He had her message me to tell me that if I wanted he would bump up my appointment and do my ultrasound on Thursday the 25th of November during his lunch break, only three days after my trip to the emergency room.  That beat the hell out of a wait of a few weeks, so I jumped at the chance to have it done earlier.  He was my hero!

Things went really quickly from there.  When he did the ultrasound he found that there were a lot of stones (as was found in the previous scan) but also that the walls of the gallbladder were thickening.  Apparently this is another sign that it needs to come out.  Not only did he do the ultrasound for me but he also used his contacts at the hospital to get me an appointment with a surgeon that very afternoon!

When I saw the surgeon he was very nice and said that they want to get the gallbladder out soon, but that he was a bit concerned as some later tests on the blood work from my trip to the emergency room showed signs of an infection.  If the infection worsened, they would have to postpone doing any surgery until it was dealt with.  He went ahead and started me on the course anyway, and said I’d hear from him if we had to postpone, but otherwise to go ahead as planned.

The next day (Friday) I had an appointment with the anesthesiologist and my surgery was scheduled for three days later, which was this past Monday, November 29th.  It was only three days away. Three days!  I freaked out and spent the entire weekend as a big ball of nerves wrapped up in a thick layer of OHMYGOD!!!

This is where I spent most of Monday and Tuesday this week.  I was checked in at 11am and my surgery began at a little after 3pm.  I was in a lot of pain when I woke up, and after multiple doses of painkillers I was feeling well enough to be brought back to my room at about 6pm.  My husband came to visit from about 6:30 – 8:30pm but I was so tired, nauseated and drugged up that I was not of much use to him.  He just sat by my bed and held my hand while I struggled to throw out a few words every 15 or 20 minutes.  The nurses gave me medication for the nausea but I eventually asked my husband to go home as I felt bad that he was just sitting there and I was hardly able to even talk to him.

I slept most of the rest of the evening and dozed through the night, except for when the nurse came in to check my blood pressure, which felt like EVERY FIFTEEN MINUTES!  Ok, so it was more like once or twice and hour, but when you are in pain and trying to sleep, it’s very annoying.  She was concerned because my blood pressure had dropped really low so she was checking it obsessively.  Seriously, twice an hour for the entire night. Both of my upper arms are striped with bruises from that UNGODLY machine.  Do those cuffs really have to go that tight?  Really??

In the morning they said I’d be able to go home at 11am, that is… until I threw up my breakfast.  That had them a little concerned, so I they made me stay and have lunch, finally letting me leave at 4pm after proving I could keep something down.

If you can excuse my chubby belly, you can see where the incisions were made for the surgery.  It was done via laparoscopic surgery rather than a proper open surgery, which makes me very happy.  Instead of one giant incision I had four smaller ones.  One of them was through my bellybutton, and that has been quite painful.  I also have some weird and painful darkening of the skin under my belly button which you can see in the photo. I guess it’s a bruise, but I’m not sure why it’s not blue.  I assume there will be scars, which means no bikini for me. OH darn!

No seriously. Dude, look at those stretch marks.  LIKE I was ever getting in one anyway.

Right, so other than having to look at my butterball belly, you’ve come through this relatively unscathed.  I cannot have that, it’s just not in my nature to go through something like this and not overshare and gross you out at least a little bit.  When I had my mini surgery, I showed you that wound.  When I had my tooth out, I saved the tooth just for you, although I did take pity that time and put the really gross and disgusting pics in links instead.  I took it easy on you.

You’re welcome.

You KNOW I got them to give me some stones!  It was the first thing I asked when they were wheeling me into surgery.  I considered bringing my point and shoot and asking them to take photos during the surgery, but I thought that may have been pushing my luck, plus… my camera is probably pretty unsanitary and I’m not sure it’d survive the decontamination process.

When I woke up this was taped to the foot of my bed, bless them, they kept their word!

These are three of the bigger stones that had been hanging out in my gallbladder.  There were a crapload of smaller ones and other big ones as well but I guess these were the most impressive and bottle worthy of the bunch.

Oh, you want a closer look? Ok!

These are my stones with a Canadian nickel, for size comparison.  It was the only money I could find in my wallet.  My husband has been a thieving thiever and has stolen all of my Dutch coins again.  Gross, huh?  Be thankful I was too lazy to get my good camera out and just used my phone, because I could have gotten some serious detail with that.

I can’t believe those, and others like them, were living inside my body!  Man!  I know it’s the smaller stones that cause the pain when they go into the bile ducts, but they wouldn’t have looked nearly as cool as these suckers, unless I got them all.  If I had gotten them all it probably would have been a pretty impressive sight.

Now I am home recovering.  I’m sore, and other than almost passing out when I had to change my bandages (hence no non-bandage photos now, really not keen to take them off again yet), it’s been going rather smoothly.  My belly button hurts and my right shoulder killed me for the first two days. Random, I know… but it’s something to do with the gas the pump into your belly when doing the surgery. It irritates the shoulder, and for the first while that hurt and annoyed me more than the incisions did.

All in all it wasn’t as bad as I expected.  I was quite terrified at the idea of my first surgery and I while can’t say I enjoyed my short stay in the hospital,  I am looking forward to the possibility of a future with no pain… at least not from this.

I wish I knew for certain that the only thing causing me pain over the years was my gallbladder, perhaps I do also have a touch of acid reflux, I really don’t know, and only time will tell.  All I know is that it would be really nice to eat without fear again.

Oh, and you know what really made me laugh?  That the doctors and nurses actually though I’d be able to speak Dutch to them when I was in pain and drugged off my head.  Come on people, I can barely manage it on my fittest of days, you must be joking!  Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t come out of there minus a kidney or missing a limb, who knows what I probably agreed to!  Maybe I should have my friend give me another ultrasound, just to make sure everything is where it should be!

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Oh yeah baby!  You didn’t think I’d go through the torture of sitting there while Xander had his tooth pulled and NOT get it to take pics of, did you?   I mean I took pics of mine that time, so you should expect no difference now.

*snicker*

Seriously, that was in the mouth of the man I kiss!

This is the happy little patient just moments before the big event.  I snapped this quickly while the dentist was off looking at the x-rays.  I would have taken photos of the whole disgusting adventure except that the camera in my phone is as loud as hell and I didn’t want to distract anyone.

So, the whole ordeal is over now.  The tooth is out and he is on the mend…

The sad news is, while I was there they realized it’d been a year and a half since my last appointment and now I have to go for a check-up next Wednesday.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!  Nooooo!!!

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Who needs a pedicurist when you have dogs like this?!

Bailey was always a seriously licky dog, and he’s passed the habit on to Pixel.  If there is an inch of bare skin, they want to be licking it.  They’ll stop if you tell them no… sternly … err, and repeatedly.  Shouting it helps.  They’ll usually start up again five minutes later.

A lot of people would be totally grossed out.   They are probably a bit more normal than we are.   We are so used to it now that we hardly notice it’s happening half the time.

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It can’t be just me who found it incredibly strange to watch that video and see a child almost the full length of the sofa crawling up into mommy’s top for a wee suckle.   I mean, really?  Does she stop on a bench at the mall like the other moms and breastfeed her 8 year old?

I found the part about her kids constantly playing with her breasts, naming them and being completely obsessed with them slightly disturbing.   I wonder if this would be as acceptable to some if it were boys she had instead of girls.  Weirdo.

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Spitters.  I don’t like them and I’ll never understand them.

I don’t remember a time I’ve ever hawked up a slimy one and spat it out onto a public street.  Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever even done it on a street where I was the only one on it.

Why do people, men mostly (but not always I’ve witnessed this from women as well.. frighteningly enough!) just spit wherever they feel like it?

Can’t they just swallow their spit like the rest of us?

I find it’s mostly teenage guys who do it, like it’s the next coolest thing besides smoking and banging babes.  I mean seriously, I’ve actually walked by a group of boys and seen them all spit within a few seconds of each other.   Are their bodies that in tune that they are producing slimy unswallowable spit at the same time?  Good grief…

For me, walking around in public is like walking through a green field in a park on a summer day.  The only difference is I’m dodging people’s foamy globs of spit rather than dogshit.

Someone explain this to me?  What are people getting in their mouths that is so horrid that it can’t be swallowed?  Am I weird for never having to spit?  All these Spitters make me feel like *I* am the weird one for not being repulsed by my own saliva.

I wish we had signs like this all over the city I live in, and some kind of fine like for littering.

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None of the reasons above have anything to do with why I’m hating my body today though, believe it or not.  Today my foadage goes out to the heartburn that has kept me up all night.

Yesterday was a great day.  I went out with the girls in the afternoon, had some lunch (Subway) then spent the entire afternoon gabbing.  I then walked around the city center for a little while taking photos of some of the x-mas lights (will show them later) until I met Xander in town at Cafe Floor where we sat and drank honey lemon tea until 6:30 when we were meant to meet up with friends.

After meeting up with the couple we were going out with, we went to the Dream Cafe for dinner.  We had plans to see the Borat movie (review coming later) at 8pm so that left us 1.5 hours to eat and get to the theater across the street.

After the last time we were there, I stuck to what I knew I liked and ordered 2 starters for my meal, a small ceasar salad and potato skins.   While we were eating my friend’s husband asked me about what it was like to live in Canada because he had always wanted to live there…

WELL, what a thing to ask me of all people.   Next thing I knew I was sitting there with 3 people with empty plates and I still had all my food in front of me.  I’d prattled on so long about how fantastic Canada is, where the best places to live are, why Canadians are so much better than Americans and everything else… I’d done way more talking than eating!

THEN I realized it was only 15 minutes until our movie started, so I had to scoff down my food in record time and leg it over to the theater…. which turned out to be more of a quick waddle because I was really full and feeling kind of crap after eating so fast.  Thank god I hadn’t ordered something huge like a steak or ribs or whatever.

So, fastforward… movie, car, home, email, bed.

2:30am I woke up thinking either someone had just stabbed me in the chest, started a bonfire in the massive valley between my breasts or I was having a heart attack.  I got out of bed to see what was happening to me.

I can only imagine how attractive I must have been, walking naked around my livingroom with my hair a mess repeatedly trying to make myself burp because the pain in my chest felt like I had to let a really big one go.   It was fine though, the only ones to see me were the cats and I don’t mind traumatizing them.

After searching around the net for remedies for heartburn I read that a tablespoon of vinegar works.  YUM!  I did as they said and about a half hour later I felt better.  Too bad I hadn’t read it until about 5:30am!

I waited as long as I could to go back to bed because I didn’t want to wake Xander, who has been a grumpyass the last few days because of lack of sleep due to work stress.  So I crawled back into bed at 8am… just to be woken up by the cleavage bonfire again at 9am.

So now I’m up.  Fully clothed and another spoonful of vinegar later.  It’s 12:20pm and I’ve only had relief for the past half hour…. but I’m scared to go back to bed.   I’ve decided that laying down = pain.

Heartburn sucks, bigtime… and next time someone asks me about Canada while I’m trying to eat I’m going to resist all urges to brag about my home country and tell them to Google it.

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Yes, that entire paragraph was a lame attempt to rationalize how a glass of beer sits in my livingroom long enough to get moldy. I blame Xander, he should have finished it. Empty glasses don’t go moldy.

Speaking of Xander, can’t believe how utterly addicted he is to World of Warcraft. Mr. I hate all games is now a hardcore gamer! He actually plays more than I do I think, but that’s probably more to do with the fact that I already have a maxxed out character and have done a lot and he is still a little newbie. Funny change of roles in game and in RL, in game I’m the sugar mama and he’s the poor dependant one haha

WTS RL ACCOUNT FOR WoW GOLD! PST! (Guess only the gamers will get that but I don’t care)

Loving how our house is coming together. I used to be sort of ashamed of our ugly bathroom and stuff, now I’ll be inviting people to come stay with us just so they can use my pretty new shower.

No not really, I don’t like having people around that long (unless it’s my mom and dad of course, or Xander’s mom)… I’ll just invite them over for dinner so they can wash their hands in there after they pee. Then I can get rid of them earlier!

Feel sorry for Xander today. We still have all the old tiles from the bathroom up here in these great big bags, which he has to seperate into smaller bags and lug downstairs for the big garbage people to take away. I offered to help but Nurse Nazi came out again and told me I wasn’t lifting anything heavier than laundry. Oh well, we have enough of that to keep me busy all day anyway.

Got a letter from Albeda College saying that the time has come to register for my course for Sept. -cry- I don’t want to go back!! They said I have to pay a registration fee of 30 euros, which is poppycock, I mean the entire course isn’t even worth that in my opinion. Did I mention that I didn’t attend class or do any work for like three months and still got 99-100% on all my exams. Pfft.. I think I’ll go register though. The way I see it, I can pay 30 euros to register for the last 2-3 months of the course. Then I can just not bother going to the stupidass classes, get the goverment to pay for my travel ticket for the few months (which is about 60 euros / month) and just take the test at the end. No classes but free travel, works for me! PRIMA!!

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This morning when I was going out to walk the dog, I stepped out of our flat into the stairwell and was greeted by the smell of dirty wet things. The smell was wafting up from the basement all the way up to the 3rd floor and the first thing I thought of was my locker at the Northside Yacht Club when I was a kid. I used to take sailing lessons there, it was a great way to keep me occupied in the days during the summer when my parents were working. Of course, when you are a kid one of the best parts of sailing is tipping the boat over, falling out and just generally splashing around. So I would always end up with wet clothes. I guess one day I must have decided to change because I left my sopping wet clothes sitting in a blob on the shelf of my locker and kept forgetting to take them home. After about a week or two, my locker smelled jst like our basement does today.

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