First thing's first, a reason I created it along with my other one; my other one is just for alerts specifically for this website, while this one is as a result of what's going on my life and random streams of consciousness that I have that might not be appropriate for me to post on the forums. I could probably find a place for this within Beyond Equestria, but I think it's better that I post it here so it gets its own little personal spot to shine instead of being among thousands of other posts.
What a greater place to start than my surgery that took place today? Yes, I was building this up for a while as I stated that I had to get surgery to get my gallbladder removed. For the unaware, I had gallstones which would get stuck within the tube that connects my gallbladder to my liver, and as a result it would cause intermittent spurts of excruciating pain. There was some pattern to it as in that it would occur at night, and usually I was able to predict what night it would happen on (my stomach would feel weird the day prior), but other than that there was little I could do to fight it other than through pain medication. This is part of the reason, along with others, that I was low in activity with my sectional moderation duties that I previously had, and it's also why I was let off of the team, hence the fact I don't have the badge anymore. That is an entirely separate subject and something I may go into detail later once it's been settled and talked over; the point of this entry is rather to talk about the surgery itself that I underwent and the struggles that led up to it. These pains had been occurring for nearly two years but starting around the time I joined last year of this site and some months before then they'd been getting worse. Before it was a monthly period that I would wait for the pain to catch me unawares, but lately it's been every two weeks, and even then the effect lingered as the pain kept me practically unable to breathe. It was a sharp, stabbing pain that crippled me, so you could imagine how frightening it was when I didn't even know the cause of the pain, and how it would stress me out and begin to change my behavior around those with whom I had even close relationships with.
It was getting to the point that I would even be snappy on these forums or focus too much personally on matters that really did not require my getting worked up about (for those who were at the brunt of this, whether in the Debate Pit or otherwise, I apologize for it; some of my behavior, while not entirely inappropriate, wasn't my best side). Sometime within the past month, (as in very recently) I had one of my absolute worst attacks, "worst" meaning that it lingered for more than a few hours and didn't allow me to go back to sleep, so we went to the ER to check out what was wrong with me. It was then that I received the diagnosis that I had gallstones, and that answered why there was a pattern to it and why it would be so intense. The last one that I mentioned, of course, was by far the most intense attack as I had even vomited as a result of the nausea from it. From there I was prescribed some narcotics (pain medication) and anti-nausea medication (I do not, for the life of me, remember the official terms and I am far too woozy and in pain to go look them up at present, sorry) as we planned for a potential surgery. Here's the kicker: I already, by then, had an idea that the pain that I was suffering through wasn't normal. My mother was concerned about me prior to the hospital visit but she shrugged it off because of the unlikelihood of gallstones at my age, amounting it to mere abdominal pain, but I knew better even two years back; and it was even a repeated insistence of mine that it had a pattern to it, which seemed too farfetched for something that was supposedly a fluke. I will have to admit that to some degree I still resent my mother for it, although I am trying to forgive her as I know that it can be quite a hassle to get all of this organized, and now I fully understand that given that I've gone through the process (finally). I will not complain too much as it's already over and done with, though I think it could've been done with much earlier had she listened better to me.
Anyway, once we identified the source of the problem we started organizing many appointments that would lead up to the one solution: surgery. This surgery would involve removing my gallbladder entirely. There's an official term for the operation, but I can't remember it for the life of me (and even admitted as such when the nurse told me I would have to tell the one who would administer to me anesthesia today, who responded that it was perfectly fine to just say that I was going to get my gallbladder removed as that's what it essentially meant anyway), and, not to go too much into details, but it requires them to make a series of cuts within my abdomen to stick tubes in there that would, in essence, "suck" the gallbladder out of me once they'd released it from my body. Before this surgery could take place, we had a pre-op appointment and some other appointments, one of which involved me meeting the surgeon. He was more a "cut to the chase" kind of guy than my ER doctor; my ER doctor gave me a wishy-washy response of, "You can get rid of the gallbladder, but you don't have to. You just put yourself at the risk of future attacks," while my surgeon said to me, "You must have the operation, as soon as possible, preferably." For some reason it felt as if both of them were trying to console me, though, just in their own ways. The surgeon repeated himself when I thought I made it very clear that I wanted this operation and I didn't need to be told about it several times. And I think that was the central problem with my experience with this surgery.
Not the surgery itself, but the process before it.
You see, the myriad of appointments that I mentioned earlier? A majority of them felt pointless because all they were was taking my blood pressure for the umpteenth time (which they have said, time and time again, was perfectly healthy), asking for my height, weight, my name, my birthdate (you don't even know how many times that they asked for the last two), and about the nature of my condition (which I must have answered at least five times). I do not judge the doctors or the nurses who asked me this, as it's likely protocol for them, but I can't help but wonder why they have to in the first place. The information should've been on the computer that was in the room with them when they asked me, which made me wonder why they couldn't just look it up for themselves instead of having to ask me. Further, for the personal nurses especially, how didn't they know? Did they make any sort of communication with the surgeon at all? Repetitive clarifications are natural in a profession such as this but it had to have been at least seven times that I said the same thing. My answer barely changed, either, except for perhaps my weight (which oscillates between being in the 100's and the 110's), but that information isn't really that important for this operation anyway except perhaps the potential for...blood loss? I guess?
I mean, who am I to judge, I'm just the patient and the system is clearly working but some communication seems to be lost down the line somewhere.
Anyway, when I finally had the surgery today, I had a sort of nervous anticipation. I didn't feel scared, or that it would go wrong (the thought certainly floated into my mind but it was shrugged off pretty easily). Rather, it was an operation and so I felt that natural feeling of 'here we go, it's finally happening, we're finally going to get it done' when something of profound change is going to occur. The nurse sticking an IV in me noted that I was one of her calmer and braver patients. It surprised me to hear that when the IV is being stuck in many patients look away and wince, whereas I just watched the process happen. I figured it was a logical way to react to it; if I watch it go in there's less of the surprise of pain and that, in a way, minimizes it. Plus, it was kind of interesting to know the process that goes behind it. It wasn't the first time I'd gotten an IV (the first time that I remember as I've had an operation when I was nine months old was during the time I'd went to the ER for this problem), but even then I didn't have trouble watching it happen. I don't mean to discount phobias of needles in any way, of course, and I completely understand why one would have them, just noting that I don't, personally, and I think it's pretty cool that doctors are able to do something like that to put me to sleep. It looks almost nothing like those IVs on TV, either; they just stick a thin needle within my wrist, then hook it up to some kind of machine (I didn't get a good look at it because by then they were already setting me on the operating table and they wanted to administer relaxant medication), and it just seemed rather..."high tech" for what I'd been expecting this to go like? I don't know if I can describe it adequately, just that it wasn't how I was expecting it to go.
The sleep was probably the most profound part of it. I don't remember anything of the operation, just right before it occurred and the afterward when I woke up. While I was beginning to relax to go to sleep (I already had my eyes closed) they gave me an oxygen mask to wear, but I was fairly comfortable with it as I was used to a similar effect as a result of my inhaler that I used when asthma used to be a heavy problem of mine. A funny thing I also want to note about IVs is that when they deliver liquid to you through it, you get a kind of strange sensation as it works instantly, whether it's pain medication or the saline liquid that they put on for sterilization. You taste it in a way, and you feel it in your throat, and it's not the most pleasant taste or sensation, but it's interesting. Anyway, I don't remember falling asleep at all. It happened at some point, I know it did, but I don't remember it. Which is fine! I'm not frightened by that at all, in fact to some degree I expected it. It's almost like when I've fallen asleep on my bed when I was dead tired and not intending to fall asleep. Again, something I'm used to. In fact, the surgery was probably unexpected to me in that it felt as if I experienced all the steps before, despite the only other time of having had it being when I can't remember anything in that time period (when I was nine months old, as noted earlier). Some of it felt familiar to my ER visit, too, especially when I woke up. When I visited the ER they gave me the strongest form of pain medication that they had sans anesthesia, and that numbed my limbs and made me dizzy much like this did, although to a smaller degree. When I first woke up my stomach was in some kind of pain (they fixed that by making me take an Advil) and my vision was blurry. Before the operation occurred I remember being very hungry, since I wasn't supposed to have eaten anything after midnight yesterday (they do it because anesthesia induces nausea, and you can choke in that position since the movement is involuntary. no joke), but after I woke up I only felt a dull remnant of that hunger. Regardless, I was fed some graham crackers (yummy!), applesauce, and apple juice. I had (and still have) a sore throat, and they told me that was because they put a tube down my windpipe while I was asleep to allow me the ability to breathe, and I might have a sore throat for a few days along with the rest of my pain. When I sat up was when I was dizziest and even now, hours after the operation, I still have trouble standing up, and sitting is making me tired.
All in all, if you're about to undergo a surgery of any kind, especially one like this, I have to say it sounds a lot scarier than it actually is. You don't remember a thing, and they're very careful and gentle with you. Before they made me go down under they even told me gently, "Hey, we're gonna give you medication that's gonna make you sleepy, all right? And we'll take good care of ya." Which indicated to me they were used to patients who were far more scared than I was. I was told it was a simple operation and I believed that, so I didn't feel scared at all. As I said, the nervousness came from it being a new experience more than anything else, like going on a roller coaster for the first time. I didn't fear for my life, I was just left wondering what it would be like.
Anyway, we come to the present. I slept near soon as I got home. I was barely able to retain consciousness, as that anesthesia really knocked my socks off. Right now even I feel tired and somewhat listless, but that's okay. It's natural for me to feel out of it and in pain still after what happened. As a result, though, I'm not going to be very present within the next few days on this website as I recuperate from the operation. In fact, after this blog post I might go lie back down, because I'm feeling myself drift off again already. I just thought I'd detail the surgery for those who didn't know about it, in case it might be interesting for some of you folks.
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