Last Tuesday, right after dinner, I started feeling some strange stirrings in my stomach. Having a history of acid reflux and GERD, I popped a Zantac and wrote it off. By 11 PM, the pain was bad enough that I couldn’t sleep. I finally dosed off at 5 am but still got up and went to work the next morning. I felt better, not a 100%, but I was able to eat normally and do a full days work.
Wednesday night comes and it’s 10 times worse. I can’t lay or sit down. I cry. I wake up my wife and consider going to the hospital. No, I’m too tough for that and I pace the living room for hours. At 4 am I vomit and sleep for 40 minutes. At 8 am I call my primary care doctor and head there for a 9 am appointment.
If you ever want to bump to the head of the line in a doctors office, come in hunched over in pain with a horrified look on your face. The doc examines me and instantly thinks galbladder. She sends me off to a CT Scan with 40 oz of contrast in tow.
At this point my pain is decreasing and except for the nasty contrast, I’m more interested in the slick technology of the CT Scan. The doctor at the radiology site reads my scan and calls my doctor, they see nothing wrong with my abdomen. My primary care doctor puts me on Prilosec, sends me home and tells me that if the pain returns that night, head to the ER.
Right on cue, 11 PM Thursday, the pain strikes again. I try to sleep (I’ve only had about 5 hours in two nights) but I can’t. My sis-in-law comes over to stay with our sleeping toddler and my wife and I head to the ER.
It’s only a two hour wait before I get a bed in the ER. The ER doctor thinks ‘suprisingly’ that it’s my galbladder. She calls the sonogram people and with a vein full of Dilaudid, I send my wife home and I sleep for the first time in what feels like forever.
At 4 am, I’m wheeled through the halls of the hospital, stoned, in a dream-like trance. The sonogram room is warm, the lights are dim and I float in and out of consciousness as the test is performed.
The results come back, they see nothing wrong with my abdomen. The ER doctor is going to discharge me and have me return for an HT Scan tomorrow. One look at my meagerness, though, she tells me just to sleep in the ER, they’ll do the test first thing tomorrow morning.
Friday, 10 am, I’m back on a table for another test. An hour and a half laying on a hard table, with a vein full of some radioactive isotope, I just wish they’d find something wrong with me. I watch the dancing lights on the monitor and doze off.
The results come back, they see something wrong with my abdomen. My galbladder is functioning at 10%, barely secreting any bile at all. I’m both horrified and joyed. The ER docs pass me off to a surgeon. He comes in and tells me I’ll be admitted to the surgical floor.
While I’m waiting for my room upstairs, I’m moved to an area of the ER for non-critical care patients. By non-critical care patients, I’m pretty sure they mean psychiatric patients. The 60 some year old woman across, rambling to herself about those out to get her, wanders the hallway in various stages of undress. She comes over to my room, introduces herself and declares “I’m not crazy, I just like to have fun”. I would normally try not to laugh at someone obviously in need of care, but this provides me some levity I need right now.
I’m finally taken upstairs about 4 pm and I meet with my surgeon. He examines me and describes the procedure for removing the galbladder. He is, however, not fully convinced it’s the galbladder. I can’t argue with erring on the side of caution before removing organs and he brings in a gastroenterologist to rule out any possible ulcers or other problems of the esophagus or stomach.
At this point I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I’m told I can have a full liquid diet, jello, broth, water, etc… 5 minutes later the nurse comes in, sorry, with the endoscope you can have only water. 5 minutes later the nurse comes in, sorry, your surgeon wants you NBM (nothing by mouth). So, hungry…
Two hours later, my GI consult rolls in, examines me and declares me a text book galbladder. My dad is still laughing that she comments on my muscular abs (hey, I worked hard for those freaking muscles). It doesn’t help that the doc is easy on the eyes. She consults with my surgeon, “do the surgery”, but he still wants her to do a endoscope just to be sure. Ughh, he’s the boss, another round of tests tomorrow. That night I dream about cheesesteaks.
Saturday, noon, I head downstairs for another CT Scan. I had surgery on my intestines when I was 2 days old (twisted intestines) and the scar has grown with me. My surgeon wants to take a look and see if my scar tissue is going to complicate his surgery and if he’ll be able to do it laparoscopicly (it turns out he really won’t know until he tries it). More contrast to drink, yum!
Saturday, 3 PM, I’m in the “Digestive Disease Center” for my endoscope. The anaesthesiologist comes in and knows all about my case. This is somehow reassuring, these doctors are talking and consulting about me. The knock me out in a twillight sleep and do the endoscope. Now, I’ve never been put out before and it’s a strange sensation. They tell me I was out for 8 minutes (wow) but I wake feeling very rested and I swear I was dreaming. My results come back, no ulcers, minor acid reflux, nothing exciting. My surgeon tells me the surgery is on, would I rather do it tonight or tomorrow morning. I want it done, done, done. I want to eat!
By 9 PM, I’m wheeled into surgery center. The anaesthesiologist from before is there congratulating me on my successful endoscope. We both agree that for a young man like myself, the surgery is better than a cronic condition like an ulcer. (Are all anaesthesiologists that boisterous and funny?) After some paperwork and hugs from my wife and parents, by 10:30 PM, I’m in the cold, bright, intimidating operating room. 5 mins later, I’m out.
I wake up an hour later, in pain, annoyed and groggy. I’m joined by my wife and parents in recover. God, why won’t my mom stop talking, I just want to sleep. I’m told the surgery was successful and that he was able to do it laparoscopicly. By midnight I’m back in my room, sleeping with heavy doses of pain killers.
After a restless sleep (please take my blood at 4 am), I’m up at 10 am the next morning. I feel good, sore, but good. My nurse comes, sees my empty urinal bottle and asks if I peed in the night. “No, was I supposed to?” “Um, yea, you are on a pretty aggressive IV drip. Go, try and urinate right now.” I don’t even feel like I have to go and I simply can’t, strange. She tells me to keep trying and gets me a warm, wet towel to hold over my bladder. After an hour of trying, I get spurts out but can’t maintain a stream. She orders another test, a bladder scan. The med tech estimates that I have 1500 ml of urine in my bladder. Oh no, my bladder has become disteneded and will need to be drained. I get a catheter put in, right on my bed, no pain killers. Of my whole ordeal, I think this was the worst pain. The med tech drains 2 liters of urine from my bladder. Watching him try and swap a filled container with an empty one, without dumping urine everywhere, would be comical if I didn’t have 3 feet of tubing up my penis. Thankfully my bladder function returns to normal and I’m able to urinate again. Oh the simple joys of lift.
My surgeon comes by and discharges me around 6 PM sunday.
3.5 days in the hospital, 6 scans/tests, minus 1 organ, I’m going home.
My recovery is so far pretty uneventful. I’m on a low-fat diet which I’ve mostly been keeping to (alas, no cheesesteaks). I’ve had soreness, lots of gas, bloating and some strange bowel movements. All I’m told perfectly normal. The hardest thing is not rough housing with my 2 year old son. I’m his dad, that’s what I do, and he doesn’t understand why I won’t pick him up or play our usual games.
I should be totally back to normal in 7 to 10 days. Absolutely amazing.
I’d like to add that I received some excellent care in the hospital (GBMC in Baltimore). So to all the doctors, nurses, med techs, transport people, etc… out there, THANK YOU.
Welcome to the club. I was out of the hopsital about 30 hours after my surgery. Couldn’t lay on my stomach for a month but I didn’t even miss a day of school (the surgery happened on a Friday night).