Good Times with my Gallbladder

I’m scheduled to have my gallbladder taken out on April 26th. I’m not nervous though. It’s supposed to be a simple procedure. The way the doctor explained it to me was that they’re going to make three small cuts in my abdomen and then just slice off the organ. Snip, snap, snip, slice, done.

I kind of want to keep it. As a souvenir. And because it’s a part of me. That’s what I do. I keep things. I have all of the awards I won from K-12th grade ranging from “Pre-Calculus Student of the Year” in 11th grade to “Super Speed Reader 1995.” I own an extensive collection of drawings and paintings by my sister, Kayla. I use some of them as bookmarks. I still have all of my textbooks because you never know when you’re going to have to solve a differential equation. I even wanted to keep the tip of my finger that was sliced off by a meat slicer when I worked at Jersey Mike’s, but my coworker threw it away. That’s a part of me I’m never going to get back.

I don’t want that to happen with my gallbladder. Even though it’s caused me excruciating pain by not contracting fully and letting a buildup of bile occur, I want to keep it. I want to put it in a box and bust it out when I’m forty and say “See, kids? I used to have a gallbladder.” It just feels wrong throwing away something that’s been a part of me for twenty-five years now. It feels wrong throwing away anything, really. I like keeping things.

I don’t like collecting things or buying things. It’s not like I go out of my way to gather a massive collection of items and knick-knacks and twenty thingamabobs. Nor do I derive any pleasure from having all of these random objects in my apartment. It’s more of a certain guilt that I would feel if I threw them away. I’d rather deal with the inconvenience of living in a cluttered space than feel bad for tossing someone’s thoughtful gift. I’m looking at you, duck-shaped clock that my grandmother bought me for Christmas twelve years ago.

At the moment, I’m picking at a blueberry muffin. I know I shouldn’t. If I devour the entire muffin, my gallbladder will repay the favor by filling itself up with bile resulting in a pain so intense that many women have compared it to childbirth. The pain really depends on what I eat. This blueberry muffin probably won’t amount to much more than the feeling of someone punching me in the gut a few times over the course of an hour. A slice of deep-dish pizza, however, will cause me to experience the feeling of Danny Trejo taking a machete and repeatedly shoving it deep into my abdomen, twisting it every twenty seconds or so. I’ve been very careful to avoid deep-dish pizza.

I’ve been very careful to avoid a lot of things, really. I can’t eat anything that has a lot of fat, caffeine, or pork. No fried foods, desserts, or burgers. It’s been rough, but it’s not as hard when you realize that if you eat that gyro, you’re going to be doubled over in the fetal position the rest of the night.

There are some foods that I miss dearly, however. The doctor said I could eat whatever the hell I wanted the day after surgery, so I’ve made a list of foods that I’m going to eat. The day after surgery.

Pizza
Italian food in general. Ravioli, lasagna, pizza. I've been told to specifically avoid any tomato-based sauces which is torture because tomato-based sauces are the only sauces I like on my Italian food. I've had a few slices of pizza since the pain started, but they've all been vegetarian slices. Mushrooms and spinach? Ugh. Give me pepperoni and Canadian bacon, please! Smothered with a tomato-based sauce.

Hot Dog Wrapped in Bacon
Pork! Pork pork pork. I've probably saved dozens of pigs over the course of the past two months due to having to avoid pork. But not anymore. Right after I finish my surgery, I'm going to go to Hillshire Farm in my hospital robe and get me some pork. "Go meat!"

Green Curry mixed with Pad Thai
Oddly enough, I also haven't been able to eat curry because it's so spicy and apparently spicy foods make my gallbladder crazy. I also haven't been able to eat pad thai because the noodles are fried. This is a terrible, terrible occurrence because, once a week, Delma and I go to Oodles-of-Noodles, our local Thai joint, and order a plate of green curry and a plate of pad thai. Then we mix the two together and it's heavenly.

Beer
I've been able to down a few beers here and there without much pain, but the moment I have more than two, I get that screwdriver-in-the-side pain. Because of that, I have not been able to get drunk. Mark my words, though, the day after surgery will be crazier than St. Patrick's Day and Cinco de Mayo combined. Cinco de Patrick's Day. Then, it will be a yearly tradition whereupon I drink a handle of 151 by myself to celebrate the fact that, yes, I can still get drunk. April 27th. Save the date!

Filet-O-Fish
I don't know why, honestly. I've never been a huge fan of this sandwich, mainly because you don't know if it's really fish. It could be filet-o-genetically-mutated-possum-that-kinda-tastes-like-fish-now for all I know. For some reason, though, I've had this growing craving for the Filet-O-Fish sandwich from McDonalds. It started when I was in Houston last week. I saw an ad for the double Filet-O-Fish and I sorta wanted to try it. Then I kept thinking about it as the week progressed. Then, when I was at Navy Pier yesterday, I smelled it and my mouth started watering. I could just imagine the crispy, fried fish square smothered in tartar sauce and American cheese sloshing around in my mouth. Man, I want one right now so bad... But it'll have to wait for Cinco de Patrick's Day.

Honorary Mentions
Coffee
Cheeseburgers
Fajitas

I really wish I knew how this whole gallbladder issue started though. From what I've read, the pain is more of a symptom as opposed to an actual disease. Symptom of what though? My parents think it's all the coffee I drank that caused this, but who knows. The average patients with gallbladder issues are middle-aged, Caucasian, women. I am none of the above.

Or am I?