It was the worst pain I’ve ever had to deal with, ten times worse than the stupid fucking abscess. It was even worse because whenever I got an attack, I would spend the entire day puking my guts out every other fifteen minutes. I had to go to the ER 10 times and wound up staying in the hospital twice. Do you know how much money that’s going to cost me?
Not even I can count that high. But the doctors couldn’t figure out my problem. They came up with a multitude of theories, from ulcer to allergic reactions to medications to rare flus, but nothing ever panned out. Not until they started looking at my gall bladder. But the problem was, I didn’t have stones, and when they gave me the test for sludge, someone forgot to inject me with the CCK (which would actually help detect the sludge).
But they figured it out the second time they gave me the test. When they told me my gall bladder would have to come out, I didn’t give it a second thought. “Take the fucker,” I said. I didn’t want to suffer through this pain anymore. I never considered that they’d actually have to cut me open and remove a part of me, that I would no longer be a complete human being.
Before you mention it, yes, I did have a tooth extracted. But they put an implant in to replace it. When they remove an organ, they don’t put a balloon or something in its place. The other organs sort of squish together into the vacuum (which causes a bubble to form and float up to one’s shoulder, where it pains one for a couple of days before it gets absorbed into the body).
I didn’t think about it until much later, when I had a lot of time to think. (Being out of work gives one a lot of time to think. And agonize. And think.) It was a relief to discover that they weren’t actually going to cut me open and yank out the gall bladder. Instead, they were going to make four very small incisions in my belly. Three were used for scopes and cameras and stuff, and the fourth was where they would insert an instrument that would suck out the offending organ. These cuts would be measured in millimeters, so that relieved me a great deal.
Better yet, they were going to knock me out for the whole thing. My previous experience with such things actually helped me look forward to the experience. I thought it was cool how they’d knock me out, and the next thing I knew, I’d be waking up with the procedure done. It wasn’t like going to sleep, it was like missing a segment of time. It was also guaranteed sleep time for me, which was important, since I’m an insomniac.
I went to the hospital on the day of the surgery. They set me up with my gown and hair cap and everything. They went over my information a hundred times, and they set me up with an IV. Then, they led me into the operating theater, and it was a truly impressive set up. They’re not lying on TV medical shows. I thought I was on the set for NIP/TUCK, it was that impressive.
I got up on the table, and they put a few blocks under me so I’d be in the most uncomfortable position ever (but it was to stretch out my belly so the doctor could properly operate on me). Then, they put the mask on me. I remember straightening out my nose so it would fit better, and the next thing I knew, I was in recovery with an ice pack on my stomach and my grandfather by my side, telling me everything went well.
But the nurse was in a hurry to get me out of there, since they were getting ready to close up for the day. Still groggy from being knocked out (and from the painkillers they’d just injected), the nurse had to help me get dressed while my grandfather got the car. By that point, I just wanted to get dressed, I didn’t care about my own nudity. I tossed my gown aside and stood up to pull my boxers and jeans up. The nurse, who was putting the leg of each around my feet, looked up in horror and pulled a blanket up to cover up my cock, since I was out in the middle of a hospital hallway with a bunch of people around me.
After a struggle, she got me dressed and in a wheelchair. Just moving caused me the greatest amount of pain. By the time I got home, I was eager to get back in bed and fall asleep. When I woke up, my grandfather had gotten my prescriptions for me, and I began gobbling painkillers.
And they made me sick. I spent the next few hours hovering over a bucket (because I couldn’t get to the bathroom) begging my own guts to stay down. As much pain as I was in, I couldn’t imagine how much worse it would get if I actually puked.
I managed to keep everything in and fell asleep again. When I woke up the next day, I got my first look at my belly. There were four huge bandages on me, including one over my belly button. And yes, they’d shaved my stomach. I am a very hairy man, so it looked very strange.
I started getting around a bit better then. The pain still kept me in bed for the most part, but after a few days, I felt strong enough to go Wizard World (as will be depicted in this column soon). That may have been a mistake, especially after eating their shitty pizza. The worst of it, though, was when I put on jeans with a belt. The nurse warned me against wearing a belt so soon, but that sounded stupid to me. As a result, about four hours into the con, I felt a bad pain under my belly. When I went to the bathroom, I saw that I had developed the world’s worst bruise in the shape of my belt buckle. It looked bad, like the sky at sunset with a hint of dusk creeping in.
I took off the bandages the next day. They told me to keep the sani-strips on, but they came off with the bandages. This freaked me out, so I quickly found some Band-Aids to put over the incisions. Surprisingly, the cuts were indeed very small, all except the one in my belly button, through which they pulled out my gall bladder. The way it was healing, it looked like my belly button had been disfigured. That’s not so good. When I was younger, I was prone to yeast infections in there. I hope they don’t come back as a result of this operation.
The only other problem I’ve had so far is the first bowel movement I had after the procedure. I was told that my shit would get so runny and wet that I’d be shooting diarrhea out of my ass for the next few weeks. As it turned out, the opposite happened. A lump of shit so big and hard built up in me that I couldn’t pass it. I sat straining on the toilet, and it just remained stuck in my asshole, too tough to come out. I tried prying open my own anus with my fingers to get it out. No dice. The doctor said I needed some milk of magnesia and mineral oil. In the meantime, I was stuck in the bathroom, in utter pain and desperation. Thankfully, my grandfather was around, and he went out to get my stuff for me.
I downed the awful concoction, but nothing happened. Three hours later, still on the toilet, this plug of shit finally came out. When I got a look at it, I gagged. It was the size of a child’s fist, rock hard. It was so tough, the toilet wouldn’t swallow it down. It stuck to the side of the porcelain like a barnacle.
After that, I got the expected diarrhea, which wasn’t pleasant. Too much blood from its predecessor. I never want to have to shit like that ever again.
Now, as I write this, I’m getting ready to go back to work. There is still a slight pain in my guts, and it’s there whenever I do anything except lie on my back. The painkillers do nothing for me unless I triple up on them. The bruise is finally starting to clear up. So things are good, I guess.
How about you guys? Anyone here ever have surgery? What did you have taken out? And did you get to keep it? I didn’t get to keep mine, no matter how much I pestered the doctor. Please leave a comment below.