Hello, friends. As many of you know, I had surgery to have my gallbladder removed this past Tuesday, on Valentine’s day. I went into this day not thinking much of it, because I had heard from most people that it was a procedure in which they were feeling great a week or so after it happened, with little recovery needed after surgery.
As with most things in life, I entered it with a pretty nonchalant attitude, expecting them to do the procedure and get to go home after I got out of recovery. See…looking pretty nonchalant in pre-op if you ask me! The ‘thumbs up’ has become my signature pose, as my mom brought to my attention.
I was just ready to do that thing and get it done. Truth be told, I have never had surgery on anything below the neck and had no clue what to expect. Despite this, I still entered this situation with no fear, as this was just a little bump in the road that would be taken care of and I would be feeling great afterwards.
The reason I needed this surgery is because many weeks ago I had some odd symptoms that I finally visited the doctor about, got an abdominal ultrasound and they found that I had gallstones, and the means of removing them are to just take the whole gallbladder out. After surgery, the doctor told my mom that I had one LARGE gallstone the size of a ping pong ball…yeesh!
All I quite remember directly after surgery was being in post-op, opening my eyes and saying “I think I’m going to throw up,” and “Oh my gosh my stomach hurts so bad,” in whatever anesthetic mumble I could get out. I did not expect this at all. The nurse was so kind, constantly checking my pain levels (which did not subside), calling my mom to let her know how I was doing and trying to comfort me best he could. I have normally high tolerance for pain, but when they eventually sat my bed up without warning me I cried like a baby.
The next thing I knew, they had moved me to a room to keep me overnight. This was not going as I planned, expected or hoped at all. All of the medicine was making me nauseous, I couldn’t eat, and the pain was getting the best of me. Thankfully I was able to come home on Wednesday afternoon and the recovery process is proving to be a longer one than what is ‘typical.’
I’m still keeping my faith in healing, but am more frustrated than anything. I haven’t been able to eat anything other than jello and applesauce since Tuesday, and last night I woke up throwing up twice in the middle of the night with hiccup spells in between. The pain is worse now than it was in the hospital and I am just praying that this all passes and quickly.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about Little Rock. I’m not going to push my recovery from this surgery. I might even have to walk the marathon, which isn’t what is ideal to me at this point, but it’s reality. I will cross that bridge when I get to it.
This post is not a ‘poor me’ post, even though it’s probably a downer one. It’s me being reminded once again that I’m not always in control and despite circumstances, I still must keep my faith that this situation will pass. It’s going to help me grow as a person and as a runner. All I can say though is that I hope this thing is over soon.
Thank you to everyone who has been checking in on me, praying me, sending me flowers and visiting me, it makes things a whole lot less sucky 🙂