For those who stop by here occasionally, I feel I should explain why I went missing for a month.
On April 1 (how appropriate) my gallbladder and I had a disagreement. Because gallbladder would not listen to reason, it was required to leave the premises. . . that being me.
After sharing this information with friends and family, I have come to the conclusion that I may have possibly been the only person left in the world who had a gallbladder. Almost everyone I know has had their gallbladder removed, including a son who didn’t even tell me about it! He said it was no big deal. He walked in. They took out gallbladder. He walked out.
Well, no big deal until the complications set in. With me, complications were a daily surprise, surprise.
My rebelling gallbladder was a surprise from the very beginning. It gave me no warning, other than two bouts of upset stomach, taken care of quickly with a couple of antacid pills.
Then at 1 a.m. on April 1 – Whamo! I texted Darling Daughter, “Stomach hurts. I’m going to emergency ward.” This stomach ache was not to be deterred by a mere pill.
It took one great doctor, three nurses, a whole bunch of tests, one great big pain-killing shot, and one warm blanket at Sequoyah Memorial Hospital to get gallbladder under enough control to transfer me to Mercy Hospital in Fort Smith for surgery so gallbladder and I could part ways.
And I want to offer a great big thank you to the staff at Sequoyah Memorial Hospital emergency ward for the best-ever care, on-target diagnoses and compassion they showed to me, who was a babbling cry-baby at that point.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to Dr. Richard Pearson and R.N.s Samantha Harriman, Carol Heaton and Chelsea Real.
They held my hand. They told me it was gonna’ be OK. They told me a surgeon in Fort Smith was gonna’ take that nasty gallbladder out. They told me they knew how much it hurt. They never left my side.
They were and they are amazing. I love those people. I even think I told them that after they gave me that great-big pain shot and wrapped me up in a warm blanket.
Of course I don’t remember much after that gallbladder pain and that great-big pain shot. I even had to ask Darling Daughter later how she got there.
“You texted me,” she replied, “and drove yourself to the emergency ward before I could even get to you.”
Oh yeah, I sort of remember.
I wanted Darling Daughter to take me on to the Fort Smith hospital, but for some reason, possibly my condition, my health care persons didn’t think that was a good idea, and they called an ambulance.
I have a question for ambulance companies.
Why are there no shocks in an ambulance? Even with that great-big pain shot, I felt every bump in the road all the way to Fort Smith. The ambulance crew was great, and took good care of me. But on my, when you’ve got a stomach ache as bad as a mad gallbladder, every bump counts.
And that was just the first six hours of Sally’s gallbladder adventure. The tale goes on for days, and days, and days. Well, eight days. Eight lo-o-ong days at Mercy Hospital.
But they were good too. I got the best care anyone could hope for, especially after all the complications set in. Those included:
-Bad gallbladder upset my pancreas, and I developed pancreatitis, with fever, which required three days of antibiotics before we could dump that gallbladder.
-That caused my breathing to get complicated, and 24-hour oxygen, which limits access to the bathroom.
-That caused my heart to have a tantrum and I got moved to the cardiac floor, on the orders of Sister Michaela, hospitalist. (Someday I’ll tell you about Sister Michaela. who is awesome!)
-And when they finally decided I could go home, at the last minute they decided I had a magnesium shortage, and I had to spend another two hours getting a straight shot of magnesium into my slippery veins.
Oh, I did forget to tell them I have slippery veins. That’s what the poor blood-taking folks at the hospital now call me . . .slippery veins. Seems every time a needle is stuck into my arm to take blood or deliver some necessary medicine, my veins slip away. This, it turns out, is quite upsetting to those blood-taking folks. One poor guy actually ran from the room after only one try and I never saw him again. On another day they called in some kind of expert who was not happy. Well, it was the dinner hour. But she had to bring an ultrasound machine (she said) in to find that dang slippery vein. Didn’t take her long. She was either mad at me or very hungry and missing dinner. She got the job done and left quickly.
My apologies to all those folks. I’ve known I had slippery veins ever since I was pregnant with Darling Daughter many years ago, when they couldn’t find those veins even then.
And those are just few of my gallbladder adventures. But everything is fine now, and my sincere thanks to all those at Sequoyah Memorial Hospital and Mercy Hospital for their kind and health-giving care. I survived thanks to you!