Gearing up for the op

 

Late last week I had a couple of phone calls that I was partially waiting for and partially dreading. The great NHS machine, that most hallowed and treasured institution so vital to the nation's well being had kicked into action, and my gallbladder removal operation was once again the focus of everyone's attention at home. 

"Before Christmas" the friendly voice on the phone said. "This christmas I hope!" I joked, and they confirmed that because of the risky nature of my particular flavour of gall bladder disease (tiny stones that like to move it, move it around my innards) I'm pretty high risk so they didn't want to put anything off any longer than necessary (which is a shame really, because I was originally on a waiting list for an op back in the summer, and was 'accidentally' removed by a previous consultant who assumed that out of sight was out of mind). 

On Sunday I dutifully turned up to the smaller hospital in Oxford for a pre-op. This was pretty much a test of whether I was fit and healthy enough (har har) to survive the op. Prodded, needled, weighed and measured, I managed to pass muster. And now the real waiting begins. 

Under normal circumstances, operations are pretty frigging scary. Under the current COVID restrictions, they're downright nightmarish as I will have to go and have a drive-through COVID test 2 days before the op. The op itself is a day operation, kicking off early in the morning, and kicking me back out of hospital (hopefully) the same day before the real recovery begins. 

I asked all the important questions. What does 'normal life' look like for someone who has had their gall bladder removed? I'd seen so many conflicting pieces of advice ranging from "Keep your gall bladder at all costs, you'll regret it if you don't" to "Get it out as soon as possible, you'll feel SO MUCH BETTER afterwards." At this point the consultant on the phone (actually the first one I saw in hospital when I was admitted with pancreatitis back in the summer) got very serious. "If you keep it, and if things get delayed much longer, it could kill you. You had a mild attack of Pancreatitis back in the summer, imagine what a more serious one would feel like."

I have a fairly high pain tolerance (for various reasons) but the pain I went through with my 'mild' attack was more pain than I've ever been in. Worse than a death by a thousand paper cuts, it was raw, ragged and I screamed like I'd never screamed before (in between bouts of puking and painful hiccups and abdominal spasms). So yeah, I took the point (so if you find yourself in the same situation, do not let anecdotal rubbish from the internet put you off opting for the op - people really do die from this). 

So preop done, scan on the way (this coming Friday) and hopefully the op sooner rather than later because I'm so tired of the uncertainty, the waiting around, and the annoyance of having to scrutinise every ingredient on food packets to ensure they are low in saturated fats (Lindor chocolates would make your eyes boggle, 35g of saturated fat per choc? What the hell are they made of, pure lard?)

The worst thing about all this is that we're back in isolation. Daughter is a high risk of COVID as she was back at school (where several cases had been detected in the year below hers), so she's now back at home with us home schooling and we're not allowed out (not that we were going out anyway, we've been playing things by the rules since March and we weren't about to change that anyway). Waiting is something I'm used to but despite being piss scared (anyone who tells you they're not before an operation is a bloody foolish liar) I just want it done, dusted, over with so we can get on with our lives. 

Feels like the theme for 2020. What a total write-off of a year.