In which my body betrays me… yet again.

The scene: Last Friday night, just finished a great stand-up show with my family celebrating my husband’s birthday.

The event: Went to get a bite to eat, couldn’t understand why I wasn’t feeling well- Hungry?  Sick?  Of course, that doesn’t stop me from ordering a cheeseburger.  When it’s delivered to the table, I take one look and know this isn’t the cure.  My newly licensed Oldest eats all the shrimp in her pasta and drives me home, forthwith.   The pain gets worse with every corner, streetlight and bump in the road.  It is a gall bladder attack, and it’s coming on strong.  It’s like if the Alien came out of me, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least.

The agony: Cut to 1am, and I am writhing in pain, unable to sleep, and scaring the crap out of my dearest.  He wants me to go to the hospital, but I refuse.  They won’t do anything.  They’ll just pronounce me fat and send me home to join WW.   No pain meds, no real review of my symptoms.  I’m heavy, therefore I deserve whatever my body dishes out according to the medical people, or at least they way they treat heavy women.

The return: Finally, sweet relief- the worst of the attack passes.  This one was a doozy- worst of the four I’ve had in the last two years.  The next day, I’m supposed to go to Oldest’s play at the school, but a late lunch of grilled chicken and plain rice sends my innards into a frenzy again.  It’s not as bad as the night before, but I have to send the family off to see her perform without me.

The aftermath: Days of eating no-fat, lo-fat foods.  I’m eating grilled chicken (no oil) and plain rice with fresh broccoli for days now.  I can finally sleep again, and my stomach doesn’t hurt like I’ve been throwing up for days.  I’m craving Mexican food- enchiladas, nachos, beans- and anything with cheese on it.  BBQ sounds great too.  Chocolate.  This is just not fair.  Husband brings croissants home from the store.  Eats ice cream every night.  (well, the ice cream isn’t such a big deal, since I haven’t really been into it for a few months now- don’t know why, just doesn’t sound good all the time.)

Today, I get to eat a sandwich- a real one with meat and cheese.  And it doesn’t kill me.  I’m still being good- eating my chicken and rice for supper, no chocolate for dessert, no butter on bread, no soda or coffee.  I know I’ll be able to go back to some of the things I love in a week or so, but slowly.  I’m seeing the gastro-doc on Thursday, so we’ll see if I get sent for surgery.  They keep saying it’s not “bad enough” yet.  Has to be under 30% functionality to qualify for surgery.  I say, horseshit.  You go through what I did on Friday, and any man would demand the damn thing be taken out.    NOW.

At the same time, I don’t want surgery, since I clearly don’t trust the docs or the hospital.  I don’t trust them to not screw up and kill me somehow, just because they think fat people aren’t important enough to really pay attention to, medically speaking.

The change in diet will likely do me good- I have to admit that.  But I will never give up Mexican food totally.  That would be too much to bear.

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1 comment so far

  1. ewok1993 on

    Just take care of yourself 🙂


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