It began like any other normal day...well, sorta. For me. For the hubby, it was a different story. He woke up and went to a golf outing (please pity him for his unpleasant job). Because my dear hubby is on an I.C. diet - that is, whatever "I see, I eat", he had a busy time of chomping it all up that day. High fructose corn syrup cinnamon rolls made of 2198712 ingredients, inhumanely killed nitrate filled luncheon meats wrapped up in (I FREAKIN KID. YOU. NOT.) American "cheese" (which is pretty much the definition of our country's food ideals in all of its sick an vulgar glory being that it is NOT FOOD and is neon orange), antibiotic-injected ammonia washed diseased beef steaks, and the list continues.
Well for some reason (re-read with eyeballs bulging and the most sarcastic look on your face you can muster), he felt slightly unwell that evening after he came home. The pain was severe. He thought he was having the worst case of heartburn anyone could ever imagine. He made me go to the store at 10:30 at night and buy poison for him, and by that I mean Tums and Pepcid, even though I was doing accupressure on his feet and offering him fennel tea. (I returned the Tums and Pepcid, by the way, just in case you were wondering.) Nothing helped. Not even a little.
The next day (after sleeping very little), we had made plans to hang out with friends. These friends are sweet and they made us a meal. This meal included steak and a myriad of other things (including my homemade berry pie). Being on the I.C. diet, he had a bit of everything.
And then we went to the E.R.
He was acting as if a sharp-clawed alien was crawling through his bellybutton and eating his organs from the inside out.
They suggested he may have gallbladder issues. But since the awesome ER was so busy, they couldn't see us and we ended up going home before being seen. WAY TO GO.
The next day was Sunday and we called the on-call doctor. She said that he sounded as if he may have gallstones and to make an appointment for the following day to come and get an ultrasound.
We did. The ultrasound confirmed the presence of two gallstones. The doctor (TOTALLY LIED) said we should talk to this surgeon, not because he would need to have surgery necessarily, but because this guy was a gallbladder specialist. (LIES TO THE EXPONENTIAL MILLIONTH POWER.)
Today we went to talk to the
I have to tell you this because I am about to die of implosion if I don't. This guy was the maniac psycho that L.L. Cool J must have been talking about in Mama Said Knock You Out. Yep, f'realies.
We go in. We sit in A CLOSET. Yes. Not kidding. It had a mini-exam table in it and a bi-fold door and made you feel like a very important person NOTATALL. Dr. Surgeon McStupidpants comes in, shakes our hands and asks my husband how old he is. He looks at the form my husband just filled out for him and remarks, "You're healthy!" He draws a picture of a liver, a stomach, a gallbladder and a pancreas. He points to the gallbladder and says, "This, you don't need this. It's for nothing. Lie down."
My husband lays back on the table (as we play Twister trying to get around each other in the closet to trade places). Dr. McStupidpants pulls up his shirt and says, "I cut you here, here, here and here. Very easy. You be back home - one day! Here, do the paperwork."
I interrupt Dr. Stupidpants, "Excuse me, Dr. Stupidpants (I only thought that bit), what percent of patients still have gallstones after their gallbladder is removed?" (I have been researching, my peeps! It happens. The liver takes over your gallbladder's function and you can get them again, except for now, you're totally screwed since if you take out your liver you instantly die.)
Do you know what this joker says? "ZERO PERCENT! Gallbladder all gone, goes to gallbladder heaven, ha ha ha! Keep in a jar, ha ha ha! Say, 'Look! Big gallstone!'"
This dorkface had now lost all credibility possible. My husband had to ask him to look at the ultrasound pictures (which he could not figure out how to open) to see his gallbladder to see if we may determine a) how many gallstones there are and b) what is the current state of the gallbladder and c) if there is anything of note we should be aware of.
Did he talk about the function of the gallbladder? No.
Did he ask us if we had any questions? No.
Did he offer any options besides "I cut you here, here, here and here"? No.
Did he look at my husband's anatomy before deciding on surgically removing his gallbladder? NO.
Did he tell the truth about possible complications post-surgery? No.
Did he put us in a closet? Yes.
If I would have looked at him pensively and asked him to take out my gallbladder too, would he have? YES.
Did he have awards on his wall saying he was a great doctor? Yes.
Was his mom apparently on the council that decided to give him that award? Who knows, she's probably dead, he probably took out all of her organs and threatened the others who were voting on it, "You say no, I cut you here, here, here and here!"
Yep. Next time, I'll tell you what we ended up doing. Let me give you a clue: it wasn't getting surgery with this joker.
Peace, love and I punch him here, here, here and here,