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Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Gallbladders: Part 5 - the removal

Hello, lovelies.  It's time for another episode of Ms. Daisy and the Gallbladders (yes, that is my band name).

If you are already quite familiar, this post is one part in a series of five spanning about a six month period.  You may be surprised to see the title, but (as usual) I've got the whole story for you, coming right up.

If you've been reading along, you've seen the absolutely DELIGHTFUL journey we've had in Galbladderlandia - the enzymes, the flush, the naturopaths, the chiropractors, the Hulda zapping, the veganism, the Beta Fooding, the quinoa, the detox baths, the accupressure, and much more.  We have apple cider vinegar in bulk for chugging after meals here.  I have fifty kinds of Standard Process supplements that should have helped the hubby and his little buddy, Mr. Gallbladder.

Ewwwwwwwwwww, gross stuff.

After the first gallbladder attack where my hubby got a gallstone stuck in his bile duct and turned yellow, we figured his body was just a teensy bit perhaps trying to tell us something.  So we opened the tools in the toolbox - the regular doctor, the surgeon, the chiro, the naturopath, and a doctor of integrative medicine.  I went crazysauce on researching herbal remedies, detoxification and cleanses.

As you may be aware, we aren't the type around here to just hop onto the surgical bandwagon first thing.  I find that to be rather disturbing, actually.  So, we avoided it like the plague for as long as we could.

The flush worked well.  It got out the gallstones.  In fact, if having gallstones is your only problem, I highly recommend that you get on that bus and ride.  Do the Hulda lemon, olive oil thang and you will be amazed.

But, unfortunately, for my hubby, we found out that gallstones were not the problema.  Mr. Gallbladder was a sick, sick puppy.  

I am the sort to ask a surgeon if I may see the organ or if I may not, if I may please see pictures of the organ.  (I can hear half of you shaking your heads saying, "I am zero percent shocked." from here.)  And that is what Mr. Surgeon did.  Now, if you're wondering, we did not go to Surgeon Dr. McStupidpants, we went to one that actually had (how shall I say this) a brain. 

It was distressing to me, to be quite honest, to think how we failed at rescuing Mr. Gallbladder.  I suppose that the signals of bad digestion he was experiencing twenty years ago as a teenager should have been paid attention to, but they were not.  And I wasn't around then, and I did not think the way I do now back then, even if I were to be some random other teenager running up to him, begging him to not eat like a human garbage disposal.
Poor little Mr. Gallby, getting ripped off of the liver bed.

At any rate, when he had a reaction to almond milk and hemp cereal, I looked deep within myself and wondered if I was going to end up killing my hubby if I didn't suggest that we get rid of the nasty thing.  He was afraid if it went gangrenous that it would murder his pancreas and harm his liver.  At around 2:00 a.m. after the hemp cereal gallbladder attack, I finally said the words I thought I'd never say, "I think it might be time, honeybearsweetiesnookemsdeary."  (Or something like that.)

He called the surgeon and begged for a date to get in that would not be a month and a half away and graciously (for crying out loud, the guy is getting paid like one bamillion jillion dollars for a fifteen minute procedure, so I guess he figured it would be okay, especially since dear hubbsters was practically crawling on gravel in front of him) he agreed.  (He was going on vay-cay-cay for like a month.)  

The day approached and my waif of a husband was ready.  Sorta.  He so hates hospital stuff.  It makes him think of croaking.  And he didn't want to croak.  Yes, he did read all of the possible things that could go wrong during a surgery (like having your bowels severed and you die instantly), so he was prepared.  The poor guy got stabbed in some nerve because a young and new nurse thought he ought not have pain meds to insert his port thingy since he said he had issues with novocaine.  (It wasn't related to novocaine, and his arm still hurts weeks later.)

Thank the Lord, all went as well as could be expected and he is healing well.  I gave him chicken broth after his surgery and he was so starving that he thought I had pretty much made him the best meal in the history of the entire universe.  Poor guy.

He seems to be on the mend and back to his wily ways - yesterday (I KID YOU NOT) he picked up some pazcki's for some customers and had a half one himself.  (Hello and welcome to Revoltingland.)
And by "other", we mean "filled with partially hydrogenated poison".

We got word from the follow-up appointment that Mr. Gallbladder got sent off to be tested in the lab.  Hubsters asked about the state of it, and what was found out.  He had mentioned to the surgeon that he felt surprisingly well, and had not had any bowel issues (this is a common issue with people who have their gallbladder removed).  The surgeon replied, "Yes.  Well.  That is because we found out at the lab that your gallbladder was functioning at ZERO PERCENT."  I guess that whole looking yellow thing was a jolly decent sign it was not happy, either.

So, my friends, this ends the saga of the gallbladder.  I still will stand by most all of you and tell you to fight for yours.  Try everything.  Don't go jumping on the surgery bandwagon unless you've done it all.  You can't get it back, it is a one way street.  And then you have the issue of worrying about absorbing fat-soluble vitamins.  Consider carefully and be wise, lovies.

Peace, love and be well,
Ms. Daisy

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