The Attack of the 80 Foot Gallbladder

pic from National Archives

I was enjoying a lovely breakfast of pancakes and bacon at my local Bob Evans when I realized I wasn’t really hungry.  Leaving half my food on the plate, I left and went about my day.  Errands, errands, ooh ice cream, errands, come home & read a book.  Pretty normal day for me (minus the ice cream).

We had a guest in the house; a guest who was like family, but a guest nonetheless.  I started feeling rather wonky around suppertime.  Wonky as in “If I inhale many more food fumes I will hurl.”  I made dinner for Devoted Spouse and our guest and retired to the bedroom to rest.

I thought a nice tv show might get my mind off my queasy tummy.  Turning on the tv, I landed on the Food Channel and promptly ran to the bathroom to hurl.  By that time I was pretty sure something was amiss.  The guest and Devoted Spouse were still enjoying their dinner, grrr.

A little voice told me, change your clothes…put on clean underwear…brush your teeth and do something with your hair.  I think it’s a girl thing.  A stupid girl thing because by that time I was all sweaty and there was no chance of doing anything with my hair.  sigh

At 10:00 that night, I walked into the kitchen all hunched over and looking a lovely shade of grey (no…not Fifty Shades…) to the horror of our guest and managed to scare the puddin’ outta Devoted Spouse.  I announced, “Hospital, now!”  The guest was concerned, Devoted Spouse was very concerned (and looking for car keys) and I was searching for a knife large enough to cut out Freddie Kruger (who I was sure was living in my belly).  It was not pretty.

Almost six days later I had been in two different hospitals, been sedated for a gnarly test involving tubes down one’s throat into the gallbladder (ack ack) and had a virtual munchkin stranger suck out one of my major organs leaving me with four rather painful holes and something disgusting hanging out of me called a drain.  (oh ack squared) (you may hurl now).

So that’s what I did on MY summer vacation kids. Even if you desperately wish to lose weight (I’m down 20 lbs now) I suggest you not try this.  It’s right up there with abscessed teeth…or maybe being run over by a truck.  Yes, the bills are arriving daily.  We’re over $22,000 at present.  Didja miss me?  sigh…

I Have What on My Where?

mammo  repairman

DISCLAIMER:  THIS POSTING CONTAINS GIRL THINGS INCLUDING DISCUSSIONS OF BOOBIES AND TMI SO IF YOU ARE A MAN AND THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE LEAVE NOW BEFORE YOU GET HOOKED AND MUST FINISH READING THE FOLLOWING TRUE STORY…

A short time ago I made an appointment to have my annual mammogram – I think I might have mentioned it in an earlier posting distinctly remembering that I wished men would have their testicles slammed between two plates so they could understand how uncomfortable this test is.  Anyway, it was something necessary and so in I went.

Much to my surprise technology has evolved in the last year and the machine was newer, the procedure didn’t hurt much, and the technician was a total sweetie.  We were done in no time at all.  Unlike last year where I had to wait forever in the little cold room for a radiologist to read the results before I was allowed to leave, this year the technician told me sweetly to get dressed, go home and I would receive a notice in the mail in one to two weeks with my results.  One to two weeks I had to wait to see if something strange was growing in a boobie or two.  Well, okay.  I went home.

Several days ago I received a phone call early in the morning.  I’m not an early morning person and as I recall I hadn’t even had one cup of coffee, Devoted Spouse was glued to his laptop, the tv was on with the early morning news, and I had to hobble over to the phone right in the middle of my morning ritual of fixing an icepack for my back and an icepack for my leg.

I heard what I thought was a very young girl’s voice on the phone telling me she was from some health place somewhere and I had to come back in and repeat my test because they had found voles.  What?   Prank call – I hung up the phone.  A moment later the phone rang and it was the same little girl voice:  “Mrs. XXX this is Tina from Health something or other and we got disconnected.  The radiologist thinks you have voles and you need to come back in.”    Me:  “Who are you really and what the hell are you talking about voles…how did voles get in my boobs?”  Are you nuts?”  Do you even know what a vole is?”

This is a vole

This is a vole

Blechh – I have a vole?  I know I spent some time in the woods lately, but c’mon this is bizarre – wouldn’t I know if a vole had burrowed into my boobie?

Okay – I was half asleep and had no coffee and it was not exactly quiet in the family room when I picked up the phone and began talking to helium girl.  I was yelling in the phone and trying to wake up when she got louder and said “You have MOLES and the radiologist wants to mark them so he knows they’re MOLES.” “You have MOLES!”

Oh.

Not voles, moles.  I have moles.  Those funny little bumpy things everybody gets as they age, not the  gross animals that live in the ground moles/voles, but the freckle skin tag kind of things that just appear out of nowhere in the darndest places during menopause.   He thought I might have moles.  Boy was I relieved. What are you gonna mark them with – a big red X?

So Tuesday I went back in and we went through the procedure again only this time I had teeny little round sticky duct tapey things put on me everywhere there was a vole mole sticking out or up or whatever it is they do as they sit there on your skin.  Again, it was easy except for the peeling off the sticky things which are like ripping bandaids that take your skin with them.  And again I was sent home with the words, “You’ll get a notice in the mail in the next one or two weeks with your results.”

Sweet merciful heavens I hope they don’t call me in the next few days to tell me the radiologist is concerned and  found I actually have swiss cheese boobies and they have holes.  It’s not exactly fun having someone put little sticky tape all over your boobs – it was like having Post-It Notes screaming mole here, mole over here, hey here’s another one.

I went home and ate a banana shake w/whipped cream and I’ll be watching the mail…and screening my calls.

Crone and Bear It Has Left the Building…

overwhelmed

Due to a heavy school schedule and upcoming minor back surgery, Crone and Bear It is taking a break from blogging.  I should be back in a week or so.  Until then visit all my blogging buddies on my Blogroll – I guarantee they will keep you plenty amused and entertained.

Not Fun News

It’s a good thing I can type with one hand…Wed morning I took a bad fall on ice.  Dislocated right shoulder (of course, I’m right-handed) and wrenched back.  At least  I got to take my first ride in an ambulance.  I’m going to take some more serious pain meds now and I will see you all when I find my sense of humor.  Prayers appreciated.

Hugs, Linda