Stoned

It's still not over. I'm not out of the woods yet. Since the birth of my daughter I have had more doctor's appointments and trips to the emergency room than ever in my life. I have seen the inside of a hospital so many times that I now have my favorite nurses. And I'm about to go in a few more times before the end of the year. Two weeks after I delivered, I had a gallbladder attack. I of course did not know at the time what it was, just that it was some of the worst pain I had ever experienced. Right up there with the labor pains I had endured a few weeks earlier. The pain was so bad that night that it caused vomiting, diarrhea and chest pains severe enough to constrict my breathing. I thought, "Here it is. The H1N1 flu virus has gotten me. This is it. I'm dying."

Turns out, I was passing a gallstone. Who knew a knot of cholesterol the size of a pebble could make you pray for a swift death. Since that night, I have had at least 10 additional attacks, on average, about one a week. At first, Vicodin was heading off the pain when one would strike. But recently, it is taking more drugs and more time for the pain to subside. In the meantime, I practice my Lamaze breathing, I meditate and I try to relax in a hot bath.

The discussion of having the gallbladder removed has been going on since the first attack but Chris was not convinced initially that surgery was the best option. So he did some research and found a homeopathic remedy for gallstones and encouraged me to try it first. So, a month ago, I did my first flush. This consists of fasting, drinking dissolved Epsom salts, then drinking olive oil and lemon juice. The next day is spent running to the bathroom every twenty minutes. During the first flush, I wasn't confident it would work. Upon having a bowel movement one is supposed to be able to see small green stones in the toilet. But the first time I ran to the potty, nothing popped up. Then they arrived. It was like Christmas morning! I was so excited. I woke Chris up at about 4 a.m. to give him the news and asked him if he wanted to see them. He opted to stay in bed.

Thankful for the success of the home remedy, I was mistakenly under the impression I was now stone free. I was wrong. A few weeks later, the pain hit again. Hard. So I prepared for my second flush. This time I was going to get more involved in the process to be sure many stones came out. That day I called Chris at work.

"Honey, can you do me a favor on your way home from work?" I asked.
"Sure, what do you need?"
"I need you to stop by the store and pick up a small sieve."
"A sieve. Ok. What for?"
"I'm going to be prospecting for gallstones."
"Are you serious?"

I'm sure at this point he was thinking he had created a monster because anyone who was willing to pick through their own poop was surely mad. But I wanted verification in numbers and the only way to do that was to rescue the stones and collect them in a baggie. So, that's what I did. With the sieve, rubber gloves and several disinfecting supplies, I set out on my quest for the mother lode. In all, I collected more than 15 stones that were larger than a pea. Now because cholesterol will eventually melt and because I wanted to save them to show the doctor, I did what any rational person would do. I stored the baggie of stones in the freezer.

The next day, I met with the surgeon to discuss options and I brought my stones with me. When he came into the room, he introduced himself and began talking about my symptoms and issues. Then he stopped dead in his tracks upon discovering a small baggie on the counter with a strange substance inside. He peered at it curiously, leaned over to get a closer look and then said, "What is this? Did you bring this in?"

"Yes, those are my gallstones."
"Really. And how did you come by these?" he asked, humored.
"I flushed them out," I said proudly.
"You did. And how did they come out? Through your stool?" He seemed amused, shocked and a little put off all at the same time.
"Yes. It wasn't pleasant, but there they are."
"Interesting. I have to say, no one has ever brought their stones in with them. We don't see this sort of thing around here very often. Would you mind if I showed them around?"
"Be my guest," I said.

So, like show-and-tell, the nurse picked up the baggie and toured my stones around the office. After a few moments of Q & A with the surgeon I returned home to think about having the surgery. Basically my options now are to either live in constant fear of having another attack every time I eat fat or to shit myself every time I eat fat. When they say pregnancy is hell on your body, you think sure, stretch marks, saggy boobs but you never imagine that it could mean losing parts of your body or having chronic diarrhea for the rest of your life. So anyway, I'm not out of the woods yet. Basically, my experience with pregnancy is still resonating and I'm still not back to normal. Now, I'll never be. Instead, I'll forever be one organ less than normal and one ass explosion away from a very humiliating situation.